Page 92 of Sexting the Bikers
I nod. My voice is steady when I answer, even if my insides aren’t. “Got it.”
Outside, a car engine roars—a harsh, guttural sound that echoes through the empty yard. Instinct has me moving, feet carrying me to the window before I even think about it. Reaper doesn’t stop me. He just watches, silent, trusting that I know how not to get myself killed.
Outside, the yard that was crowded and alive minutes ago now looks deserted, almost eerily so. The laughter and music, the clatter of dishes, all of it has vanished. Even most of the bikes that filled the lot when we first arrived are gone, leaving behind only scattered gravel and a faint haze from the grill.
The night feels stretched thin, waiting. Headlights slice through the dark as black cars roll to a halt at the far end of the yard, engines idling, doors opening in perfect, practiced rhythm.I see Novikov step out, flanked by his men—shadows moving like a tide behind him.
He doesn’t waste time. His voice booms across the empty yard, cutting straight through the quiet, and I feel it settle under my skin.
“Return my bride,” Novikov calls, each word slow, ringing with menace, “or I turn this place to dust.”
His threat lingers in the night air, mixing with the smell of burnt charcoal and cut grass. I watch as Reaper steps up beside me, his expression unreadable. The Ravagers are hidden now, but I know they’re watching, waiting.
My pulse pounds, but I hold my ground, keeping my eyes on the man who wants to drag me back into a world I thought I’d escaped.
“Let’s go outside,” Reaper says quietly, not a command, just a calm certainty that leaves no room for fear. My breath catches. I stare at him, searching for any trace of doubt in his eyes, but all I see is resolve, the kind that’s held me together since the night we met.
I glance at Dog, my nerves plain on my face. He catches my eye and nods, solid and silent, as if he’s telling me I’m braver than I think. The room seems to fall away for a moment, the sounds of distant engines and Novikov’s threat fading beneath the heavy thump of my own heartbeat.
I love them, all three of them. It can’t be clearer to me now. I wish now that I’d said something to them before, when they told me they loved me. I wish I had reciprocated.
Reaper reaches for my hand, his fingers rough and warm around mine. He gives a gentle squeeze, grounding me, reminding me I’m not alone in any of this. The gesture is simple, but it’s everything—strength, promise, a wordlessI’ve got you.
I realize then, with sudden, aching clarity, that I trust him. Maybe more than I trust myself. And it’s not just him. It’s Dog and Bishop, as well.
All the ways they’ve risked everything for me, let me into their lives, their home, their strange and beautiful chaos. I’ve fallen in love with them, every last one, and the weight of it is both terrifying and right.
Reaper looks at me, and his voice is low, just for me. “You’re not going back to him. Not ever.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away, refusing to look away from the night, from the moment, from him.
I nod. “I know.”
Hand in hand, we step into the darkness together, ready to face whatever comes next.
31
BISHOP
Iclimb the rusted metal ladder on the back of the clubhouse, my boots scuffing against the rungs as I haul myself up onto the roof. The night air feels thick with smoke and anticipation, hickory wood burning down below and filling my lungs with the promise of a meal I’ll probably never get to taste.
I ignore the pang in my stomach and unsling the rifle from my shoulder, my fingers moving with practiced ease as I check the chamber, adjust the scope, and find a good angle behind a stack of old cinderblocks.
From this vantage point, the whole yard is laid out beneath me, like a chessboard in shadow and dim light. I spot Reaper and Katya walking out to the middle of the open space, just where Novikov’s headlights catch their outlines and make them easy to see. Exposed, maybe, but I know the truth.
Hidden in the dark, tucked behind piles of scrap metal, crouched under the porch or lurking inside the club’s battered trucks, half the Ravagers are already locked and loaded. They’re invisible from down below, but up here, I see the faint movement, the careful shifts of men waiting for a sign.
The barbecue is still burning, left abandoned when the warning came through. The scent of grilled steak floats up, warm and familiar, mixing with the cold bite of the night. My stomach growls and I curse softly, wishing this whole mess could have waited another hour.
I sight through the scope, putting Novikov’s black sedan in the crosshairs for a heartbeat, then shifting to sweep the rest of his crew fanning out into the yard. I count heads, mark locations. Every second brings me closer to the calm I only ever find in these moments, every detail falling into place. This is what I do best.
I think back, for just a second, to earlier tonight—me up a tree in Novikov’s estate, half-hidden in the dark, a flask of cheap bourbon in one hand and the rifle balanced across my lap. I had a front-row seat to the chaos, watching those Russian goons scurry around the garden, shouting into radios and waving flashlights, convinced they were in control. I barely had to move, just found the thickest branch, settled my back against the trunk, and let the night pass by underneath me. Best time I’ve had in a while.
Nothing to do but wait and watch, the city lights glittering in the distance and the tension of a hunt humming in my bones. When Reaper’s plan snapped into action, I got to pick my moments—first the warning shot, then keeping my sights trained on Novikov’s bodyguard, ready to ruin someone’s whole year if they so much as twitched wrong.
The way those bastards froze up when the bullet cracked past their boss’s ear? Worth every mosquito bite and cramp.
Now, on the roof, I have a clear view of everything. I watch Reaper squeeze Katya’s hand, see her searching his face for any flicker of doubt. I know him well enough to recognize that look—focused, all-in, like he’s already decided how this ends. Katya doesn’t flinch, just stands there with her chin high, refusing togive Novikov even a hint of fear. I respect that. Most people, put in the spotlight with a man like Novikov barking threats, would fold or run. Not her.
