Page 3 of Her Obsessed Biker
He tilts his head, curious.
“I’m looking for someone. A man. I don’t have much to go on, just a name—Wolf. He’d be in his fifties, maybe older. You ever heard of—”
“Who the hell are you?” The deep voice cuts through the alley like a blade through silk.
The kid flinches and practically jumps back. My heart slams into my ribs as I turn toward the voice.
And there he is. The man from the bar.
Only now, he’s not shrouded in shadows. He’s here. In full view. And holy hell, up close, he’s even more dangerous-looking.
He’s at least six-four. Broad chest, thick arms, ink crawling from beneath the sleeves of his cut. Black tee stretched tight over muscle. A thick beard frames a mouth made for sin, and his eyes…those eyes. Sharp, dark, and unrelenting. They pin me where I stand like he’s sizing me up for the kill or the taking. I can’t tell which.
He moves like a soldier. Controlled, coiled, every step echoing with authority. His presence fills the alley like smoke, creeping into my lungs, my bloodstream, my bones. My pulse trips over itself.
Every instinct screams danger. Every nerve sings for more.
The heat in my belly explodes back to life, now tenfold. I hate how my body reacts to him, how my breath catches, how my legs feel suddenly shaky.
This man is chaos wrapped in leather and heat. And he’s looking at me like I just became his problem.
Or his prey.
Maybe both.
The boy doesn’t say a word, just dips his head and backs away, his sneakers scraping quietly across the concrete as he disappears down the alley, like he knows better than to be caught in whatever’s about to happen.
And then I’m alone.
With him.
The man with the molten-dark eyes and thundercloud presence. The one who makes my skin feel too tight and my heartbeat feel like a ticking bomb in my chest.
He steps closer, closing the space between us with slow, deliberate movements that send a chill racing up my spine. His shadow falls over me. Heavy. Inescapable.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” he says, voice low and rough like gravel soaked in whiskey. “Who the hell are you, and what do you want?”
There’s no warmth in his tone. No flirtation. Just hard-edged suspicion wrapped in dominance.
I freeze.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. I don’t know how to lie to a man like him. Not when his eyes feel like X-rays, burning right through whatever walls I’ve managed to build.
Still, I try.
“I—I’m just visiting,” I manage to say, forcing a light shrug. “Passing through town. Stopped in for a drink, that’s all.”
His gaze sharpens. His lips twitch, barely, but it’s not amusement. It’s a warning. The kind of smile that says I see you, and I don’t like what I see.
“Try again,” he says, voice clipped. “This isn’t the kind of bar people just ‘stop in’ to. You don’t belong here. Everyone inside knows it. So how about you quit wasting my time?”
I swallow, hard. My palms are damp, and my brain races for something, anything that’ll get me out of this moment.
I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t say I’m looking for a man called Wolf, who might be my father, who might have left my mother brokenhearted with nothing more than a scrawled signature on a love letter. I can’t tell him I ran from the only life I’ve ever known because the man who raised me turned out to be a monster.
So I blurt out the first thing I can think of.
“I—I’m here for the Swim Lake Willowmere Challenge.”
