Page 28 of Her Obsessed Biker
I grab the keys and head outside. Sure enough, my mom’s old beat-up truck is parked near the edge of Rock’s gravel driveway, looking exactly as I left it—minus the fact that someone clearly moved it in the dead of night.
I slide behind the wheel, start the engine, and make the short drive into town.
It’s still early. The sky is a pale wash of gray and gold, and the streets of Jackson Ridge are quiet. There’s only a handful of bikes outside The Black Crown, and not a soul in sight.
Inside, the bar is dim and hushed, nothing like the chaos I walked into yesterday. Just a few men nursing early drinks or coffee, most of them ignoring me completely. I take a tentative step in, scanning the room.
My eyes fall on a woman behind the bar, pouring coffee with the kind of calm that says she’s used to chaos. She’s striking, in a fierce kind of way. Long auburn hair falls over her shoulders,and a sleeve of tattoos coils down her right arm like flames. She’s in tight jeans and a black band tee, a curved knife sheathed neatly on her hip like it’s an extension of her body.
She looks…confident. Sharp. Untouchable.
Everything about her saysdon’t mess with me.
She notices me the second I walk in. Her eyes narrow, not unkindly, just assessing.
“You lost, sweetheart?” Her voice is husky, rich with attitude and a hint of mischief.
I shake my head. “No, I…came for breakfast.”
She dries her hands on a bar towel and steps closer. “Thought so. You don’t look like a regular.”
I offer an awkward smile. “Just passing through.”
“Right.” Her gaze lingers on me a second longer, then she extends a hand across the bar. “Name’s Red. I run this place. And I make a mean plate of eggs if you’re hungry.”
Red.
The name hits something in my memory. Maybe something Rock mentioned last night. Or maybe it’s just fitting.
“Piper,” I say, slipping onto a barstool. “Nice to meet you.”
She gives a small nod and sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. “You too. I take it you’ve already met Prez.”
My heart skips at the sound of his name.
“I…yeah,” I say carefully.
Red gives me a look like she knows exactly what that means. “Mm-hmm.”
But before I can get too flustered, I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like someone is watching me. I turn my head, and there he is.
Wolf.
He’s seated off to the side, near the same shadowed booth Rock occupied last night. He’s big, broad, his graying hair slicked back, shoulders cut from a past life of hard living. He’s got a square jaw and piercing eyes that make me feel like I’m being dissected. He’s not in a cut, but something about him radiates quiet power. Danger wrapped in silence.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I swallow hard, fingers gripping the mug Red gave me. I was prepared to hate him. Or cry. Or throw that stupid letter in his face.
But I wasn’t prepared for…this. For the way his gaze lands on me with something unreadable in it. No recognition. No warmth. Nothing I hoped for.
Red must sense the shift in the room. Her tone softens. “You okay, Piper?”
I nod.
I don’t trust my voice, so I set the mug down and slide off the stool. “I should go.”
“Sure,” Red says, eyes flicking from me to Wolf and back again. “You need anything, you come to me. Got it?”
I nod, already halfway to the door.
