Page 35 of Her Dirty Biker
He slams a fist into my jaw.
I pull my blade and drive it into his shoulder.
He screams.
I snarl, “Touch her again and I’ll end you.”
Rock yanks him off me, slamming him against the wall while I rush to Willow. Her eyes are wide. Tears streak her cheeks.
I cut the zip ties with shaking hands, and she collapses into me.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispers.
“Always,” I rasp, holding her tighter than I’ve ever held anything in my life. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Her hands fist in my cut, clinging like I’m her lifeline.
Chapter fourteen
Willow
Everything hurts. My wrists sting from the plastic zip ties. My skin is sticky with sweat, grime, and fear. My throat is dry, lips cracked. My legs still feel shaky even though I’m not the one walking. My hero is carrying me.
His arms are solid around me. Protective. Safe. Like nothing and no one can get to me while I’m here. I bury my face into his cut, breathing in leather, motor oil, and the comfort of him.
“I’ve got you, little fox,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”
I clutch his shoulders, hands trembling, my heart thudding like it doesn’t believe him yet. “I was so scared.”
His jaw tightens against my hair. “I know, baby. I never should’ve left you.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Ishould’ve.” His voice cracks. “I’ll never make that mistake again.”
The next time I blink, we’re pulling through an unfamiliar gate. It must be their clubhouse, not another safehouse. Not a hidden cabin in the woods. There are bikes lined up outside and lights glowing through smoky windows.
The moment Diesel carries me through the front door, the room goes silent.
All conversation drops. Laughter fades. Music cuts to background noise as every Savage King inside turns to look at us.
Women in tiny shorts and low-cut tops draped across couches and laps. One of them actually has her tongue in a guy’s ear. Another licks her lips when she sees Diesel.
Great.
I freeze, shrinking into Diesel’s chest.
His grip tightens instantly, and he doesn’t stop walking until we’re past the main lounge and into the hallway. I hear chairs scraping, footsteps following. Voices—Havoc, Rebel, Jinx, even Princess—all coming closer.
But Diesel doesn’t let me go. He turns toward them, still holding me, and his voice drops low and fierce.
“She is mine.” Three words that fly like a goddamn bullet.
Nobody says a word.
“She’s not a club girl,” he adds, looking directly at the nearest girl, who’s frozen mid-step in her heels. “You don’t look at her. You don’t talk to her. And you sure as fuck don’t touch her.”
I feel the room shift around us. Eyes narrowing. Respect snapping into place. Even the flirty grins disappear.
