Page 43 of Throttle All the Way

“Bulldog’s my man not my keeper. And I’m still a cop…

“And a damn good one!” I whirled on her. “You’ll ruin your damn reputation detetctive.”

She nodded. “Listen to me, little boy. I knew what I was doing when I fucked an outlaw. I either ride with you, or I go off on my own, either way, I’ll be there.”

“So will I,” Ray’s voice resounded from the doorway.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

Ray nodded. “With Aiyana and I there, we can protect you. I know you don’t want or need it, but something happens to Volkov, the FBI will have questions. Let us handle the questions.”

I glanced from one determined face to the other and I cursed. I pointed at Aiyana, “Fuck it, but you’ll be the one handling the Prez when he tells you to heel.”

She smirked. “You forget who’s the dog in the relationship, Detective. Hence the nickname. Don’t you forget that.”

She swung passed me and I shook my head. “He better not ever hear her say that,” I muttered and Ray smirked.

“I don’t think she gives a shit.”

I stared after them both, my gut telling me this was a bad idea. That woman’s sass was going to get her killed one of these days.

The roarof the bike’s engine cut through the cool night air as Aiyana’s pulled up behind me into the Royal Bastards’ clubhouse lot. The familiar scent of grease, leather, and smoke hit me, grounding me for the welcome I was about to receive. Aiyana slid out of the black sedan, straightening her jacket and smoothing her hair as if she was about to take on a den of outlaws. Her expression was sharp, confident, a reminder that this woman could hold her own anywhere. Ray, on the other hand, looked like he was about to shit his pants.

Inside, the clubhouse was alive with noise. The scent of cheap whiskey and the constant low hum of conversation mingled with the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Bulldog’s voice cut through it all as he leaned against the bar, barking something at Guardian, who was nursing a beer. The moment Bulldog caught sight of us, his face darkened.

“Cipher.Detective,” Bulldog grunted, his gaze narrowing in on Aiyana as she pulled back her jacket, her badge shining as she looked around the clubhouse. All eyes were suddenly on her, since this wasn’t her usual appearance. She was here as the law, not as the outlaw’s woman.

Bulldog’s voice was low and sharp, carrying an undercurrent of concern he was trying hard to mask. “What the hell is this?”

Aiyana’s eyes glinted with defiance, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that said she wasn’t taking his shit—not tonight. Her badge catching a glint in the dim light, a quick reminder of her authority.

“Don’t start with me, Bulldog. I’m not some damsel you can shove in a corner. I’mhere on business to back up my partner. And he called me in because I’m damn good at what I do.”

“Well, I didn’t really ask you to-” she gave me a death glare and I quickly quieted.

Bulldog’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening by his sides. “Backup for what exactly?”

I stepped forward, cutting through the brewing tension. “We don’t have time for this shit. Volkov took Mila.”

The room fell silent. The sound of a glass hitting the bar was the only noise, followed by Bulldog’s slow exhale. He straightened, his expression shifting from irritation to sharp focus.

“Start talking,” he said, his tone deadly.

I nodded. “Volkov got to her. He called me, let me hear her voice—she’s alive, but not for long if we don’t move fast. He’s holding her somewhere, using her as leverage. This isn’t just about her anymore, Bulldog. This is about cleaning up what’s left of Volkov’s family once and for all.”

“So you decided it was a good idea to bring my woman into this?”

Aiyana smirked. “Fine. I brought myself into this. Besides, it’s a case I’m working and my work has never been any of your concern.”

The room fell silent as Bulldog turned to her. “You’re my woman, Aiyana. That makes this my concern.” His voice cracked with a mixture of protectiveness and frustration, his usual ironclad composure slipping.

Aiyana smirked, tilting her head like she was about to enjoy the verbal sparring. “Your woman?” she repeated, her tone teasing but edged with steel. “Fine. I’ll give you that. But last I checked, being your woman doesn’t mean I sit back and let you take all the bullets. I’m here. I’m staying. And unless you plan tophysically carry me out—which we both know you won’t—you’d better make peace with it.”

Silencer leaned against the table, arms crossed, watching the exchange like it was a prizefight he had front-row seats to. “She’s got a point,” ever the wiseass, he chimed in, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Bulldog’s eyes flicked to him, irritation sparking. “You’re not helping.”

“Not trying to.” Silencer shrugged.

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