Page 14 of Sexting the Bikers (Ruthless Riders #2)

KATYA

I pace by the window, arms crossed tight, but it’s not the chill in the room that makes me cold. It’s Reaper’s voice echoing in my head— You’re going back to Novikov. Like I’m a package, a problem to be returned.

God. I should’ve known. For all their tough talk and leather and loyalty, they’re still men playing a game I was born into.

I stare out, not really seeing anything but my own reflection in the glass.

My lips press into a line. I have to get out.

I have to think . Before this turns into something worse.

I don’t know how long I have before Novikov figures out what happened—or sends someone worse than that damn lieutenant.

Behind me, I hear footsteps and the low creak of the floorboard. Bishop.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice cuts in sharp. “Get away from the window.”

I don’t turn, not at first. “So now you care?”

His brows snap together, confused and pissed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I glare at him, defiance pouring out of every word. “You were ready to send me off to—” I choke on the rest, the truth too dangerous to spit out.

Bishop studies me, voice suddenly lower, searching. “What’s really going on, Katya? What are you hiding?” He steps closer, gaze hard as steel. “Why don’t you want your family to go to the wedding?”

My mouth clamps shut. I can’t risk it. Not yet.

The room tightens with unsaid things. And then—without warning—a bullet rips through the glass, spraying shards everywhere. Time stutters. Bishop tackles me to the ground as another round punches through the wall, glass raining over us both.

We hit the floor hard, Bishop shielding me with his body as chaos erupts outside. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, and I can taste blood in the back of my throat, adrenaline washing every other thought away.

Bishop half drags, half pulls me into the hallway, glass crunching under his boots. My head is spinning, adrenaline roaring in my veins, but I force myself upright. We barely get clear before Dog rounds the corner, wild-eyed.

“What the hell happened?” he asks, voice pitched low but urgent.

“They’re attacking already,” Bishop says, grim and breathless.

Dog looks me up and down, hands hovering like he wants to check for wounds. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, brushing dust from my arm, trying to steady my voice. My hands won’t stop shaking.

“We need to know how many are out there,” Bishop says, glancing from me to Dog. He’s already calculating, planning.

Dog nods. “We only saw one sedan, but there could be more. I swear I heard them earlier, moving around.”

Bishop’s mouth sets in a hard line. He’s angry, but it’s a cold anger, all calculation and ice.

Reaper comes barreling down the hall, gun already drawn, but Bishop lifts a hand and gestures sharply for him to crouch. Reaper does, eyes raking the hallway, then glancing at the splintered door, then finally—almost reluctantly—at me.

“Front door reinforced?” Bishop asks.

“Yes,” Reaper grunts. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but he drifts off, eyes lingering on me longer than he means to. I realize he’s checking if I’m hurt. If I’m still in one piece.

I swallow, forcing my back straight, refusing to let any of them see how shaken I am. I keep my voice flat, even as my pulse hammers in my ears. “What now?”

Bishop’s jaw is tight, his eyes scanning every shadow like he’s seeing threats in the drywall. “We can’t do anything until we know what we’re up against,” he mutters. He’s already moving before the words finish leaving his mouth. “Let me check the security cams.”

He crouches low, all muscle and tension, and crawls to the first room on the right—just past where the bullet tore through the hallway.

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off my view of the monitors.

I hate not knowing. I hate waiting, useless, heart slamming so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it.

Dog’s beside me, crouched but restless, fingers twitching as he peers around the corner. Reaper kneels by the door, gun drawn, eyes fixed on the entryway like he can keep danger out by sheer force of will.

A minute ticks by—maybe more. Every second feels like an hour.

Finally, Bishop returns, shutting the door gently behind him. His expression is even grimmer than before, but his voice is steady.

“I don’t see anyone else on the property. Just the one sedan, empty now. No movement in the brush, no heat signatures, nothing on the outbuildings.”

Reaper’s voice is a low growl, echoing down the hallway. “What the fuck are they planning?” He’s tense, knuckles white around the grip of his gun. Nobody answers. Nobody knows.

I bite my lip, scanning the shadowy corners of the hall.

Everything feels wrong, stretched too tight, like something’s about to snap.

Then—soft, almost buried under the hush—there’s a sound I nearly miss.

Faint at first, so faint I think I’m imagining it.

But then I catch it again, unmistakable—my phone ringtone. The one I never changed from default.

It comes from somewhere farther down the hall, muffled and insistent.

My heart leaps. “I need to get to my phone,” I say as I turn to Bishop. “It might be important.”

Reaper cuts in. “How would he know where it is?”

Bishop doesn’t look at me—he looks away, jaw tense. “It’s in my office,” he says. “She was charging it in my room last night.”

A flicker of heat crawls up my neck. I know Reaper catches it—he’s watching Bishop closely, the kind of look that dissects more than it asks, like he’s trying to solve an equation with two missing variables.

Dog raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word.

Despite the tension—despite the bullets and the fear and the way my stomach knots with worry—I feel my cheeks go warm. I hate that I blush. I hate that Bishop’s admission means anything at all, but it does, and everyone in this hallway can probably see it.

“I need my phone,” I say again, pushing past embarrassment, focusing on what matters. “It could be my family. Or Novikov. Or—” I cut myself off before I say too much. Before I give anything else away.

Reaper’s gaze is unreadable, but he nods, once, curt. “Dog, go with her. Keep your heads down.”

Dog’s already moving, flashing me a grin that’s just a little too knowing. I duck my head, willing the blush to fade, and follow him toward the office.

We slip into Bishop’s office, the lights still off, air thick with old books and the faint trace of last night. My heart stutters as I spot my phone on the corner of the desk, the screen glowing with an incoming call.

I lunge for it, thumb shaking as I check the number. “It’s my cousin, Alexy.” I hit answer, but just as I lift the phone, the screen flickers, then dies—cold and black in my hand.

“Shit.” I squeeze the phone, trying not to scream. “I need to get back to him—he’s the only one who might believe me.”

Dog takes the phone, flips it over in his hand. “Might just be the battery,” he says, but the calm in his voice is forced, not quite reaching his eyes.

I look up at him, desperate. “What do we do?”

He shrugs, pulling out his own phone and handing it to me. “You can use mine. If you remember his number.”

“I do.” I dial, fingers flying on the keypad. It rings, once, twice—then Alexy picks up.

“Who is this?”

“Oh, thank God, Alexy—where are you?” My voice comes out frantic.

“Katya?” he says.

Before he can say anything else, the words tumble out of me, all panic, no filter. I switch to Russian so Dog doesn’t understand me. “It’s a trap, you need to stop the others, there’s no wedding, he’s going to kill everyone. You need to get me—please—just listen?—”

I feel Dog’s eyes on me, searching for the truth behind my panic. His face gives nothing away—no judgment, no sympathy, just that steady, unreadable stare.

“I can give you my address,” I say quickly, pulse racing. “You can come?—”

Alexy’s silence stretches, impossibly long.

Finally, his voice—flat, almost hollow. “I know where you are, Katya.”

Everything in me goes still. My blood runs cold.

He knows where I am.

How? Why is he so calm?

“How did you get to the bikers’ hangout?” Alexy asks, his voice too steady, too casual. “That part I don’t understand.”

I press my fingers to my forehead, the urge to scream rising in my throat. “Is that really what you’re worried about?”

He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “No. But you always surprise me, Katya.”

I grit my teeth. “This isn’t the time for that?—”

“Actually, on the contrary, it is,” Alexy interrupts, voice suddenly sharper, colder. “You don’t understand, Katya. We know this. We’re ready.”

My whole body goes cold, the phone slick in my hand. “Alexy?—”

“Come out to the car now so we can finish this.”

The line goes dead.

My blood pounds so loud I almost don’t hear anything else. I stare at Dog, words trapped in my mouth, realization sinking in.

Dog’s eyes are fixed on me, confusion lining his features. “What happened?”

I swallow, my pulse racing as reality settles in. “It’s not Novikov’s men out there. It’s my family,” I say, voice trembling but fierce. “They’re here, Dog.”

He blinks, startled. “What? How did they know you’re here?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. But I need to leave—right now. I have to get to them before?—”

I make for the door, ready to run straight out, but before I can take two steps, Bishop and Reaper appear in the doorway, blocking my exit. They move together, bodies filling the frame, leaving nowhere for me to go.

“Not so quick,” Reaper says, voice calm but firm, gaze locked on mine. “You’re not leaving, not like this.”

Bishop crosses his arms, his stance all cool calculation. “We were just wondering what the holdup was about.” His eyes flick from me to Dog, taking in the situation with that unreadable look of his.

I square my shoulders, desperation threatening to crack through my words. “You have to let me go. You can’t be that greedy. There are lives at stake, not just money.”

Reaper’s gaze stays pinned on me, not giving an inch. “It’s not just about the money,” he says, voice low. “You’re playing us, Katya. And unless you tell me the truth?—”

I cut him off, my voice breaking as I beg, “You don’t want to get involved in this. Please, just let me go. I can fix this before it gets worse. Please.”

Dog shifts at my side, uncertainty written across his face. “We should at least hear her out,” he says, glancing at Bishop and Reaper.

Bishop’s expression is cold, almost weary. “Your cousin left you to die with Novikov, Katya. Do you really trust him now?”

I lift my chin, refusing to let the sting show. “In my world, family and blood mean everything,” I say quietly. “You told me yourself, I’m a liability. This is as good a time as any to get rid of me, isn’t it?”

Bishop opens his mouth to argue, frustration plain on his face, but before he can get the words out, Reaper lets out a breath, steps away from the door, and holds his hand out toward the hallway.

“Okay,” he says. “Fine. You can go.”

The relief that rushes through me is dizzying. I don’t stop to think about what it means, or if it’s a trap. I just nod, gather what’s left of my composure, and move. My heart pounds in my chest as I make for the exit, the weight of all their eyes following me.

I don’t look back.

Not this time.