Page 75 of Sexting the Bikers
The house is quiet except for the creak of floorboards and the occasional clang of tools from the garage. My bedroom door is ajar, letting in the faint hallway light. I catch sight of Dog stalking past, shoulders hunched and fists tight at his sides. He doesn’t even look my way.
Something in his stride is off, all tension and restless energy, and before I think about it, I’m up and after him, wiping ointment from my knuckles. “Dog,” I call out, but he just keeps walking. His boots strike the old wooden floor hard enough to echo.
I pick up my pace. “Dog, wait.” Still nothing.
I try again, voice lower, hoping to cut through whatever’s chewing him up from the inside. “Rhett.”
That gets a reaction. He hesitates, jaw set, and finally slows but doesn’t turn. I catch up, falling in beside him, searching his face for the anger he’s barely holding together.
“Talk to me, man,” I say, keeping my tone steady, careful. “What’s going on?”
He shakes his head, still refusing to look at me, but I can feel the storm brewing in his silence. I know this isn’t just about Katya, or Zaika, or even Novikov. This is about everything coming apart at the seams.
“Bishop, look, this isn’t about you, okay? Stay out of it.” He stalks off toward the garage.
I curse under my breath, looking around for Reaper, but there’s no sign of him.
The big barn smells of oil and old hay, the kind of scent that never quite leaves your clothes. I step inside and the single overhead bulb swings on its chain, throwing long shadows across the bikes lined against the wall. Dog is at the far end, crouched beside his Harley. He tips a metal can and gasoline glugs into the tank, the sharp fumes slicing through the cool morning air.
“What do you plan to do?” I ask, voice low but carrying in the hollow space.
He doesn’t look up. “I’m getting Katya.”
I take a few steps closer, boots crunching grit on the concrete. “That’s a fool’s mission and you know it. You’ll get yourself killed.” I can’t keep the frustration out of my voice. It’s not that I don’t understand, it’s that I do, too well.
He sets the can down with a hard clank. His eyes finally meet mine, wild and stubborn, but underneath I see the same ache I feel. “Then I’m a fool for that woman. And if you let yourself admit it, so are you.”
“We can’t abandon Reaper,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. My ribs protest every breath, but this is worth the pain.
“Why not?” Dog fires back. He flicks the kill switch up and back down, restless fingers betraying the storm inside him. “He abandoned Katya. Left her to Novikov without a plan.”
“He’s looking out for the club.” The explanation sounds thin even to my ears, but I push on. “If we split now, we’re weaker.”
Dog’s jaw tightens. “The club means nothing if we don’t fight for our own.”
I reach out, placing a hand on the handlebar, stopping him from turning the key. “Reaper is our brother. We don’t leave him or Katya. We find a way together.”
He shakes his head, frustration bubbling over. “Together is what got her taken in the first place. I’m not waiting while they decide how best to trade her life for peace.”
The engine light blinks on, an impatient heartbeat. I think about the years we’ve ridden side by side, the fights we’ve bled through, the unspoken truths that bind us. “If you ride out alone, you won’t reach the gate before they gun you down.”
Dog’s shoulders slump for half a second, the weight of truth heavy on his back. “Then come with me,” he says quietly.
That simple plea knocks the wind from my lungs. I close my eyes, feel the bruise ache, and picture Katya in a wedding dress, caged in Novikov’s estate. My fingers tighten on the bar.
Dog’s voice is quiet now, heavy, the edge stripped away. He stares down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he’s gripping something far away. The barn’s shadows make his face look older, more worn than I remember.
“You know what, Bishop?” He lets out a long, shaky breath. “Ever since my old man got thrown under the bus—set up, handed over to law enforcement by his own club—I swore I’d never be part of anything that couldn’t keep faith. That couldn’t watch a man’s back.” He pauses, eyes flicking up to mine,looking for judgment, maybe. “I think we saw the measure of Reaper last night. He’s a selfish bastard.”
The words linger between us, raw and exposed. Dog, always the cocky one, always a joke to cut the tension, now stripped down to just a son betrayed, a man still learning how to trust after everything he lost. I see the fear in his eyes, that old wound wide open. It hits too close to home.
I clear my throat, not trusting my voice. My own loyalty’s been tested more in the last few days than in all my years patching in. I think about the bruises, the blood, the ache in my chest every time I picture Katya alone, surrounded by enemies. There’s a piece of me that wants to believe Reaper’s just playing the long game, that he hasn’t truly abandoned any of us. But another, darker part wonders if Dog’s right.
“We’ve all lost something in this life,” I finally say, voice rough. “Sometimes it feels like loyalty’s the only thing we have left. And if that’s gone—” I break off, unable to finish.
Dog looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see the fear and hope tangled together. “I can’t just let her go, man,” he says, the words barely above a whisper.
I shake my head. “Neither can I.”
