Page 58 of Sexting the Bikers
“He’s dangerous, and he has contacts,” Bishop says. “Basically runs the town.”
“And yet,” I murmur, half to myself, “he still needed me to pull off this wedding spectacle.”
“He needed your family to believe in the alliance,” Bishop says. “Needed your name to tie it all together.”
I swallow. “And now I’ve blown that to hell.”
“No,” Reaper says. “You did something better.” I raise an eyebrow. “You gave us a crack in his armor.”
I don’t say anything, but my pulse thuds louder in my ears. He’s right.
Novikov’s empire is a fortress—but no fortress is invincible when the people inside it start asking questions. And after last night, there’ll be plenty.
I think about Alexy, about my uncles and aunts. What excuse did Alexy give for losing me? Or did all of them know? All except for me, of course.
I bite the inside of my cheek, eyes fixed on the scuffed floorboard under Reaper’s boots. The room is quiet now, tension stretching between us like a trip wire waiting to snap. Myfamily.
Even thinking the word feels foreign.
Because what the hell is family supposed to mean anymore?
Once, it meant Friday night dinners and my uncle lighting a cigarette by the balcony while my aunt scolded him. It meant Alexy giving me piggyback rides and swearing he’d protect me no matter what. It meant loyalty…or I thought it did.
Now,familymeans dodging bullets from people who swore they’d die for me.
The old habit is to lie, to dodge, to keep secrets so nobody can use them against me. I swallow. My throat feels tight, memories pressing hard at the back of my mind.
Bishop leans forward, elbows on his knees, ice-blue eyes boring into mine. “You said the wedding was a setup. That it was about power, not love. But what does Novikov really want from your side family, Katya? Is it just the name, or is there something else?”
I look away, fingers curling tight around the edge of the table, fighting the urge to close myself off again. Out the window, the sun’s climbing higher, painting the world gold—like maybe this morning could be different if I just let myself trust someone. It’s a dangerous thought.
Dog shifts on the couch, his tone gentler than I expect. “You’re asking us to go to war for you. That’s not a small thing. Trust goes both ways, princess. If we want to help each other, we need to know everything.”
I hesitate, fighting the old habit of silence. Back home, I learned early—every secret you share is a weapon someone else can use against you. But I’m not back home anymore. I have nowhere left to run.
“My family used to run half of Saint Petersburg,” I say finally, voice low. “My father was a legend. After he was killed, the only thing we had left was our reputation—and me. Novikov wanted legitimacy. A real Riazanova bride to put his empire on the map, to shut up his enemies. If he had me, he’d have every old-school contact in Russia and the States eating out of his hand.”
“And do you think Alexy is leading the charge now?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. My uncle…he raised me after my parents were killed. Bratva violence, but not against our own. At least, that’s what I was told.” I glance at Bishop. “He’s smart. Calculated. Ruthless when he needs to be. But I never thought he’d…” I trail off.
“Offer you up to Novikov as a sacrificial lamb?” Reaper asks.
“Can we talk about anything else please?” I say. “I told you everything about my family, but they can wait, Novikov won’t.”
I study their faces—Reaper, Dog, Bishop—all bristling with experience and pride, but I know the truth. For all their street knowledge, they don’t really know the man who nearly owned me.
“What else do you know about Novikov?” I ask, arms folded. I want to hear them admit it out loud.
Dog nods. “He likes power plays. Always has muscle close by, but doesn’t get his own hands dirty unless he has to.”
Bishop chimes in, voice clipped, “Old-school Bratva. Cold. Never lets anyone get leverage on him. If he wants something done, it gets done.”
I can’t help the faint, bitter smile that slips out. “So…you know nothing.”
Bishop leans back in his chair, one eyebrow raised, his voice slow and needling. “Ah, and you know your fiancé so well, princess? How many hours have you actually spent in his company?”
I roll my eyes, exasperated but not about to let him see me sweat. “Enough,” I say. “But I didn’t need hours in his lap to figure him out.”
