Page 3 of Blade's Runaway Bride
Reluctantly, she wraps her arms around my waist, her body tense against my back. I can feel her heart racing, a frightened bird trying to break free of its cage.
As I pull onto the road, heading back toward the clubhouse, I wonder what Reaper will say about the runaway bride I'm bringing home. But more importantly, I wonder what she knows about Charles, and whether it will be enough to finally end this war.
What I don't consider, not even for a moment, is why I stopped for her in the first place. Why I, the man they call Blade for both my weapon of choice and my cold, cutting nature, am playing rescue to a woman I should have left by the roadside.
Some questions are better left unasked.
Chapter 2 - Kelly
The motorcycle roars beneath us as I cling to the stranger's back, my fingers digging into the worn leather of his cut.
Wind whips my hair around my face and stings my eyes, bringing fresh tears that quickly dry on my cheeks. My wedding dress flutters behind us like a surrender flag, the fabric I'd once thought beautiful now nothing but a hazardous tangle around my ankles.
I don't even know this man's name. The thought hits me suddenly, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. I'm clutching a nameless biker with a gun and scars like he's my lifeline, because right now, he is.
Running from one dangerous man straight into the arms of another. But something about this one feels different. His eyes aren't cruel, just... empty. Like looking into a deep well where the bottom isn't visible. He didn't pretend to be nice, didn't offer false comfort or promises.
He simply offered help, take it or leave it.
And God help me, I took it.
We've been riding for maybe fifteen minutes when I feel him tense. At first, I think I've done something wrong. Gripped too tight or leaned when I shouldn't have. But then he suddenly accelerates, the bike lurching forward with such force that I nearly slide off the back.
"Hold on," he shouts over his shoulder, voice barely audible above the wind and engine.
I press myself against him, arms locked around his waist as we take a sharp turn off the main road onto a narrow side street.The bike tilts at an angle that makes my stomach drop, and I squeeze my eyes shut, certain we're about to crash.
When I dare to look again, we're racing down a dark street lined with abandoned storefronts, their windows boarded up or broken. This doesn't look like the way to safety. It looks like we're heading deeper into danger.
"What's happening?" I try to yell, but the wind swallows my words.
He doesn't answer, just takes another turn, this one even sharper. I risk a glance behind us and see headlights in the distance, following our path, gaining ground.
My blood turns to ice. They've found me already.
We weave through a series of back alleys and unmarked roads, the bike expertly navigating potholes and debris that would have sent a less experienced rider crashing. The man's body is rigid with concentration, his movements precise and controlled even at this breakneck speed.
After several more turns that leave me completely disoriented, he suddenly cuts the headlight, plunging us into darkness. I stifle a scream as we continue forward, guided only by moonlight. How can he even see where we're going?
Eventually, we slow, turning onto what feels like a gravel path. The bike rumbles more quietly now as we approach what looks like an abandoned warehouse, its silhouette a massive shadow against the night sky.
He stops the bike behind the building, killing the engine. The sudden silence is jarring.
"Get off," he orders, voice low and urgent. "Stay close."
My legs are numb and shaking as I slide off the motorcycle. The torn wedding dress catches on something, and I hear thesatisfying sound of fabric ripping further as I yank it free. Good. Let it fall to pieces.
The man dismounts, drawing his gun again as he scans our surroundings. His face reveals nothing, but there's a new tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before.
"Are they following us?" I whisper, though I already know the answer.
He nods once. "Vultures MC. Two cars."
Terror seizes my chest. "How did they find me so quickly?"
"Questions later." He grabs my elbow, pulling me toward a rusty side door of the warehouse. "Inside. Now."
The door groans as he pushes it open, revealing a cavernous space filled with shadowy shapes—old machinery, crates, forgotten inventory from whatever business once operated here. Moonlight filters through broken windows high above, casting eerie patterns across the concrete floor.
