Page 2 of Her Dirty Biker (Savage Kings MC #3)

Chapter two

Diesel

I should’ve walked away the second she said Daddy.

Fuck, I loved it.

It cut right through my defenses and hit something low and dark in me, something I’ve buried deep beneath layers of ink, grease, and blood.

But that look in her eyes…

She didn’t say it to tease. Willow said it to test me, even if she doesn’t know it . And now? I’m failing. Badly.

The alley behind the Black Crown reeks of spilled whiskey and motor oil. I lean against. She’s got no idea what she’s playing with.

Willow Frost. New girl. Twenty-one. Smart mouth. Hips made for riding and a voice that could bring a man to his knees.

I’d seen her a few times at Widow’s Peak. She’s always moving, always hustling. Never flirting too hard, never giving anyone too much of a smile. Like she knows the game but refuses to be a piece on the board.

And then last night? Guardrail tried to get his hands on her.

I was two seconds from breaking his fingers.

I climb on my bike and fire it up. The vibration rolls through me, a temporary distraction from the pulse between my legs and the tension in my chest.

I park down the street from her apartment and kill the engine. Shadows stretch across the cracked sidewalks, the faint hum of neon flickering from a 24-hour diner a block away. Her porch light is on, but the rest of the place is dark.

She’s inside.

I lean back on the seat, watching. I tell myself it’s protection. That’s all it is. Except I know better. Every time I close my eyes, I see her mouth forming that word.

Daddy.

Every part of me that’s spent years buried under silence and scars woke the fuck up . I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake it off.

She doesn’t need a guy like me. I’m thirty-four, I have blood on my hands and a history of broken promises. I fix bikes, keep the club's engines running, and bury secrets where no one can dig them up.

She deserves soft.

I’m not soft. I’m fucking steel.

I don’t sleep. I wait until just after dawn, until I see the faint flicker of light inside her living room. She moves past the window, all soft curves and tired eyes.

She doesn’t see me.

Good.

I peel away from the curb and head to the safehouse on the edge of town. It’s a pretty house we’ve used for patching up brothers, hiding shipments, or stashing people when shit gets hot.

Today, it’s for her.

By the time I roll in, Rock’s already there.

He’s seated at the weathered kitchen table, drinking black coffee and thumbing through a manila folder. Prez is ex-military too—sharp eyes, gray at the temples, the kind of presence that never needs to raise his voice to be obeyed.

“You look like shit,” he says without glancing up.

“Didn’t sleep.”

He hums. “Thought not. You got it bad already?”

“She’s not like the others.”

“No,” he agrees. “She’s not.”

I sit across from him. “Guardrail’s up to something. And she overheard it.”

He lifts a brow. “She told you that?”

“Not exactly. I could see it in her eyes. She’s scared.”

“And?”

“She’s pretending she’s not.”

He chuckles. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

I glare. “This ain’t about me.”

He leans back, folding his arms. “It always is, brother. You want to protect her, but I see the way you look at her. You’re not just trying to keep her safe. You’re trying to keep her . ”

I don’t deny it.

Rock sighs and slides a key across the table. “You’ve got three options. One, you let her go and pretend none of this ever happened. Two, you drag her into club shit and risk her getting hurt. Or three…”

“Three?”

“You get her to trust you. Let her stay here. Keep her safe while we sort this out.”

“She’s not going to like being told what to do.”

He shrugs. “You’ve got that look, Diesel. The one you only get when a girl hits just right. Don’t fuck this up.”

By the time I swing by Willow’s apartment again, the sun’s fully up and the city’s alive. Sirens wailing in the distance, construction echoing, buses rattling past. She’s sitting on the stoop with a paper cup of coffee, barefoot, legs tucked under her.

She sees me and narrows her eyes.

“Do you always just appear like a sexy hallucination or is this just for me?”

“I’m not here to flirt.”

“Shame.” She sips her coffee. “That leather does something for me.”

I grind my teeth. “Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

Her brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not safe for you here.”

“How do you know I’m not safe?” she asks, then adds. “I didn’t ask you to rescue me.”

“You didn’t have to.” I step closer. “You overheard something last night. That makes you a target. The club wants you somewhere safe until we know what we’re dealing with.”

She stands slowly. “And if I say no?”

I stare her down. “Then I throw you over my shoulder and make you come anyway.”

Her lips part slightly.

Shit.

Wrong choice of words.

“You gonna spank me if I fight you?” she says softly, teasing.

My jaw flexes. “I might.”

She breathes in sharply, and for a moment, we stare. Heat. Hunger. A ticking bomb of need.

“Get in the damn truck,” I growl.

She smirks. “Yes, Daddy. ”

The ride to the safehouse is silent, yet electric. Her arms are crossed, her legs pressed tight together, her eyes flicking to me every few seconds like she’s trying to figure out how I’m put together.

She won’t. No one does.

When we pull into the drive, she raises a brow. “Is this your secret murder cabin?”

“Only for women who don’t listen.”

She hums. “Guess I’m screwed.”

You have no idea.

I unlock the door and hold it open. She steps inside, nose wrinkling.

“Charming,” she mutters. “Do all biker places smell like whiskey and gun oil?”

“Only the good ones.”

She wanders the living room, touching nothing but looking at everything. It’s like she’s cataloging exit points—weak spots.

Smart girl.

“This is where you bring all your girls?” she asks, glancing at the couch.

“No.”

“Good. I don’t share.”

The words hang there between us. Heavy. Suggestive. Dangerous.

“You should see the look on your face. I’m joking, obviously,” she fires back, all fire and fearlessness.

I move in closer, until we’re a breath apart. “You don’t want this, Willow. You think you do, but you don’t know what I’m made of.”

Her eyes burn into mine. “Try me.”

I back off because if I don’t, I’ll slam her against the wall and fuck her senseless. That’s not why I brought her here. Protecting her might be a flimsy excuse, given I don’t know what I’m protecting her from, but that’s what this is.

I’m supposed to be keeping her safe. Not imagining how she’d look with her knees spread and her lip between her teeth, moaning for me to ruin her.

I grip the counter so hard my knuckles crack.

She watches me from the hallway. Her shirt is riding up a little, and her legs are bare. Her gaze isn’t soft. It’s full of challenge.

“You wanna know what I overheard?” she asks.

“I’m gonna find out.”

“What if I lie?”

“I’ll know.”

She steps closer. “You always this bossy?”

“Only when someone I care about is in danger.”

That stops her cold. “You don’t know me.”

“I do.”

Silence again. And then, her voice—whisper soft, cracking at the edges. “Okay. I’ll tell you what I heard.”