Page 43 of Sexting the Bikers

Bishop frowns. “A lot of them are at their day jobs. You want me to?—”

“Screw that,” I snap. “Tell them to take a sick day, crash a damn funeral, I don’t care. It’s all hands on deck.”

He nods and pulls out his phone, starting to text. I watch him, jaw tight, nerves fraying. I glance out the window, every shadow on the street looking a little too long.

Phones buzz and ring across the table, Bishop firing off terse instructions—his voice clipped and calm, all business. “Yeah. Need you here, now. Don’t care if you’re on shift, drop it. It’s urgent.” He hangs up, dials the next. I hit up Rooster, Twitch, even Danny the damn prospect.

I’m talking to Gage, our sergeant-at-arms. “No, this isn’t a drill. I want every bike out front and every weapon on the table, understood? You see anything weird, you call me first. No hero shit.”

I hang up, jaw tight, already mapping out fallback plans. My mind races—lockdown procedures, possible escape routes, where we stashed the heavier artillery. Katya’s warning rings in my head, making my neck itch.

Bishop is mapping out coverage, rattling off names and times, moving pins on the battered old map on the wall. We’re halfway through our list, tension rising with every unanswered call, when the door crashes open.

Dog bursts in, breathless. “I just heard something.”

I glare at him. “I told you to stay with her.”

Dog shrugs, voice rough. “Believe it or not, but she can take care of herself.”

There’s a strange certainty in the way he says it—a trust I don’t understand. He trusts her?

When? Why?

I see it now, a glimmer of something more than cockiness or lust. He believes she’s worth betting the club on.

But I don’t have time to unpack it.

Dog’s already moving to the window, pointing. “Movement outside. In the trees, by the fence line. I saw at least two shadows, maybe more.”

My spine goes rigid. Bishop glances at me, silent agreement passing between us.

That’s when I hear it—a distant screech, tires on gravel, sharp and unmistakable.

We freeze. The room stills, all breath and noise sucked out.

I nod at Bishop. He’s already reaching for his gun. Dog steps to the window, tension rolling off him like thunder.

It’s started.

Whatever happens next?—

We’re in it now.

10

KATYA

Ipace 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 tothink. 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?”