Page 31 of The Biker and His Bride

Just enough to remind me who he was.

But I didn’t cry.

“You think you can play with men like me?” he sneered. “You think Rogue can protect you?”

“He already did,” I said. “You’re the one hiding.”

That pissed him off.

He grabbed my face, leaned in like he might kiss me.

“I still love you, Riley. We can fix this. I’ll forgive everything.”

“It was never love,” I whispered. “It was ownership.”

His face darkened. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

He stood and backed away, chest heaving.

“I gave you everything.”

“And now you’re going to lose everything.”

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

And I knew, right then, that Rogue would come for me.

Because what Caleb didn’t understand was that I wasn’t some pawn in his twisted game anymore.

I was part of something bigger now.

I was part of the club.

15

ROGUE

The night air tasted like gunpowder and rain. I straddled my Harley at the edge of Whitmore land, brothers flanking me in a half-moon of idling bikes. Caleb had Riley. I’d warned him once; now he’d hear me loud.

Trigger’s voice crackled in my ear: “Two guards on the porch—armed.”

I signaled. Diesel and Nash melted into shadow. Pitbull hefted thermite, grinning like it was Christmas.

“Move.”

Gunfire shattered the quiet—Maddox’s rifle from the tree line. Guards dropped. Trigger breached the back door; I hit the kitchen, shotgun barking. The house rattled with echoes.

I found Caleb in the study, fist in Riley’s hair, pistol at her temple. Her eyes—fear, fury, faith—locked on mine.

“Drop it,” I snarled.

He sneered. “You shoot, you hit her.”

Behind him, Pitbull kicked in the patio doors. Caleb flinched. Riley drove an elbow into his ribs. The muzzle wavered; I fired.

One round, center-mass. Caleb staggered. Riley broke free. Blood bloomed crimson on designer white.

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