Page 23 of Her Possessive Biker
I’m not the kind of man who plans ahead anyway. I react. I move. I fix. When Prez called me to handle club business, there wasn’t a single part of me willing to leave her behind.
So I didn’t.
The Black Crown sits off Highway 89, near the bones of an old train yard. Officially, Grizz Calloway’s name is on the deed. Unofficially, it belongs to the Savage Kings. Brick by brick. Blood by blood.
We roll in just after twelve. Gravel crunches beneath the tires. Bikes crowd the lot, lined like soldiers waiting for orders. Music rumbles from inside, low and gritty. The kind of sound that coats your teeth in smoke and your soul in sin.
I kill the engine. Cassie slides off behind me, boots hitting the dirt with a thud. She’s clutching her bag like it’s body armor. Her eyes flick to the door, to the noise, to the unknown waiting inside.
I feel her nerves. I feel everything.
“It’s just a bar,” I mutter. “No one’s gonna touch you. You’re safe.”
“I know,” she says, but her voice is too soft to sell it.
She doesn’t know this world yet. Doesn’t know that when I say she’s safe, it means any man who tries gets his jaw shattered and his ribs turned to dust.
The door creaks open.
Reyna Vasquez steps into the light. Black boots, black jeans, black tank. Her hair’s in a braid and her eyes gleam with something close to murder.
Red. The club’s bar manager and unofficial drill sergeant. She’s been around longer than most patched members. Runs this place like a fortress. Like a queen with steel in her veins.
She sizes Cassie up in one glance.
“So this is Ghost’s little sister.”
Cassie stiffens beside me.
Red gives her a small nod. “Reaper told us the story. About your brother. About the promise he made.”
Then she slings an arm around Cassie like she’s been part of the club since forever. “Come on, honey. You’ll be fine. Stick with me.”
Then she levels me with a look that could carve granite.
“And you. Ease the throttle. She’s not glass. She’s not yours to cage.”
I open my mouth, but she keeps going.
“Don’t start with the look, Reaper. I’ve watched you mope through my bar for months. You made a promise. I respect that. But protecting ain’t the same as controlling. Let her breathe or she’ll start thinking she needs permission just to exist.”
She drags Cassie inside before I can say a damn word.
She’s right. I know it.
Doesn’t mean I like it.
Inside, The Black Crown is alive with noise. Laughter. Voices raised over rock music and the scrape of stools on concrete. The air’s thick with beer, sweat, and smoke.
Eyes track us the moment we cross the threshold. The redhead under Red’s arm gets a full round of stares—some curious, some hungry, all dangerous.
I look each of them in the eye.
One by one, they look away.
Because I’m not just Reaper. I’m Road Captain. Savage Kings to the bone. And the girl beside me? She’s off-limits.
“She the one who makes the pies?” one prospect asks from a booth.
