All Chapters of MY HOT BIKER SAVIOUR : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

~TESSA~ That night I told Sarah everything when we got back. I told her the parts I’d never said out loud, the soft ones and the ugly ones, the ones I’d wrapped in apologies until they looked like excuses. We were on the back step of the clubhouse, the air crisp and the city lights made her face glow the way they always had. She listened like she had every Thursday I closed the diner and phoned her from behind the counter... like she believed me without blinking. “Ryder was there,” I said finally, because the story needed a line you could trace from beginning to end. “The Vipers showed up with that Malone guy. Marcus was... he was like a shadow.” Sarah chewed on her lower lip. Her sketchbook rested on her knee, pages curled with drawings she hadn’t had the heart to finish since she left school. “Raven?” she asked carefully. “Did you see Raven?” I swallowed. The name tasted sour when I said it. “She was there. Wearing black. She looked like she’d swallowed the night and

The windshield wipers thudded against the glass, cutting through the heavy drizzle that had blanketed the city all night. My fingers were tight on the steering wheel, trembling not from the cold but from rage. Every time I blinked, I saw her face — Tessa’s — smug, calm, like she’d won some invisible prize that should’ve been mine. I’d replayed the scene a hundred times in my head since leaving that grocery store. The slap still burned on my cheek. The way she’d looked at me, as if I were something she’d scraped off her shoe… it clawed at me. She’d humiliated me. Again. And I wasn’t going to let her get away with it. By the time I pulled up in front of Marcus Reynolds’ penthouse, my lipstick was smudged, and my eyes were raw from crying. The valet opened my door with his fake polite smile, but I didn’t wait for him to say anything. I stormed through the lobby, my heels clacking against the marble, the sound echoing like gunfire. The elevator ride felt like an eternit

~DETECTIVE VANCE~ The knock came sharp and heavy on my office door. “Come in,” I said, not looking up from the stack of folders scattered across my desk. The door creaked open and a uniformed officer stepped in, rainwater dripping from his cap. “Detective Vance, ma’am. We got the file from Mr. Reynolds. Says it’s urgent.” “Of course it is,” I muttered, snatching the brown envelope from his hand. “Everything’s urgent when rich men are involved.” As the door closed, I flipped open the envelope and stared at the contents inside — photographs, surveillance stills, bank statements, and one neatly typed report. The name stamped across the top in bold black letters caught my eye. TESSA MORGAN. I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other as I scanned through the documents. Every piece of evidence pointed to theft, corporate fraud, and embezzlement. It was clean, too clean — which meant it was fake. Marcus Reynolds didn’t even try to hide the setup anymore.

~RYDER` The knock on my office door came sharp, fast, and unwelcome. Duke stepped in before I could tell him not to. His face said it all. “She’s gone, Ryder.” My jaw locked. “Gone?” “Detective Vance’s team came in early this morning… unmarked cars, badges, the whole damn parade. Said they had a warrant.” I stood up so fast my chair hit the wall. “A warrant for what?” He swallowed hard. “They’re saying Tessa stole from Marcus’s company before she ran off with you.” The air turned to static. My hands clenched at my sides, pulse hammering like a Harley engine ready to explode. “Stole?” I repeated, disbelief cutting through my voice. “Fake as hell,” Duke said. “But they had papers, footage, timestamps… all neat and tidy like someone tied it up with a bow.” Marcus. That bastard’s name hissed in my head like poison. I didn’t need proof. I knew his brand of manipulation—too smooth, too clean. And now Tessa was sitting in some cold cell, scared and alone, because

~RAVEN~ I never liked coffee, not really. But that night, sitting at the corner of that dimly lit café, I must’ve had three cups. Bitter, black, and too strong. The waitress kept looking at me funny, like she could smell the chaos brewing beneath my perfume. Maybe she could. It was almost midnight. The place was nearly empty, save for a few college kids hunched over laptops and a couple whispering like they were having an affair. The hum of the old refrigerator behind the counter was the only sound cutting through the silence. Detective Vance was late. Typical. When she finally walked in, every head turned. She had that kind of presence that didn’t need announcing — sharp heels, sharper stare. Her trench coat was dark, her lipstick darker. She didn’t sit immediately, just scanned the room like a wolf sniffing for traps, then slid into the booth across from me. “You picked a nice little hole,” she said, voice flat. “I assume this isn’t a book club meeting.” I smirked, cross