Page 8 of Her Obsessed Biker (Savage Kings MC #8)

Rock

My knuckles are white on the throttle the whole ride to the clubhouse.

The things Piper told me about that bastard stepfather of hers…they’re still ringing in my ears like war drums. It’s taking everything in me not to turn my bike around, hunt the fucker down, and put a bullet between his eyes. Some men don’t deserve to be fathers.

Memories of my own father just add fuel to the fire. I know the kind of bravery it takes to escape a man like that. I just wish I could have protected Piper from her stepfather sooner.

The second he shows his face, he’s dead.

No questions. No mercy.

The clubhouse looms ahead, all dark wood, corrugated metal, and the hum of danger beneath the surface. The Savage Kings MC insignia hangs high above the entrance—a skull with wings, crowned, with crossed blades behind it. A promise and a warning to anyone who steps inside.

As I roll into the front lot, the boys are already out back, wrenching bikes and shooting the shit. Cruz is leaning over his Harley, tattoos glinting in the sun like war paint. He nods when he sees me, straightens up, and smacks Diesel on the shoulder.

“Prez.”

A chorus of greetings follows.

“Morning, Rock.”

“Lookin’ mean today, boss.”

“Everything good?”

“Good as it gets,” I grunt, killing the engine and stepping off my bike.

Cruz walks over first, a big, broad-shouldered bastard with one cloudy eye and a chipped tooth from a bar fight two years ago. He’s loyal as hell and twice as brutal.

“You heading in for church?” he asks, referring to the club meeting.

“Deadeye already inside?” I ask.

“Yup. With the rest of the top brass.”

“Then let’s get this shit rolling.”

The air inside the clubhouse is thick with sweat, smoke, and engine grease. Pool tables, bar stools, faded photos of our early days on the walls…it’s home. Warped and wild, but ours.

I move through the space, nodding at brothers as I pass—men that I’ve bled with, fought beside, buried secrets for. Some crack open beers as I go by, some slap each other’s backs. But no one steps in front of me.

Because I’m not just their president. I’m their hammer.

I push open the doors to the meeting room, and the low hum of conversation cuts off. Seven men sit around the long oak table—patched members only. The leadership crew. At the far end sits Deadeye, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.

“Prez,” he says with a nod.

“Let’s get started.”

I drop into my chair at the head of the table. The rest follow suit, and the silence settles thick.

Diesel, our sergeant-at-arms, is the first to speak. “Cameras on the north lot picked up that blacked-out SUV again. Same one from last week. No tags. No movement.”

“They’re watching us,” I mutter. “Still not making a move.”

“That’s what bothers me,” Deadeye says. “Feels like a recon pattern. Military-style.”

“Rival crew?” asks Colt, lean with mean eyes and a knife fetish. “Or feds?”

“If it was the feds, they’d be more subtle,” Deadeye replies.

“Unless they want us to know they’re coming,” Diesel adds.

Silence. Then Viper speaks up. Gray beard, wiry frame, ex-Army intel, voice like gravel in a blender.

“Could be the Sons of Decimation sniffing around again. They’ve been getting bolder. Trying to push in on our territory.”

A low murmur spreads. The Sons of Decimation are no joke. No codes. No limits. Burn and pillage types.

“They come sniffing around here again, we light ’em up,” I say.

“Just say the word, Prez,” Cruz grunts, cracking his knuckles.

“Not yet,” I say, firm. “We don’t strike blind. We gather. We wait. And when the time’s right, we cut out the rot.”

The table goes quiet. There’s a shift in the room. No one questions me. Not because they’re scared, but because they trust me. I earned that.

“We up security,” I continue. “Rounds every hour. North and south lots. Double up cameras. No one gets in or out without clearance. No club girls overnight till we know what we’re dealing with. Tighten our fuckin’ circle.”

“Aye,” they echo in unison.

“Second order of business—new recruit,” Deadeye adds. “The kid, Tyler. Think he’s ready to prospect?”

“Let him sweep floors and haul trash a little longer,” I say. “He’s got fire, but no discipline yet. This isn’t a game.”

“Roger that.”

I lean back, tapping my fingers on the table, mind drifting to Piper for a second. Her voice, her soft, oh-so-responsive body and breathy moans. The sadness in her eyes when she told me about her past. She’s bruised but not broken.

My brave little kitty. She’s too good for this life. But she walked into my world, and now she’s under my protection.

“I want a full sweep of all known rival crews within a fifty-mile radius,” I say. “Background checks, new tattoos, new bikes…anything that smells wrong, I want it flagged.”

“Aye.” Diesel nods.

“We got a lot on the line right now,” I add. “The Kings have survived a hell of a lot worse. But we do it smart. We do it together.”

Another chorus of agreement follows. Fists pound the table.

Deadeye gives me a look, unreadable but knowing. He hears the edge in my voice. Sees the heat under the steel.

I stand. “Church adjourned.”

They all rise with me. Usually, no one moves till I leave the room, but I signal for them to go on. I’ve noticed Deadeye rubbing his knuckles together all through the meeting. He only does that when he’s anxious about something.

The men exit the room, the sounds of their boots thudding against the worn wooden floors, mingling with mutters of conversation.

After the last one has left, Deadeye steps forward, arms crossed over his chest.

“This about club business?” I ask, settling back in my chair.

His mouth tightens. “It’s about your girl.”

My spine straightens before I can stop it. “What happened?”

He doesn’t waste words. “Someone’s been asking questions around town. Gas station. Grocery. Even at the garage.”

I go cold. “About her?”

He nods once. “Didn’t use her name, but the description was damn close. Blonde. Early twenties. Driving an old red Ford pickup. Said he was trying to find a missing person. Something about some ‘runaway daughter’ bullshit, but the vibe was off.”

“How off?”

“Too polished to be passing through. Didn’t give a name. Didn’t leave a number. Asked too many questions and then disappeared.”

My jaw clenches. I already know where this is headed.

“Also, her truck was ransacked behind The Black Crown last night,” Deadeye adds grimly. “Nothing was taken, but he made a mess. I asked Tyler to clean things up and drive the truck up to your cabin this morning.”

I shoot to my feet, blood pounding in my ears.

“The bastard,” I growl under my breath.

Deadeye watches me, unreadable. “You got a suspect?”

“Her stepfather,” I growl. “Piper told me he’s a real jerk. God, if he shows his face around here…”

“He’s a dead man,” Deadeye finishes, his voice dripping with ice.

“Damn right.”

I pace for a second, trying to rein in the rage clawing through my gut.

She’s been here for less than two days. I’ve already seen how raw she is, how much she’s been through. The bruises might not be on the surface, but they’re there…buried deep.

She told me she was scared of him. That she ran. And now he’s here?

No fucking way I’m letting him get within a hundred miles of her.

“Lock the perimeter,” I bark. “I want guards posted at the cabin. One at the end of the trail, one at the ridge above the trees. Discreet but armed.”

Deadeye nods. “Done.”

“Put Cruz and Diesel on rotation at The Black Crown. If anyone shows up asking questions, I want them flagged. Interrogated. If they can’t give a clean answer, we detain them. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

I pause, fists clenched. “Pull any security footage from the last twenty-four hours. Roads in, roads out. I want eyes on every vehicle that entered town.”

“What about her?” Deadeye asks, voice low. “You gonna tell her?”

My jaw tightens. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because if she knows, she’ll run,” I mutter, my voice laced with steel. “And I just got her here. I’m not letting her disappear.”

Deadeye studies me. “She means that much?”

I don’t answer right away.

But yeah. She fucking does. More than I ever saw coming.

“She’s mine,” I say finally, unwilling to reveal the depth of my emotion. “Which means she’s under club protection now.”

Deadeye’s eyes widen slightly, catching the emotions bubbling under the surface. He knows me too well, knows that if I claim someone, I mean it.

He nods once. “Then we handle it.”

“Damn right, we do.”

Because nobody touches what’s mine and lives to talk about it.

Especially not the bastard who put that fear in her eyes in the first place.