Page 15 of Rider Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #6)

Venom Vultures clubhouse—the anti heroes of Nevada.

I’m about to head back to the bar when the door bursts open. Ryder, already in front of it, sticks out his arm to stop the man from entering.

Whoever this visitor is, he’s not wanted.

“Fuck,” I hear Ash say under his breath as he leaves the bar. Saint leaves the decks, rushing over.

“We’re gonna play this game, are we?” laughs the man. He takes something out of his pants.

A knife.

My pulse starts to pound in my chest as I watch the blade move into the light, shining. The attacker takes his time placing it at Ryder’s throat. He’s nowhere near as tall as Ryder, but he doesn’t let that knock his confidence.

“What do you want, Manual?” Ash asks.

I flick my eyes to the floor, recalling this name from somewhere.

It takes a second for the penny to drop.

Manual Lombardi.

This was the man they were discussing yesterday in the meeting. The sex trafficker. The one who has been AWOL for the past six months.

It looks like he’s finally come out of hiding.

He’s not a pleasant-looking man. I can’t get a full view because he’s standing directly behind Ryder, but I can see his mismatched eyes.

The only emotion inside of them is hate, like he’s angry at the world for something.

Maybe he’s mad that time took away his hairline too early.

At a guess, I’d say that he’s a similar age to the brothers—mid to late forties.

But the receding hairline tells a different story.

He looks terrible. Like a vampire that needs fresh, young blood to stay alive.

“It’s nice to see you materialize out of thin air,” grits Ryder.

Manual tightens his lock on him. “You’re a cocky little bastard, aren’t you?”

“Was that insult intended for me, or yourself?”

“Haha,” he says dryly. “Funny.”

Other club members enter the scene, cocking guns.

I turn around, stunned. I don’t know what scares me more—the fact that a sex trafficker has one of my biker brothers at knife point, or that every single biker in this room now has a gun in their hand.

Ash and Saint included.

“You can’t kill me without killing your dearly beloved brother,” Manual says, using Ryder as a shield.

I watch Ryder. He’s trying to find a way out of this, eyes darting this way and that to salvage an escape. The trouble is, every time he moves, that knife gets even closer to his neck.

And it’s far too close for my liking.

“I repeat myself,” Ash says. “What do you want?”

Circumstances aside, Ash truly looks delicious, especially with that gun in his hand. I wonder how many felonies these guys have committed? How many times they’ve washed enemy blood from their skin, or broken human bones with their bare hands?

Ash definitely seems like the type to have done all of those things. I’m convinced all three of them have bones made from steel, but Ash especially looks like he inherited genes from Godzilla.

“I want the girl.”

Of course.

Manual’s sickening eyes veer over to me.

All I can do is roll my eyes. Tell us something more predictable, I dare you. Manual Lombardi is here to take me to his quarters. Surprise, surprise.

“Yeah, that’s not happening, pal,” Ash says. He cocks his gun. “I highly suggest you return to wherever it is you came from unless you want us to blow out your eyes.”

“A blind rapist,” exclaims another club member. “That’s punchy.”

“Continue with the threats, gentlemen. Feel free to humor yourself.” Manual tightens his grip on Ryder.

“None of you are in any position to make threats. This is all very simple and won’t require any one of you to move a muscle.

I know how much you’re all dying to get back to bed, or drink, or do whatever fucked-up kinky shit deranged men like you get a kick out of. ”

He’s one to talk.

“All I ask is that you stand aside and hand over Lucia.”

Ash and Saint tense up. They’re asking the same question as me—how the fuck does this bastardo know my name?

Manual sneers. “You have upset one of my men, gentlemen, therefore you have also upset me.”

I feel the men looking at each other, trying to work out what this asshole is talking about. Nobody seems to draw any conclusions.

“An eye for an eye,” continues Manual, turning back to Ryder. “How does it feel to be the one under the knife, instead of holding it?”

“What are you talking—” Ryder cuts himself off, his eyes turning vacant. He must be remembering last night.

When he held a knife against Tristan…

My heart skips a beat.

My stomach feels like it has eaten itself.

Tristan and Manual are…in an alliance?

I turn to Ash and Saint and see them regarding me with hardened expressions. This realization is only just dawning on them too.

This is betrayal in its cruelest form. I feel my hands curling into fists at my sides. That fucker. So much for being the lead handler at Gardener Legislation & Co.

Maybe that means that we’re off the hook, since Tristan has some unlawful secrets of his own. He’s been working with a sex trafficker?

Why?

Now, my stomach feels like it’s filling with lead. I can’t move my body. I go to inhale a breath, but even that is a challenge.

Was it all lies?

Have I been dating an undercover sex trafficker?

The question only leaves me with more. Why did he want to marry me? Did he actually love me? Was it all just a game of manipulation?

Manual’s grating voice filters back into my ears. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he hisses into Ryder’s ear. “You have some mouth. I bet you were the one who threatened to cut up my man’s cock into bite-size pieces.”

“No,” huffs Ryder. “Salami slices, actually.”

Manual growls, shoving Ryder even closer into his chest.

I swallow thickly, my mind reeling again.

The wedding ring wasn’t a token of appreciation. It was a fucking cuff for him to have control over me.

In a backward way, I’m thankful to Willow. If she hadn’t turned her back on me and kissed Tristan, chances are I’d be married, completely under his control.

I bite my lip. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind submission and surrender if it’s for the right man… men. But for Tristan, I would never.

I wouldn’t have surrendered to him even before all of this mess. He couldn’t even hold me at gunpoint and make me now.

“How long have you been working with Tristan?” I ask.

Manual turns his head away from Ryder to look at me. “Ah. So she does speak.”

And you haven’t heard anything yet.

“Tell me,” I demand.

“How about we have this conversation away from here? Your husband is waiting for you.”

“Tristan is not her husband,” Saint says. “Lucia will be going nowhere.”

The others are in agreement.

The blade is now touching Ryder’s skin. If Manual is a serial rapist, decapitation will be child’s play.

This was all supposed to be a little bit of fun.

I barely know Ryder, yet my pulse is pounding at, like, two hundred beats per minute for him. Am I afraid to witness murder, or am I actually scared to see Ryder drop dead to the floor?

“We’re running low on time, boys. Which one will it be?” Manual asks.

“None.” A bullet flies out of Ash’s gun, shattering one of the glass windows. This stalls Manual for a moment, his grip on Ryder loosening as he ducks the shattering glass.

Chaos breaks out, men rushing forward to give Manual a piece of their mind. Bullets sail through the atmosphere, the loud shots sending a ringing through my ear.

I hold my breath and squat down, trying to find shelter. I know it’s not me that they’re after, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get accidently shot.

Afraid for my life, I scramble under a table like a scared little mouse and take up camp under there, letting the bikers do their thing.

Bullets explode through the room like fireworks. I peek out from under the table and watch as one of them knocks my favorite bottle of tequila off the bar shelf, the glass raining to the ground.

I look the other way and see that Manual has already made a start for the exit.

But he’s not quick enough.

Ash grabs Ryder by the hem of his shirt, tearing him away from Manual and dodging another bullet. The shot doesn’t quite reach the fucker, which is unlucky, but it’s enough to stall him again.

And then I lose sight of him.

“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath, heart beating the hardest it has ever done in my life.

Where is he?

That’s when a hand reaches out, dragging me from under the table.

Fuck.

“These men might tell you what you want to hear, girl, but they prioritize their own even if they have a pretty woman like you,” Manual says in my ear.

At least drink some fucking mouthwash before getting all up in my face, disgusting man.

I whip around and see them all crowding around Ryder, patting him up and down to make sure he hasn’t got any injuries.

My stomach churns, a sour feeling passing through it. I don’t know why I feel disappointed. I knew all of this from the get-go. I wasn’t expecting them to look out for me…

But it would’ve been nice.

“You’re coming with me.”

I twist and turn but Manual is strong. Much more stronger than he looks.

“Hey!” shouts Ash, breaking away from the cluster of men. He charges forward, but it’s all wasted effort. I’m already being dragged down from the veranda and shoved into the back of a car way too nice to be owned by a sex trafficker.

More gunshots ripple through the atmosphere. One even makes it to the car window, the glass shattering. But the car is already in motion, speeding away onto open roads.

Adrenaline runs through me. The smashed back window is the only shot I have at salvaging an escape. It’s big enough for me to slither out.

I kick off my shoe and hit the boot against the glass over and over. More glass breaks away, shards collecting on the seat.

That’s when the fucker decides to swerve.

I’m knocked off-balance, and the boot leaves my hand, flying out of the window, leaving me empty-handed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Nice try,” chuckles Manual from the front.

I bite my lip.

Time for Plan B.

Pushing all thoughts of how much this is going to hurt to the back of my mind, I thrust my elbow through the glass, creating more of an opening.

Pain explodes, blood oozing out of the wound. Is that a shard of glass stuck into my skin? I exhale a shaky breath and resort to other means, lifting my foot into the air, taking over with another body part.

A force drags me away. “We can’t let you go and get yourself all dirty.”

“Take me back,” I order. It’s nothing but a pathetic whimper.

I look at my elbow, containing the blood with my hand. It’s more painful than I thought. Maybe even more fucking painful than Tristan cheating on me at my own wedding.

I grimace, trying to tweezer the shard out of my skin with shaking fingers.

“Leave it,” commands Manual. He looks over at me from the rearview mirror, his pale face making it seem like a ghost is in control of the vehicle. “You’ll only make things worse by taking it out.”

Am I supposed to take medical advice from a rapist?

I bring myself away from the window, not wanting the next shard to end up in my ass cheek.

Maybe I’m not at a total loss. I’m sure the bikers will be hopping onto their motorcycles and coming to my rescue in no time.

I kneel up on the seat and take a look out the window, my heart sinking when I see nothing but darkness. No headlights. No movement. Nothing.

I sink back into the seat, wanting to crawl into the leather and never return. This man is dangerous, the bikers are well aware of this, yet they’re not doing anything about it. They’re not chasing me. There’s no urgency.

Because it’s not worth it to forfeit the club.

I shut my eyes, a sharp pain cutting through my chest. It hurts more than the pain in my elbow.

Manual was right. They might pretend to care, but at the end of the day, they always choose themselves.

They might go far to get laid, but they’re not gonna risk their brotherhood. Their words were empty. They were just trying to charm me into the bedroom.

But can I blame them? When I first entered the club, there might as well have been a big red flag pitched outside in the sand wafting back and forth.

I knew this was going to be trouble.

But I entered anyway.

I didn’t trust them, not once, so I’m unsure why I’m getting so hung up over the situation. I shouldn’t be getting mad at them, but for some reason, I’m fucking seething. The blood running through my veins feels more like lava, my entire body burning up, both from pain and anger.

Porca puttanas , the lot of them.

Would it have changed things if their names were inked into my butt cheek?

Probably not.

I clench my eyes shut. This is my fault. I should have escaped. I was never imprisoned, not really—the doors were unlocked. I had many chances to leave and get away, but I chose to stay just because I wanted a good, regrettable fuck to set me straight again.

But it’s their fault for being so effortlessly charming.

I take another look out the back window.

Nope.

Not a soul out there for miles.

Face it—nobody was ever coming to save me.

Men are predictable. The more I get involved with, the more my belief is proven to be true. They only look out for themselves in this world. Whether it’s their lust or how much cash they can get their hands on, everything is rooted in selfishness.

It’s a man’s world, and I’m just living in it.

I’ll be the first to prove that wrong.

Game on, Manual. Give me everything you’ve got.

What doesn’t kill you makes you fucking stronger.