Page 57 of Sexting the Bikers
My fist clenches on instinct, rage boiling, vision blurring at the edges as I spin back toward her. “How fucking dare?—”
But Bishop’s already there. His hand locks tight around my wrist, eyes deadly calm. “If you want to hit someone, hit me. Or Dog.”
“Hey!” Dog protests from behind us, sounding deeply offended.
Bishop ignores him, grip tightening until it bruises. “But you will not hit that woman.”
The room is dead silent, Bishop’s stare hard and unflinching as it meets mine, his voice cutting through my fury.
“And she’s right,” he adds. “If Katya’s wedding was a setup for a massacre, then both Novikov’s men and hers?—”
“They’re notmine,” she cuts in.
Bishop gives her a look before finishing. “—are in chaos. This is the perfect time to take what’s ours.”
Slowly, his words sink in, pulling me back from the brink. I rip my hand from his grasp, stepping away, tension vibrating through every muscle.
Katya watches, still defiant, though her breathing’s quick. Her chest is rising and falling, eyes bright with anger and something deeper.
Bishop’s right. But the fact that it took his hand on my wrist to keep me from crossing a line shakes me more than I’ll ever admit.
“We need to stay two steps ahead of him,” Katya says firmly, breaking the silence.
I stare at her, letting her words sink in. She’s not wrong. Novikov’s smart—cold, calculating, patient. If we wait for his next move, we’ll be reacting instead of acting. And in this life, playing defense means death.
I exhale slowly, meeting her gaze directly for the first time since she slapped me, the sting still lingering on my cheek, a reminder of the fire behind her eyes. “She’s right,” I say finally, my voice low, the anger slipping away to leave only grim resolve. “We move first. Hit Novikov before he knows we’re coming.”
Bishop nods, relief flickering in his eyes as we finally agree on something. Dog straightens slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit.
“So,” I say. “Where do we begin?”
16
KATYA
Ifold my arms and lean against the edge of the table, surveying the room. The boys may not like that I slapped their president, but they’re listening now.
“So,” I say, letting my eyes move from Dog to Bishop to Reaper. “Tell me everything you know about Novikov. I need the full picture.”
Reaper folds his arms, face a granite mask, but he nods. Bishop perches on the edge of the table, fingers drumming in an endless rhythm. Dog leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes flicking between us.
“He’s paranoid as hell,” Bishop starts, ticking off points like a ledger. “Moves his money through three different banks. Doesn’t trust even his own men—keeps a rotating security detail.”
Reaper adds, “He has ties to half the city council and a handful of dirty cops on the payroll. We did a run for him—guns, parts, some heavy shit. Paid in cash, but the second time, he stiffed us. Said it was a ‘test.’”
I catch the bitterness in Dog’s laugh. “Test my ass. He never intended to pay us. He just wanted to see how desperate we’d get.”
It’s a lot to absorb. I know how men like Novikov operate—they never bet on loyalty, only on leverage. My thoughts drift back to my own family, to the way I was traded like currency. I shove that down and focus on the facts.
“Okay,” I say. “How did you get tangled up with him in the first place?”
For a beat, nobody answers. Bishop glances at Reaper. Reaper’s jaw clenches, but finally, he answers, his voice rough. “We needed a big job. Something to put us on the map after last winter. The MC was hurting—money, territory, all of it. Novikov offered us a deal. We took it. We thought we could handle him. Thought we could walk away before things got messy.”
I meet his gaze, searching for a lie, but all I see is the kind of regret that can eat a man alive.
“And now?” I ask quietly.
Reaper’s eyes are flinty. “Now we finish what we started.”
