Page 84 of Sexting the Bikers
Novikov’s men abandon their posts at the altar and scatter, hands on their weapons, trying to make sense of the chaos erupting around them. I see Zaika’s face twist in fury as he curses in Russian and storms out after them, leaving me suddenly, blessedly, alone at the front of the outbuilding.
My heart leaps into my throat. For one dizzy moment, I can barely breathe. I try to make for the nearest exit, feet already flying across the battered floorboards. But just as I reach the end of the aisle, a hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. I twist around to find Alexy.
“Katya,” he hisses, glancing nervously at the open doors, “this is our chance. We need to go. Now.”
I wrench my arm from his grip, anger and hurt flaring all over again. “You lost that privilege when you fired at me,” I spit, pulling away from him. “You had your chance. I’m done running with you.”
He looks stricken, his regret so raw I almost falter, but I don’t let myself soften. “I never meant it, Katya, I swear. I did what my father told me?—”
“Grow a spine, Alexy,” I snap. “You want out, you fight for it. I’m not saving you.”
I don’t wait for his answer. My only thoughts are of Reaper, Bishop, and Dog. I run out into the cool night air, past thescattered chairs and abandoned ceremony, searching the chaos for them.
27
REAPER
Engines roar and grass tears under spinning tires as we surge onto the estate. I throttle down, scanning for red flashes of Novikov’s men. They pour out of the building in a tangled wave, guns out, shouting over each other. The order they brag about vanishes the moment real chaos arrives.
Zaika strides among them, face dark with anger, barking commands no one seems to follow. Shots crack through the night, bright muzzle flashes lighting frantic faces. My brothers spread wide, working in pairs, cutting off flanks before the Bratva can regroup. Years of training show in every movement, precision where Novikov’s men have only panic.
I should feel cold focus, the way I do on any run, but tonight another pulse beats under the surge of adrenaline. Katya. My gaze skims the melee for a flicker of red silk, the tilt of her chin, anything to tell me she’s still on her feet. Every second I can’t see her twists tighter inside my chest.
I push deeper, bike snarling beneath me, eyes locked on the doors. I know Novikov’s habits, know he’ll keep her close until the last possible instant. I tell myself I’m here for the club, forthe Ravagers, but the truth burns clear. I’m here for her, and I won’t leave this ground without Katya in my arms.
The instant I spot Katya breaking through the doorway, my heart stutters. She moves like a flare in that red silk, desperate but fierce, and for a moment all the noise fades. Two of Novikov’s goons grab her arms, yanking her back. I tighten my grip on the throttle, wanting to tear across the lawn, but fury will not keep her safe. I force myself to stay still, to think.
Novikov steps forward, smugness written on every line of his face. “You’re outnumbered, Reaper,” he calls, spreading his hands as if he’s already won.
I let the engine idle and lift my left hand, palm up, signaling Bishop. The estate floodlights reflect on my glove. One breath. Two. A single shot cracks the night. The bullet slices past Novikov’s ear, close enough to lift a strand of his hair. Stone chips explode from the pillar behind him. Silence ripples outward as every man on the lawn realizes what just happened.
Novikov flinches, hand flying to his head. His smirk slips. The barrel of his pistol lowers a fraction.
“That’s Bishop with a rifle,” I say, voice calm, almost conversational. “I taught him myself. You wouldn’t believe my kill ratio.”
A tremor of fear flickers in Novikov’s eyes. Behind him, Katya’s lips tilt in the smallest, fiercest smile. She believes. She always did.
“I would,” she calls, voice steady even with the guards gripping her arms.
That pride in her tone kicks my pulse higher. I grin back, letting Novikov feel how sure I am.
I swing my gaze to Novikov, let every ounce of threat settle on him. “Now. Deliver my man. Right now.”
He hesitates, weighing odds. Bishop’s second shot slams into the dirt at his feet, a precise warning. Novikov’s resolve falters. He snaps an order in Russian.
Two of his men disappear into the shadows near the house. A tight knot pulls in my gut. Every second feels stretched, crackling with tension. Then they re-emerge, hauling Dog between them.
He’s bloodied and bruised, shirt clinging dark with dried stains. One eye is swollen shut, but that trademark grin is plastered across the other half of his face like a dare. He limps, boots scuffing the grass, yet he forces his shoulders back, refusing to look beaten. The guards yank him forward by the arms, but he drags his feet just enough to make them struggle—one last bit of stubborn pride.
Katya’s breath hitches. I see her body lean toward him, the red dress rustling in the night air. She reaches out before she can stop herself, but Novikov yanks her back, a possessive hand on her arm. Rage flashes through me. I keep my focus on Dog, counting each step, waiting for the moment he’s close enough to pull behind our line.
Dog lifts his head, spots me on the bike, and gives a bloody wink. That spark in his eye tells me he’s still in the fight, even if his body is wrecked. The guards try to shove him faster, but Dog digs in again, forcing them to manhandle him the last few yards.
When they’re ten paces away, I lift my voice so every soul in the courtyard hears it. “That’s far enough.” My brothers close ranks on either flank, throttles rumbling deep and threatening. Bishop’s rifle cracks once more, blowing the top off a marble planter near Zaika’s polished shoes. Dust spumes into the air.
Zaika’s gaze snaps to me, cold and assessing. I angle the bike so he has a clear view of the muzzle pointed at his chest. “Don’t try anything clever,” I tell him, voice low and steady. “We have you exactly where we want you.”
He lifts an eyebrow, but he doesn’t move. Novikov’s men freeze, waiting for a cue that doesn’t come. Katya’s guard loosens his grip, uncertain now, eyes flicking to the rooftops in search of Bishop’s unseen barrel.
