Page 40 of Sexting the Bikers

So I play it like it’s strategy. Like I’m cool. Like this is all beneath me.

“I came to say thank you,” I say lightly, letting my eyes drift between them. “For not throwing me out. For the hospitality.”

Reaper still hasn’t moved. “This isn’t a hotel.”

“Noted,” I reply, all silk and sugar.

I take a step deeper into the room, and when none of them stop me, I keep going.

“I need to go back,” I say finally, eyes landing on Reaper. “Not to stay. Just…long enough to see someone. Get something.”

Reaper’s brows lift. “Back to Novikov?”

“No,” I say. “To my family. They’ll be there soon. I need to talk to them before?—”

I catch myself.

Before they die.

I take a slow breath. Reframe. “Before they get pulled into something they don’t understand.”

Reaper doesn’t even hesitate. “No.”

I blink, unsure I heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not there by choice,” he says, tone sharp as a scalpel. “You ran. And if we hand you back to your family, Novikov’s going to lose his mind. There’s more at play here than your bridal jitters.”

Oh, he’s good.

Really good.

I suck in a quiet breath, letting the silence settle while I scramble behind my smile. “They’ll reward you handsomely,” I say, lips curved just enough, voice light.

Reaper doesn’t blink. “We don’t need your money.”

Of course not. I should’ve known.

Beside him, Bishop folds his arms. “Returning her to Novikov might be the safest play for us right now,” he says coolly, like it’s just a matter of business. No acknowledgment of what happened last night. No recognition in his eyes, no flicker of guilt.

I want to scream.

Seriously? After last night?

After you had me moaning into your mouth and shaking in your bed?

But I clamp down on the urge, hard. This isn’t the time. I can’t show my hand, not yet.

Reaper, though…Reaper’s eyes are calculating, his mind clearly two steps ahead of the rest of us. I can see it in the way his expression shifts—like a puzzle piece just clicked into place.

“No,” he says slowly, voice cool and measured. “We’re not taking her back to Novikov’s.”

Relief hits me—and then he finishes his thought.

“We’re ransoming her.”

“What?” I snap, the word flying out before I can stop it.

He leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “You’re leverage. Novikov owes us money. With the wedding hours awayand no bride to show for it, he’ll have no choice but to pay up if he wants to avoid a full-blown scandal.”