Semua Bab MY HOT BIKER SAVIOUR : Bab 91 - Bab 100

~RYDER~ Darkness... That’s what it felt like. Heavy... endless... thick enough to drown in. I couldn’t move... couldn’t speak... but I could hear her. Tessa. Her voice cut through the dark like a light that refused to die. Sometimes she was whispering... sometimes crying... sometimes laughing through the pain. Every word anchored me. Every tear pulled me closer to the surface. Then there was her touch... soft... trembling... but real. My name on her lips... that’s what dragged me back. The first thing I felt was her hand in mine. Warm. Desperate. Alive. Then sound... the steady beep of machines... a soft hum of voices outside the door. I tried to open my eyes... nothing. I tried again... harder this time. Light flooded in, blurry at first. Then clearer. White walls. Monitors. Tubes. And her... sitting right beside me, head resting on the edge of the bed. Her hair was a mess, dark circles under her eyes... but damn... she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen

~TESSA~ The mansion looked just the same. White marble steps, trimmed hedges, the long driveway lined with maple trees starting to turn gold. It felt strange… walking up those steps again. The very first time I was here, life had been a storm. Marcus still lurking. Now, the air felt lighter. For the first time in a long time, I could breathe. Sarah was beside me, her eyes wide as she took everything in. “This place looks like a movie set,” she whispered. I smiled. “Welcome to the Bishop mansion. Wait till you meet Debbie again. She’ll probably cry.” The front door swung open before we even knocked. Debbie burst out barefoot, wearing a sundress, her hair in a messy bun. She screamed my name and ran straight into my arms. “Tessa! Oh my God, you’re really here!” I laughed as she squeezed me so tight I could barely breathe. “Hi, Deb. I missed you too.” She turned to Sarah next. “And you must be the famous little sister! You’re even prettier than in pictures!” Sarah blushe

~RYDER~ The next morning, the air at the clubhouse felt wrong. Too quiet. Too calm. That kind of silence only ever shows up before a storm. I’d barely slept. My head was still replaying the sound of Milo’s voice last night, his easy laugh when he told Marcus that I didn’t suspect a thing. That laugh… it used to mean something else when we were kids. Back then, we were just two boys in leather jackets, trying to survive the world our father built. Now it was the sound of betrayal. I walked into the main hall where the boys were already gathered — Duke, Trigger, Blaze, Colt. Breakfast plates half-eaten, coffee steaming. The chatter died the moment they saw my face. Duke stood, eyes hard. “You tellin’ them, or am I?” “I’ll handle it,” I said, my voice flat. Milo walked in a minute later, hair slicked back, wearing that smug grin that used to make women swoon and men suspicious. “Morning, brothers,” he said, like nothing was wrong. “What’s with the long faces? Someone die?”

~RYDER~ The envelope sat on my desk like a loaded gun. Black seal. Chrome lettering. The kind of fancy crap we never bothered with at Hellfire. When I tore it open, the words made my jaw clench. THE ANNUAL NATIONAL MOTORCYCLE CLUB AWARDS NIGHT. Location: Reno. Date: Two weeks from now. Hellfire MC had been nominated in three categories. “Nomination my ass,” I muttered, tossing the letter on the table. “That’s bait.” I could already feel my blood pressure rising. I didn’t even need to read the rest to know what it meant — the Vipers would be there. The thought of Jace Malone’s smug face made my fists curl. I could already picture that bastard strutting around like he owned the scene, surrounded by his patched-up brothers and their fake grins. The last time Hellfire and the Vipers were in the same room, it ended with shattered beer bottles and two broken ribs — mine and Duke’s. No way in hell was I doing that again. I poured myself a shot of bourbon, downed it in one go, an

~RAVEN~The sleek black car purred to a stop outside Marcus's sprawling estate, the kind of place that screamed old money mixed with outlaw edge... high gates, stone walls, and a garage full of gleaming cars that could make a girl weak in the knees. I stepped out, the black velvet gown still tucked in its box under my arm, along with the diamond bracelet he'd sent over and a few other indulgences I'd splurged on with his cash. My heart raced as the front door swung open, and there he was: Marcus Reynolds, towering in a fitted black shirt that hugged his broad chest, jeans slung low on his hips, that signature smirk pulling at his lips. 'Raven,' he drawled, voice like gravel and heat, pulling me inside with a hand on my lower back that lingered just a beat too long. 'You look like trouble already.' I flashed him a grin, kicking off my heels in the foyer. 'You have no idea. But first, you need to see what your money bought.' His place was all dark wood and leather, the kind of luxu