Page 40 of Rider Daddies
“How did you get this?” I trace the outer ring.
Immediately, Ryder removes his hands and takes a few steps back. “It’s er—nothing. Just a bit of play fighting.”
I turn around from the window and study him. Eye contact with him up until this point has been very consistent. Now, he’s avoiding my eyes and rushing over to the front door to take his position as security guard.
Do I smell shit?
Why has he suddenly put a ten-foot pole between us?
There’s definitely more than what meets the eye with them. A whole backstory of trauma that they’re trying to keep hidden.
Venom Vultures clubhouse—the anti heroes of Nevada.
I’m about to head back to the bar when the door bursts open. Ryder, already in front of it, sticks out his arm to stop the man from entering.
Whoever this visitor is, he’s not wanted.
“Fuck,” I hear Ash say under his breath as he leaves the bar. Saint leaves the decks, rushing over.
“We’re gonna play this game, are we?” laughs the man. He takes something out of his pants.
A knife.
My pulse starts to pound in my chest as I watch the blade move into the light, shining. The attacker takes his time placing it at Ryder’s throat. He’s nowhere near as tall as Ryder, but he doesn’t let that knock his confidence.
“What do you want, Manual?” Ash asks.
I flick my eyes to the floor, recalling this name from somewhere.
It takes a second for the penny to drop.
Manual Lombardi.
This was the man they were discussing yesterday in the meeting. The sex trafficker. The one who has been AWOL for the past six months.
It looks like he’s finally come out of hiding.
He’s not a pleasant-looking man. I can’t get a full view because he’s standing directly behind Ryder, but Icansee his mismatched eyes. The only emotion inside of them is hate, like he’s angry at the world for something. Maybe he’s mad that time took away his hairline too early. At a guess, I’d say that he’s a similar age to the brothers—mid to late forties.
But the receding hairline tells a different story.
He looks terrible. Like a vampire that needs fresh, young blood to stay alive.
“It’s nice to see you materialize out of thin air,” grits Ryder.
Manual tightens his lock on him. “You’re a cocky little bastard, aren’t you?”
“Was that insult intended for me, or yourself?”
“Haha,” he says dryly. “Funny.”
Other club members enter the scene, cocking guns.
I turn around, stunned. I don’t know what scares me more—the fact that a sex trafficker has one of my biker brothers at knife point, or that every single biker in this room now has a gun in their hand.
Ash and Saint included.
“You can’t kill me without killing your dearly beloved brother,” Manual says, using Ryder as a shield.
