Page 45 of Sexting the Bikers
Dog raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word.
Despite the tension—despite the bullets and the fear and the way my stomach knots with worry—I feel my cheeks go warm. I hate that I blush. I hate that Bishop’s admission means anything at all, but it does, and everyone in this hallway can probably see it.
“I need my phone,” I say again, pushing past embarrassment, focusing on what matters. “It could be my family. Or Novikov. Or—” I cut myself off before I say too much. Before I give anything else away.
Reaper’s gaze is unreadable, but he nods, once, curt. “Dog, go with her. Keep your heads down.”
Dog’s already moving, flashing me a grin that’s just a little too knowing. I duck my head, willing the blush to fade, and follow him toward the office.
We slip into Bishop’s office, the lights still off, air thick with old books and the faint trace of last night. My heart stutters as I spot my phone on the corner of the desk, the screen glowing with an incoming call.
I lunge for it, thumb shaking as I check the number. “It’s my cousin, Alexy.” I hit answer, but just as I lift the phone, the screen flickers, then dies—cold and black in my hand.
“Shit.” I squeeze the phone, trying not to scream. “I need to get back to him—he’s the only one who might believe me.”
Dog takes the phone, flips it over in his hand. “Might just be the battery,” he says, but the calm in his voice is forced, not quite reaching his eyes.
I look up at him, desperate. “What do we do?”
He shrugs, pulling out his own phone and handing it to me. “You can use mine. If you remember his number.”
“I do.” I dial, fingers flying on the keypad. It rings, once, twice—then Alexy picks up.
“Who is this?”
“Oh, thank God, Alexy—where are you?” My voice comes out frantic.
“Katya?” he says.
Before he can say anything else, the words tumble out of me, all panic, no filter. I switch to Russian so Dog doesn’t understand me. “It’s a trap, you need to stop the others, there’s no wedding, he’s going to kill everyone. You need to get me—please—just listen?—”
I feel Dog’s eyes on me, searching for the truth behind my panic. His face gives nothing away—no judgment, no sympathy, just that steady, unreadable stare.
“I can give you my address,” I say quickly, pulse racing. “You can come?—”
Alexy’s silence stretches, impossibly long.
Finally, his voice—flat, almost hollow. “I know where you are, Katya.”
Everything in me goes still. My blood runs cold.
He knows where I am.
How? Why is he so calm?
“How did you get to the bikers’ hangout?” Alexy asks, his voice too steady, too casual. “That part I don’t understand.”
I press my fingers to my forehead, the urge to scream rising in my throat. “Is that really what you’re worried about?”
He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “No. But you always surprise me, Katya.”
I grit my teeth. “This isn’t the time for that?—”
“Actually, on the contrary, it is,” Alexy interrupts, voice suddenly sharper, colder. “You don’t understand, Katya. We know this. We’re ready.”
My whole body goes cold, the phone slick in my hand. “Alexy?—”
“Come out to the car now so we can finish this.”
