Page 9 of Her Obsessed Biker (Savage Kings MC #8)

Piper

After Rock leaves, silence settles in like a thick blanket. I stand in his kitchen, the scent of coffee lingering in the air, and try to breathe past the storm inside me.

Too much is happening all at once. I’m overwhelmed. Scared.

Not of Rock. Never of him.

But of this…feeling.

This pull between us that feels too strong for how little we actually know each other.

I’ve spent years building walls, brick by brick, protecting myself, relying on no one.

But one look from Rock and everything starts to crumble.

He makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never known.

When he calls me kitty , it does something to me. Softens me. Unravels me.

And for the first time in my life, I want to give up control.

I want to be his .

And that terrifies me more than anything.

I shake off the thought and gather my clothes from the floor to get dressed.

Jeans, a plain T-shirt, and my boots. As I’m brushing my hair, I glance around, wondering how I’m supposed to get to The Black Crown.

Rock didn’t say anything about a ride. My stomach growls—coffee wasn’t nearly enough.

I figure I can grab something to eat at the bar.

That’s when I notice the truck keys sitting on the table near the couch.

My truck.

I left it at the bar last night…which means Rock must’ve had someone bring it up here.

A little flutter dances in my chest, and I press my lips together to stop the smile tugging at the corners. Of course he took care of it. Of course he took care of me.

I grab the keys and head outside. Sure enough, my mom’s old beat-up truck is parked near the edge of Rock’s gravel driveway, looking exactly as I left it—minus the fact that someone clearly moved it in the dead of night.

I slide behind the wheel, start the engine, and make the short drive into town.

It’s still early. The sky is a pale wash of gray and gold, and the streets of Jackson Ridge are quiet. There’s only a handful of bikes outside The Black Crown, and not a soul in sight.

Inside, the bar is dim and hushed, nothing like the chaos I walked into yesterday. Just a few men nursing early drinks or coffee, most of them ignoring me completely. I take a tentative step in, scanning the room.

My eyes fall on a woman behind the bar, pouring coffee with the kind of calm that says she’s used to chaos.

She’s striking, in a fierce kind of way.

Long auburn hair falls over her shoulders, and a sleeve of tattoos coils down her right arm like flames.

She’s in tight jeans and a black band tee, a curved knife sheathed neatly on her hip like it’s an extension of her body.

She looks…confident. Sharp. Untouchable.

Everything about her says don’t mess with me.

She notices me the second I walk in. Her eyes narrow, not unkindly, just assessing.

“You lost, sweetheart?” Her voice is husky, rich with attitude and a hint of mischief.

I shake my head. “No, I…came for breakfast.”

She dries her hands on a bar towel and steps closer. “Thought so. You don’t look like a regular.”

I offer an awkward smile. “Just passing through.”

“Right.” Her gaze lingers on me a second longer, then she extends a hand across the bar. “Name’s Red. I run this place. And I make a mean plate of eggs if you’re hungry.”

Red.

The name hits something in my memory. Maybe something Rock mentioned last night. Or maybe it’s just fitting.

“Piper,” I say, slipping onto a barstool. “Nice to meet you.”

She gives a small nod and sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. “You too. I take it you’ve already met Prez.”

My heart skips at the sound of his name.

“I…yeah,” I say carefully.

Red gives me a look like she knows exactly what that means. “Mm-hmm.”

But before I can get too flustered, I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like someone is watching me. I turn my head, and there he is.

Wolf.

He’s seated off to the side, near the same shadowed booth Rock occupied last night.

He’s big, broad, his graying hair slicked back, shoulders cut from a past life of hard living.

He’s got a square jaw and piercing eyes that make me feel like I’m being dissected.

He’s not in a cut, but something about him radiates quiet power. Danger wrapped in silence.

My heart hammers in my chest, and I swallow hard, fingers gripping the mug Red gave me. I was prepared to hate him. Or cry. Or throw that stupid letter in his face.

But I wasn’t prepared for…this. For the way his gaze lands on me with something unreadable in it. No recognition. No warmth. Nothing I hoped for.

Red must sense the shift in the room. Her tone softens. “You okay, Piper?”

I nod.

I don’t trust my voice, so I set the mug down and slide off the stool. “I should go.”

“Sure,” Red says, eyes flicking from me to Wolf and back again. “You need anything, you come to me. Got it?”

I nod, already halfway to the door.

I don’t look back.

Outside, the sky is brighter now, but it might as well be storming in my chest. Grizz Calloway didn’t say a word to me. Not one.

And for reasons I don’t fully understand, that hurts more than I thought it would.

I don’t even remember walking out the door. One moment I’m in the bar, Red’s voice echoing in my ears, the next I’m halfway down the side street behind The Black Crown, trying to breathe past the pressure building in my chest.

Why didn’t he say anything?

Why couldn’t he just look at me and see?

He loved my mother, if his letter was anything to go by…so why can’t he accept the fruit of their affair?

Maybe because your mother was an engaged woman who threw her conscience away for a night and ghosted the man for twenty-two years, says a mocking voice in my head.

I’m so caught up in my own thoughts I don’t notice the shadow stepping out from behind the dumpster until it’s too late.

A hand clamps around my upper arm, yanking me back. I spin on instinct, but the moment I see his face, the world seems to tilt sideways.

No.

No, no, no.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says, like we’re meeting at a church picnic.

My stepfather.

The monster I ran from. His breath reeks of alcohol, his eyes looking more sunken that when I last saw him three days ago.

It feels like a lifetime.

I open my mouth to scream, but I don’t get the chance. His fist comes down hard on my neck. A flash of white pain blurs my vision, my body instantly going weak. My legs give way beneath me as I give in to the darkness that’s rapidly consuming me.

And as I go under, the only thought that surfaces is of him .

My Rock.

I should’ve told him that I love him.

Now, it’s too late.