Page 48 of Sexting the Bikers
Nobody else tries the door. The gunfire from outside slows, then stops altogether.
I duck behind the broken window, eyes scanning the driveway for movement. I spot Alexy darting behind his car—he’s lost that calm mask, replaced now by panic, his head barely visible as he crouches for cover.
I squeeze off a few shots, punching holes in the car door, glass shattering, making sure he knows there’s nowhere safe left. He jumps back, scrambling, yelling orders I can’t quite hear over the ringing in my ears.
Reaper steps into the doorway—bold, backlit by the wreckage, not bothering to duck. He shouts, his voice carrying over the bodies, over the mess. “We’ve injured three of yours already! I won’t hesitate to kill them if you keep coming! Get the fuck out of here—now!”
There’s a long pause.
Silence—except for Katya’s ragged breathing and the creak of wood settling under the weight of everything that just went down.
For a second, nobody moves. Not inside, not out.
And then I see it—a slow retreat. Alexy, pale and furious, barking one last order before climbing into his car. His men—those who are left—scatter back into the trees, boots thumping against the gravel.
I keep my gun trained on the car until it’s nothing but a glint between the trees, making damn sure none of them get a last shot in.
Only then do I let myself breathe.
12
KATYA
Ipress my back to the splintered bar, hands shaking, breath coming too quick. The room smells like gunpowder and old whiskey and something metallic—blood, maybe. My ears are ringing, and every part of me is stuck somewhere between fear and numbness.
Three bodies on the floor. My cousin outside, running for cover. My own family using me as bait and not caring if I end up dead on the floor with the rest of them.
I can’t believe it. Idon’tbelieve it. I keep waiting for someone to tell me this is a nightmare, that I’ll wake up somewhere else. But I know better. There’s no waking up from this. Not for me.
I look around—at Bishop, at Dog, at Reaper. These men just risked everything to keep me alive, and the only people who should’ve given a damn about me just tried to have me killed.
I have nowhere to go. No one left.
My heart aches so fiercely I can barely breathe.
Before I can make sense of the emptiness swallowing me whole, the sound of motorcycle engines roars up the driveway—dozens of them, loud and wild, the ground itself seeming to shake under the weight of them.
Reaper lets out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Finally. Reinforcements.”
A few patched club members barrel through the battered door, weapons ready, eyes wide as they take in the carnage.
“Jesus, what happened here?” one of them says as he steps inside, gun still drawn, eyes sweeping over the wreckage. His boots crunch glass as he looks from the bodies, to the bullet-pocked walls…to me, huddled by the bar.
“Took you long enough to get here, Gage,” Dog says, voice gruff but almost relieved.
“We got here as fast as we could,” Gage fires back, still scanning for threats.
Bishop, pacing behind the bar, checks the window again. “Well, maybe the danger isn’t over yet,” he says, glancing at me—my arms wrapped tight around my knees, trying to make myself small. I don’t meet his eyes. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
Reaper doesn’t waste any time. “Bishop, take the rifle up to the roof. If they circle back, I want eyes on them before they get close.”
Bishop nods, moving with purpose, already loading his sniper. “On it.”
“Dog,” Reaper snaps, “drag out the wounded men. If they’re breathing, we don’t want them bleeding all over my floor.”
Dog rolls his eyes but heads to the door, grabbing one of the Alexy’s men by the collar, starting to haul him out with practiced efficiency.
Reaper walks through the mess, surveying the damage, kicking aside broken chairs and splintered wood. He gives Dog a pointed look. “And I’m charging you bastards for ruining my furniture. Dog, get their wallets and watches.”
