Page 30 of The Biker and His Bride

“Midnight tomorrow,” the one in charge said. “Bring the files. Or she disappears.”

And just like that, they vanished.

Riley was gone.

And I’d burn down the world to bring her home.

14

RILEY

Icame to in the back of a moving van.

It smelled like oil and mildew and bad memories.

My wrists were zip-tied, ankles too, and my mouth tasted like metal and fear.

The doors opened and two men hauled me out, dragging me into a cabin that looked like every nightmare I’d left behind in Charleston.

And there he was.

Caleb.

Button-down shirt. Polished boots. Same smug, aristocratic smile.

“Riley,” he said like we were bumping into each other at brunch. “You look... well.”

“You’re a psycho,” I spat.

He sighed. “Always so dramatic.”

He waved the others off, motioned for them to leave us alone. Then he sat across from me, legs crossed, hands steepled.

“I’ve missed you.”

I glared at him. “Let me go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

He stood and moved toward me slowly, crouching to brush a piece of hair from my face. I flinched.

“I loved you, you know.”

“You controlled me.”

“I gave you the world.”

“You gave me a prison.”

His smile thinned.

“You left me for a biker,” he said, disgust in his voice. “A filthy, broke biker.”

I met his gaze. “And I’d do it again.”

He slapped me.

Not hard. Not enough to break skin.

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