Page 44 of Sexting the Bikers (Ruthless Riders #2)

KATYA

T he moment Novikov and the others disappear into the night, something inside me finally lets go.

My breath comes out shaky, my hands start to tremble, and for a second I feel weightless—like all the years of fear, all the old wounds, are falling away in the dark.

I close my eyes and just let myself breathe, drinking in the smoky night air, the sounds of boots and laughter beginning to rise all around me.

Dog finds me and pulls me into a hug before I can even think.

He wraps his arms around me tight and doesn’t let go, his chest solid against mine, his breath warm at my temple.

For a long time, I let him hold me, my face pressed to his shoulder, the rest of the world blurring at the edges.

I realize I’m not just relieved, I’m exhausted.

The ache in my bones is a kind of release, the knowledge that—for tonight—I’m safe.

That these people didn’t let me fall. That I didn’t have to stand alone.

The sirens keep wailing out there somewhere, echoing through the trees and down the roads, a cold, hollow sound that’s more haunting than threatening now.

Then, just as suddenly as they started, the noise cuts off, leaving the yard hushed and still.

The only sound for a moment is my own breath and Dog’s arms around me, holding on like he’s never letting go.

Then, as if on cue, laughter bubbles up from the Ravagers.

It starts with Twitch, then rolls through the whole group, wild and ragged, until the men are clapping each other on the back, grinning, whooping, and punching the air in celebration.

For a few seconds, I’m lost, not sure what just happened.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice thin, but no one answers right away. They’re too busy congratulating each other, swapping stories, reliving the chaos with wild gestures and half-shouted jokes.

Bishop comes striding down from the roof, rifle slung over his shoulder, shaking his head. “But the ATF—they’re coming, aren’t they?”

Reaper grins, wiping a smear of dirt from his cheek. “Right,” he says, voice warm with satisfaction. “Someone tell Rooster to cut off those sound effects.”

Rooster steps out from behind a stack of crates, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve got speakers set up all around the property. It works pretty well when we want to spook trespassers. Never fails.”

My jaw drops open as the truth hits me. “Bluetooth speakers? That’s what all that was?”

Rooster just grins, not even trying to look guilty.

Bishop chuckles, and even Twitch manages a crooked smile.

Reaper shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“The ATF don’t care a rat’s ass about us, Katya,” he says, shaking his head.

“But Novikov doesn’t know that. He thinks things are a little tight for him now. ”

He glances at me, his eyes warm, a hint of humor in his voice.

“I made a few calls, asked around. Turns out, there’s a reason Novikov’s been late with payments the last couple of months.

He’s lost favor with his suppliers. Lost some territory back east. His own crew’s been getting restless.

Money’s drying up, and word is, he’s been gambling hard trying to make it back. ”

He pauses, making sure I’m following. “Novikov’s been desperate, Katya.

That’s why he needed the guns, why he needed to make a show tonight.

But we turned the tables on him. Now everyone in town, every club that matters, knows he’s finished here.

Nobody will do business with him. His threats are empty.

The Pakhan’s been squeezing him, demanding more money, and Novikov’s got nothing left to pay with.

That’s the main reason Zaika showed up in town. ”

It makes sense. If Mikhail had been pressurizing Novikov all this while, my call to him must have made him curious enough to visit and see what the ruckus was all about. I was responsible for his downfall, quite literally.

I shake my head, grinning in disbelief. “I can’t believe you actually bluffed him—and it worked!”

Reaper flashes that crooked, infuriatingly confident smile. “Of course, darling. I was ninety-five percent certain it would.”

Bishop, coming up behind him, snorts. “That’s not exactly an assuring percentage, boss.”

Dog cracks his knuckles, which sounds suspiciously like popcorn popping. “You know, I’m a little sad we never got to hit his safe, like our original plan.” He looks at Bishop. “I had some real good crowbars picked out.”

Bishop just raises an eyebrow, deadpan as ever. “Have things ever gone the way we wanted, Dog?”

Dog huffs. “No, but a man can dream.”

Bishop shakes his head, dusting off his jacket. “Besides, if Novikov’s losing as much money as we think, that raid wouldn’t have filled a piggy bank.”

Dog winks at me with his good eye—his other one’s still swollen almost shut, which makes him look half pirate, half puppy. “And anyway, I already made my treasure run.” He tugs me closer, and then winces, clutching his ribs. “Ow. Worth it.”

I laugh, real and loud, surprising even myself.

Reaper guides me inside, his hand resting warm at the small of my back. I step over boots and empty bottles, the laughter and voices from outside still echoing in my ears. The clubhouse feels strange—too calm after everything that just happened.

“What is all this?” I ask, half laughing, half exasperated. “I still don’t get it.”

Reaper glances back at me with that lazy confidence, holding the door with his boot until I’m inside. “Now, darling, you don’t really expect me to live here and keep law enforcement off my back if we’re shooting up people every week. That’s just bad business.”

He grabs a bottle of water off the counter and tosses it to Dog, who almost drops it with his bruised hands. “No. I just needed to get them off my land, put on a show of force, and make them think the threat of arrest was real. That’s usually enough. They folded because it was their only way out.”

I fold my arms, giving them both a skeptical look. “I’m still not sure how you all managed to pull this off.”

Bishop shrugs, not the least bit bothered. “I told you—we don’t play by the rules. Sometimes we use our heads instead of our fists. Surprises everyone.”

Reaper winks, his tone warm and teasing. “That’s how we’ve stayed out of jail this long. And why the steak always tastes better after a good scare. Not everything has to end in a bloodbath.”

Dog flops onto the sofa, grinning. “Speak for yourself. I’m still voting for at least a small bloodbath next time.”

Reaper squeezes my hand and winks. “You’ll get used to us. Or you’ll be the only sane one left, which isn’t a bad gig either.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my mouth. Somehow, their chaos is making a kind of sense to me. Maybe there’s no rulebook for any of this. Maybe that’s exactly why I feel like I finally belong.

Donella comes out of the back room, needle threaded, scissors in hand, and a leather cut draped over her arm.

She’s got a look on her face like she’s seen it all, and maybe she has.

She holds up the cut for everyone to see, the back still blank below the club’s colors.

“Alright,” she says, her voice carrying over the noise. “Whose name do I put on this one?”

I blink, surprised.

“Mine vote is Dog,” Dog pipes up, sitting on the arm of the couch with a mock-serious frown, like he’s ready to argue his case in court. “It’s only fair. I found her first. And I got the most bruises tonight.”

Bishop leans back, feet propped up on the coffee table, cleaning his nails with a toothpick. “I’m thinking it ought to be Bishop. I mean, I did keep you alive with some of the finest sniper work in the county.”

Reaper rolls his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. “You two are delusional. It’s mine or nothing.”

Donella just laughs, holding up the patch, ready to sew. “Maybe you should ask Katya. It’s her choice.”

I stare at the cut, heart pounding a little. “What is that, exactly?” I ask, half suspecting a joke.

“Your cut,” Donella says simply, her eyes kind. “Unless you don’t want it.”

I glance at the leather, then at the three men in front of me, the ones who turned my world upside down. The ones who risked everything, who stood beside me, fought for me, made me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how.

I think when I came down with them earlier, Donella saw the question in my heart, and wanted to help me make a decision.

I stand there, heart pounding, staring at the cut. I know what it means—this isn’t just a jacket or a trophy. It’s the symbol of belonging, a sign that I’m not just passing through, not just a woman to be fought over or protected or traded.

In Moscow, all I ever wore was expectation and secrecy.

I was never allowed to claim anything as my own, never invited to belong anywhere except as someone else’s secret.

Here, in this room, this leather means family.

It means a home I can wear on my back. It means protection, trust, and a hundred small, everyday loyalties, people who’ll come when I call, and a place to return to when I’m lost.

But most importantly, if I take it, it means I become their girl. I belong to them.

Do I want this? The question feels bigger than it sounds, stretching out across every day and night I survived on my own.

I look at Dog, grinning with a split lip, still bruised but never backing down.

Bishop, so calm and cool, but always watching, always protecting.

And Reaper—my Reaper—with that wild, stubborn spark in his eyes, the man who never once let me face anything alone since he stepped into my life.

I could never pick just one of them, not really. I don’t want to.

So I smile, slow and sure. “Put all three,” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Unless you don’t want me.”

There’s a beat of silence, until Dog whistles, loud and proud.

“Well, this is an interesting development,” Bishop says, sounding more amused than shocked.

“Very interesting,” Dog echoes, leaning over to nudge Bishop in the ribs, and then winces at the pain.

Reaper raises an eyebrow, trying to act unbothered but failing. “You can’t pick just one of us?” he asks, though there’s a teasing glint in his eye.

I laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere honest and deep. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

Dog claps his hands, ignoring the complaints from his battered knuckles. “That’s our Bratva queen,” he crows, and suddenly everyone is laughing with him.

I sober quickly. “I love you,” I say to Dog, before turning to Reaper, “and you,” and then moving on to Bishop. “And you too, Bishop. However improbable and impossible it is, over the last few days, I’ve managed to fall in love with all three of you.”

Dog steps forward, taking me in his arms. “Crazier things have happened . For example, I saw Reaper smile for the first time in his life after you walked in here.”

I giggle, snuggling deeper into him. Reaper and Bishop circle us, softly caressing my hair. We’re complete, all four of us, together.

Donella just shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Never thought I’d see the day,” she mutters, but I can hear the warmth in her voice as she starts sewing, her fingers sure and quick.

Bishop stands, stretching the tension out of his back, and leans over to look at the patch. “Gonna need a bigger space for all our names,” he says, but I catch the way his hand lingers on my shoulder, gentle, careful.

Reaper slips his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You sure about this?” he asks, voice low and serious.

I meet his gaze, feeling the truth settle in my chest. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He nods, then presses a kiss to my temple, just light enough to make me want more. Dog squeezes in on my other side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Hope you’re ready for this, kitten. You know we’re a handful.”

Bishop’s hands curl around my neck, tracing goose bumps. “Good thing she likes trouble.”

The room settles, the noise fading into a softer kind of energy.

Laughter gives way to the low thrum of conversation, the kind that fills a space with comfort and belonging.

The others drift in and out, offering congratulations and little jokes, but no one questions it.

No one pushes back. It’s just accepted, as simple as the patch being sewn, as natural as the way these three men make me feel.

When Donella finishes, she holds up the cut, the names stitched together in bold white thread. “All done,” she says, her eyes soft. “Welcome to the family, Katya.”

I slip it on, feeling the weight settle across my shoulders, feeling all the pieces of my life click into place. For the first time, I’m not an outsider or a secret, not a pawn in someone else’s war. I’m theirs, and they’re mine, and we’re stronger for it.

Dog whoops, Bishop grins, Reaper just holds me close. Around us, the Ravagers cheer and clap, the clubhouse filled with the kind of wild, loyal energy that feels like home.

I smile, letting the moment sink in, letting myself believe that this—these people, this place, these three impossible men—is finally where I belong.