Page 13 of Rider Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #6)

“It’s not your place to safeguard me anymore.”

“Listen to your ex,” hisses Ryder. He opens the front door and shoves Tristan out of it, his wretched, athletic build falling outside into the night. “Remember what I told you,” Ryder continues. He makes a point of licking his lips. “Salami.”

The door thuds shut.

I think I need a second to sit down.

I pull out a chair and collapse into it.

Saint comes to my aid. “That was intense. Are you okay?”

“Your ex-boyfriend looks like a rat, by the way,” Ash says. “The only thing missing is the tail.”

“Yeah,” chuckles Saint. “He already does the squealing.”

The pair of them fall into roaring laughter.

The rest of the bikers retreat back to their bedrooms, the brothers and I left alone.

The silence is long. A little bit painful. The moment has gone, which is a shame. My pussy has been craving biker dick ever since I stepped foot in here last night.

“Why did you lie about your name?” Ryder asks.

I expected them to be more pissed, but they actually appear more disappointed. I flick my eyes between each of them, regarding their expressions. It’s late. Everybody is both emotionally and physically exhausted. I forgot how much being horny takes it out of you.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Lucia,” Saint says, popping into a seat next to me. “We just had a talking rat enter the Venom Vultures clubhouse. Try us.”

Ugh. Let’s do this quickly.

“Fine,” I huff. “I’m a lawyer.”

“You’re a—?” Ash cuts himself off, eyes shooting to the knife in his brother’s hand. “What kind of lawyer?”

“Unimportant, since I no longer work at the firm. You should probably know that Tristan is a lawyer too. A practicing one who still has his job, bearing in mind that he was the one who recruited me.”

“He fired you?” Saint says, aghast.

“I technically fired myself. I couldn’t stand the idea of sharing a state with him, let alone being in the same office.”

“We’re sorry that happened to you,” Ash says.

I look up, unsure what to make of the apology. I want to think that they’re apologizing as a way to get back into my panties, but their faces look sincere, and when I take a glance at their groins, I don’t see any growing activity.

I scoff. “Why are you apologizing?”

It’s a simple question, but it seems to have stumped them.

“I don’t know,” Ryder says. “Got me.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that motorcyclists know how to make great coffee, given that they’re running on caffeine and rage most of the time throughout the day.

They all rushed out this morning, disappearing—literally—into a cloud of smoke.

Which means I can now drink my coffee in peace.

I keep the mug over my face, peering over the lip at the brothers as they chat about something that seems to be pulling at their last nerve.

“…Are you sure it’s not possible?”

The biker with the computer shakes his head. “Either it’s purely coincidental, or the fucker secretly planted something on her.”

I tear my eyes away when they all turn to look at me.

They push up from their seats and walk over to me. I bite my lip, getting the sudden urge to clamp my thighs together.

Let a girl drink her morning coffee first before getting her soaked through her panties.

They stride over toward me like walking sex, their auras oozing gasoline and pheromones, all of the good stuff.

This is why it confuses me that they’re reluctant to have four-way with me. They never do anything in isolation, always walking around in a three.

Not to worry.

I broke them last night.

I can break them again.

“ Ciao, Jonas Brothers.”

They clearly haven’t had their morning coffee yet.

“Give me your hand,” orders Ash.

“Why? You gonna force a wedding ring onto it?”

I can practically see the steam coming out of their ears.

“It was a joke…”

Do these guys not do jokes? Do biker personalities not stretch past wild sex and cash-in-hand murder?

Ryder gives me a strained look, telling me to knock it off.

I sigh, setting the mug of coffee down. “Fine.” I offer them my hand. “What’s up?”

Ash yanks it toward him, tracing a rough thumb and finger over my palm. He moves to the back of my hand, forearm, elbow.

“If you want to get your hands on me, all you need to do is say so. I just ask that you let me brush my teeth first to get rid of the coffee breath.”

“Nothing’s up,” Ash says, completely ignoring my comment.

Saint keeps his eyes stapled on me. “Try the other.”

Ash takes my other hand without asking, pressing down every inch of my skin the same way he did with the other.

He comes to a halt at the top part of my arm, feeling something hard.

His gray brows scrunch together, deep, fine lines making another appearance.

“That’s my birth control implant,” I say after enduring more squishing.

Not like I ever really fucking needed it with Tristan.

“Oh…” Ash continues his search up to my shoulder, even making it as far as my armpit. His hand is veering to dangerous territory…

“Alright!” Ryder jerks his hand away before he can make it to my breast. “Check every fucking inch of her, why don’t you?”

“What? She might have one in her breast.”

“An implant?” I question.

“No,” he growls, agitated. “A tracker.”

I frown. “You think Tristan installed a tracker into me?”

“Your phone has been dead,” Ash states. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Cash is our tech guy. He can back us up.”

I extend my vision over to the man in the corner. He looks up from his screen to wave me a hello.

I narrow my eyes. How does one get into the Venom Vultures club? Must they have a set number of tattoos? Prominent bone structures?

Be above the age of forty?

“Fuck.” Ash slams his palm down on the table, almost spilling my coffee. “If he didn’t install a tracker, then what?”

“It must be coincidental,” Saint says.

“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Ash huffs out a sigh and then turns to me. “Lucia, what do you think?”

How in the world am I supposed to know? If he was keeping a Tinder profile hidden from me, who the fuck knows what else he kept up those gold cuff-linked sleeves?

“No idea,” I deadpan.

“Well, did he ever scratch you? Did you ever wake up with pain somewhere?”

“Why do you care?” I hitch my eyebrow. “Hm? Answer me that.”

“The club could be threatened,” Ryder answers for him. “This could be bad.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Saint says.

“You had a knife to his throat not ten hours ago. He’s a lawyer who caught us tying his ex-girlfriend up to a table.

He already has enough ammunition to file against us as it is.

If BDSM cult isn’t enough for the court, us threatening him with a knife certainly will be.

” Saint selects a cigarette from his pack and clamps it between his lips, lighting it up. “We’re screwed if he runs his mouth.”

“Then, we know what to do if he does…” Ryder says.

Salami sandwich?

Tristan doesn’t even fucking eat sandwiches, always “watching what he eats.”

I’ve struck gold with the perfect rebound and now there’s a chance it could all be taken from me. Can’t God just do me this one favor and help me get laid? Please?

Also, I’ve been so tied up with fantasizing about what position I want them to take me in, that I haven’t actually thought about what happens to me after the Venom Vultures.

My car is still sitting there outside, waiting to be refueled. Where do I go? To Sin City for some more fun? Back to California to pick up the pieces?

I’m kinda enjoying being in this middle place. Ever since I arrived here, I’ve pressed pause on life. It’s only now dawning on me that at some point, I’m gonna have to get back to reality.

“We should inform the sergeants to keep a watch out for him,” Ash says. “I don’t want any funny business happening.”

“For the time being,” Saint says. “Let’s try not to stress ourselves out too much. I highly doubt one lawyer is going to successfully cross a whole pack of us.”

I’m not so sure…

This is Tristan Hampton we’re talking about, from a family full of politicians. I’m pretty certain his father has gotten away with murder in the past just because he has a talent with words.

It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.

Nevadan sunsets are so much prettier than the ones in California.

I moved there at sixteen years, fully convinced that I was going to be living in a state of eternal sunshine, the one that everybody wished they could live in, but couldn’t because they didn’t have the finances.

The novelty wore off after a week. Sure, it’s quite something driving down Highway One during golden hour, the coastline on your right and the redwoods on your left, but you expect that.

You see photographs all over Instagram. Road-trip reels.

Everybody vacations to California and posts at least one sunset picture.

I couldn’t believe it at first when Mamma decided to move our life out there permanently. As soon as I was getting ready to board that transatlantic flight, I didn’t care about Papa’s affair anymore. In fact, I remember actually being grateful.

But here in Nevada, the sunsets are different. Special. Nobody comes to this corner of the world. It’s not touristy, so there are no preconceived thoughts as to what it might be like.

I never thought open land could offer so much beauty.

I sit on the veranda watching the sun come down, gradients of pink and orange filling the sky. It’s beautiful. Truly. Everything here is so far removed from the rest of the world that it almost makes you feel like you’re living in a different world completely.

Which is exactly what I need right now.

Until my bratty ex somehow found out my location and came back with his tail between his legs.

I hitch up my corset and head back inside, a chill to the air. I won’t lie—this outfit does look a little bit like a medieval wench costume, but it’s all they had.

“How’s it going, boys?” I walk behind the bar and start to get things ready for the night ahead.

“I don’t know,” Ryder says. “Are you planning on seducing the whole clubhouse again?”

They refused my proposal of group sex…