Page 2 of Her Obsessed Biker (Savage Kings MC #8)
Rock
She’s lying.
That much is obvious the moment she opens her mouth.
Doesn’t matter that she’s got the kind of voice that makes a man imagine things he has no business imagining. Sweet and soft, like honey stirred into smoke. But her words? They’re all wrong. Too fast. Too clipped. No real conviction behind them.
You don’t just walk into The Black Crown. Not unless you’re suicidal, stupid, or searching for something you don’t know how to ask for.
And this girl—this long-legged blonde in skintight jeans and a T-shirt that hugs curves made to ruin a man’s focus…she doesn’t look suicidal or stupid. She looks lost. Desperate. Nervous, even though she’s trying like hell to pretend otherwise.
Which means she’s definitely searching for something.
So what does she want? This bombshell who walked into my territory like she owned the damn place. When she strutted in, my first instinct was to throw her out. The second? Press her up against the wall and find out if her mouth is as sweet as it looks.
I hate that I even had a second instinct.
I don’t lose control. Ever.
But in seconds, she managed to get under my skin, and I don’t like it one bit.
“The Swim Lake Willowmere Challenge?” I repeat, raising my brows slightly.
“That’s what I said,” she says, dropping her eyes to avoid my gaze. “I’m here for the swim challenge. I heard it’s a big deal.”
Bullshit.
The Black Crown isn’t a tourist pit stop, and no one comes sniffing around the club without a reason. Especially not wide-eyed blondes who smell like trouble and taste like lies.
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make her squirm, then I step in closer, invading her space.
“What’s your name?” I let my voice drop, deep and unrelenting.
She blinks, once, and for a split second I see the struggle in her eyes. She’s probably wondering whether or not to give me a real identity.
“Piper,” she murmurs, clearing her throat slightly.
I don’t say anything for a while, just stare into her eyes until she drops her gaze, a deep blush spreading across her chin.
She’s adorable. Just like her name.
“C’mon,” I say, jerking my chin toward the entrance. “Let’s get you registered in the competition.”
I lead her back into the bar, keeping a close eye on her. Her movement seems too stiff, like she’s not used to attention. She walks like she’s trying to blend in but doesn’t know how. Like every nerve is on fire and she’s doing her best not to show it.
She shouldn’t be here.
But I can’t deny the punch of heat that rolls through me every time I look at her. I’m not blind. She’s fucking gorgeous. Curves that would make a priest sweat, a mouth made for sin, and those big blue eyes that flick between fear and fire like she can’t decide which way to break.
“Blaze,” I call out as I spot one of the younger guys from the crew lounging near the pool table.
He straightens immediately. “Yeah, Prez?”
“Get her registered. Swim challenge roster’s still open.”
Blaze grins at her, already eyeing her up and down. “Sure thing.”
She flinches, barely but I catch it. And something about the tremble in her fingers when she takes the pen from Blaze pisses me off more than it should.
She’s scared. Trying not to show it. And that does something to me I don’t like.
I don’t get soft. Not for anyone. But I’m already calculating the risk of letting her walk back out that door on her own.
She finishes signing, and Blaze starts talking her through the rules. I should turn away, but I don’t. I watch the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The way she worries her bottom lip with her teeth. The way she looks back, just once…like she knows I’m still watching.
Damn right, I am.
“Prez.”
I turn to see my enforcer walking toward me in his usual slow, stealthy strides.
Diego Sanchez, aka Deadeye.
To most, he’s nightmare fuel—tall, lean, face carved from granite, scars slicing down his left cheek, and one puckered bullet wound right at his temple. People whisper all kinds of things about him. That he’s killed more men than cancer. That he sees everything. That he doesn’t sleep.
They’re not wrong.
But they don’t know the whole story.
Deadeye’s been with the Savage Kings MC since I was patched in. Before that, even. He doesn’t speak unless it’s important. Doesn’t breathe unless there’s a reason. He’s the kind of man who moves only when it’s time to make someone disappear.
He’s one of the few men alive that I trust with my back.
“Let’s talk,” he mutters.
I nod and follow him to the back booth. Deadeye doesn’t waste words. Never has. So, if he wants to talk, it’s gotta be serious.
“What’s up?” I ask as we sit.
“Camera on the north lot picked up a vehicle. No front plates, blacked out. Sat there for almost ten minutes, then vanished.”
“Did they get out?”
“No. Just parked. Watched. Left.”
I nod slowly. “Outsider?”
“Not local. Cruz is running the image. We’ll know more by morning.”
I glance back at the bar where Piper is still talking to Blaze, arms crossed like a barrier. But I see the way she stiffens when someone brushes too close. I notice the guarded posture. The fear.
She’s hiding something.
“You think she’s connected?” Deadeye asks, following my line of sight.
“No.” The word leaves my mouth before I think twice. “But I don’t like unknown variables.”
Deadeye watches me, silent. I know what he sees. The look in my eyes. The way I haven’t stopped tracking her since she walked through that damn door.
He doesn’t miss a thing, that’s for damn sure.
“She’s gonna be a problem,” he mutters.
“Maybe,” I admit.
“Or she’s already in one.”
That hits deeper than I want to admit.
I nod in her direction. “Keep an eye on her.”
Deadeye arches a brow. “You want her followed?”
“No,” I say. “Just…watched.”
He doesn’t push. Just leans back, unreadable. He knows when to speak and when to shut the fuck up. And right now, his silence says everything.
This girl is too soft for my world. Too sweet. And too fucking tempting.
But she walked into my territory.
And I’m not letting her slip away without answers.
Or maybe, not at all.