Page 4 of The Biker and His Bride

ROGUE

T he back lot was quiet, the kind of quiet that only settled in after the noise died down and the music inside the clubhouse bled into memory.

I lit a cigarette and leaned against the cinder block wall, letting the smoke burn slow in my lungs. The sky was thick with stars, but they didn’t mean shit to me. Nothing romantic about constellations when your heart’s been dragged through the mud and lit on fire.

Inside, the usual scene played out—girls in barely-there shorts laughing too loud, brothers tossing back beer and throwing darts.

Trigger was probably trying to get laid again.

Maddox had some new flavor on his lap. It was all background noise now.

It used to mean something. Now it just felt. .. tired.

A door opened behind me. Boots on concrete. Heels, too. I didn’t look.

“Rogue,” came a voice like sugar and smoke. “You coming back in?”

“No.”

“You sure? We were thinking a little three-way action. Could take your mind off things.”

I turned just enough to shoot her a look. One that made her blink and step back, eyes dropping to the gravel.

“Not interested.”

She muttered something under her breath and vanished, heels clicking back inside.

I exhaled again and let the silence creep back in.

Truth was, I hadn’t touched anyone in weeks. Hell, maybe months. I could’ve had any of ‘em — the hangers-on, the club girls, the new ones always trying to catch my eye. But they didn’t get it. They didn’t know what it meant to carry weight. To have your trust shattered and still keep the mask on.

Brielle had taught me that.

She was the first woman I let past the walls. The only one who saw the man behind the leather cut. I was gonna propose. I’d picked out a ring. I even had Maddox help me set it up — candles, a rooftop, the whole damn thing.

Then she went and spread her legs for someone wearing a different patch.

I found out when Diesel saw them coming out of a cheap motel and damn near wrecked his bike trying to call me.

She didn’t even try to deny it.

Said I was “too closed off.” That she needed to feel “alive.”

I felt plenty alive when I put my fist through a wall and almost broke my hand.

Now I felt... nothing.

Just smoke, sweat, and the hollow ache of what could’ve been.

I ground the cigarette out with my boot and looked up at the stars again.

Maybe something was coming.

Maybe not.

But I was tired of the emptiness.

I just didn’t know what the hell I needed to fill it.

She walked in like she wasn’t afraid of the devil himself.

I saw her before she even opened the door. Tight jeans, boots, hair up like she didn’t have time to bother making herself pretty—and didn’t need to. She had that look, like she’d survived something. Maybe a few somethings. I’d seen that look in the mirror more than once.

I didn’t trust her. But damn, I noticed her.

Most women who wander into a biker bar by accident either scurry back out or try too hard to prove they belong. Not her.

She walked straight up, chin high, and asked for work.

Like she owned the place.

And for one long second, I let myself imagine what it’d feel like to have a woman like that under me, wild and sweet and snapping back with fire. Then I locked it down and nodded over to Dena that it was cool o put her behind the bar.

If she couldn’t hold her own, she’d be gone by closing.

But she held her own.

Even when Maddox knocked over a pitcher of beer and Boomer tried to flirt with her in his usual dumbass way, she didn’t flinch. She was fast, sharp with her tongue, and didn’t fall for anyone’s charm—including mine.

That made me look twice.

Just a girl who showed up in a beat-up sedan with South Carolina plates and too much baggage in her eyes.

And yet she worked like someone with something to prove.

By the time last call hit, she’d already cleaned the taps, sorted the tip jar, and told Nash he was cut off without blinking. I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss her or promote her.

She was the kind of woman you noticed.

I leaned against the bar, arms crossed, watching her from beneath the brim of my cap. Riley moved like she had something to prove, like every wiped counter and every poured beer was a silent challenge to anyone doubting her place here. And damn if I wasn’t one of them.

She didn’t notice me at first. Too busy making sure she wasn’t messing up, too focused on impressing Hawk, and keeping the customers happy. But I noticed her. I noticed the fire in her eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw. The girl didn’t scare easy, and in a place like this, that mattered.

After about an hour, she looked up and caught me watching. Her gaze didn’t waver. Bold. Defiant. Curious.

She walked right up to me, drying her hands on a bar towel, and stopped in front of me. “You the one in charge around here?”

I raised a brow. “You asking because you want to complain, or because you’re trying to flirt?”

She smirked. “Maybe both.”

I chuckled, the sound low in my chest. “My MC name’s Rogue.”

“Fitting,” she said, glancing at my leather cut. “And I’m Riley. Guess you already knew that.”

I gave a slow nod. “You’re not bad for your first day.”

“Not bad?” she challenged, resting her hip against the bar. “That the highest praise I’m gonna get?”

I leaned in a little. “Keep working like that, I might just keep you around.”

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the small smile that tugged at her lips before she turned away and got back to work. Yeah… this one was different.

And I was already in trouble.