Semua Bab MY HOT BIKER SAVIOUR : Bab 111 - Bab 120

~TESSA~ It had been three nights since I got out. Three nights of pretending I was fine. The air outside smelled of exhaust fumes, but nothing could wash the prison smell off my skin. It clung to me, invisible but heavy... Ryder tried to be gentle. Too gentle. He hovered like he was afraid I’d shatter if he touched me too hard. But what he didn’t understand was that I was already broken. So when I heard from Jax that Raven was back in town — laughing, drinking, celebrating — something inside me snapped. “She’s at the Red Crow bar,” he’d said, his tone cautious. “Marcus sent her to keep a low profile, but you know Raven. She never does what she’s told.” The Red Crow was the kind of place where souls went to rot — a biker dive where the air was thick with cigarette smoke and bad decisions. Perfect for the kind of face-off I had in mind. I didn’t tell Ryder where I was going. I couldn’t. If I did, he’d stop me. And I needed to do this. For myself. The bar was dim and crowde

~TESSA~ I couldn’t sleep that night. Ryder’s breathing beside me was steady, deep — the kind of calm I hadn’t known in weeks. But my mind wouldn’t rest. It kept circling back to Marcus. The way he’d smirked when I was dragged off in handcuffs. The way he’d watched me like he still owned me. Some things never fade. Some monsters don’t die; they just change their skin. I got up quietly, slipping out from under the covers and pulling on Ryder’s flannel shirt. It smelled like smoke and leather — like safety — but I felt none of that. I walked to my small desk in the corner, where I’d kept a box of old things I couldn’t bring myself to burn. Letters. Photos. Fragments of another life. The box creaked as I opened it. Inside, under a pile of receipts and faded notes, something cold and metallic caught my finger. A key. My stomach twisted. It was small and gold, engraved with the letters MB Holdings. Marcus Bishop’s company. Memories flashed — me waiting in his office while

~TESSA~Ryder’s bike tore through the mud ahead of me, the headlight cutting a white path through the darkness. The wind stung my face as the trees blurred past. Every instinct screamed one thing — Sarah.She was out there. Alone.I could still hear the sorceress’s voice from the dream, low and mournful, whispering like a prayer that wouldn’t fade. “Your sister bleeds beneath the serpent moon.”I hadn’t even stopped to think. My mind had gone blank the moment I saw that image — Raven’s face in the firelight, Sarah’s wrists bound, the snake symbol drawn in blood.I wasn’t sure what was real anymore. But I didn’t care. I had to find her.We reached the trail’s end. Ryder swung off his bike first, mud splashing up his boots. His jaw was set, his voice low. “Stay behind me.”“Not a chance.”He shot me a look, but he didn’t argue. Not this time. We moved together — shadows in the rain — through the dripping ferns and tangled roots until we saw it.The circle.Candles still burned weakly ag

RYDER’S POVThe sky was bruised gray, the kind of color that warned of rain but didn’t quite commit. The town was unusually quiet for a Saturday — no street music, no laughter, just the low rumble of bikes in the distance.Hellfire’s engines.And the Cobras’.I could smell the tension before I saw it.We’d come down Main Street with the full line — me up front, Tank and Bruno flanking, the rest of the boys spreading out behind like wolves closing in on territory that used to be ours.Then we saw them.The Cobras, parked right across the square in front of Jake’s Bar. Fifteen of them, leather vests gleaming with that new serpent logo Marcus had paraded around like a damn crown. The club once known as the Vipers had shed its skin — and grown fangs.And at the center of it all, Jace.I killed the engine, the sudden silence deafening. The two clubs stared at each other across the empty street — a line drawn, invisible but heavy as concrete.Jace smirked, his helmet tucked under one ar

~JACE~ The warehouse filled up fast — bodies moving like shadows under hanging bulbs, the scent of oil and cheap cologne thick in the air. The Cobras answered the call. When I saw them line the concrete floor, leather patched in the new black and silver, my chest tightened the way it did before a fight. That tightening wasn’t fear. It was the pulse of a machine winding up. Reed’s name had been a spark. Grief turned to rage, rage to purpose. I stepped up on the crate Marcus had set aside for a podium and the room fell quiet, all eyes on me. That silence was power; I let it sit there. “Brothers,” I started, my voice even, “you know why we’re here.” I didn’t need to say his name again. They knew. We all knew what Hellfire had done to our bloodline in this city. A few called out, hot and careless. I let them. Heat was useful — until the heat burned the plan. “We don’t start a war because a man died,” I said, cutting through them. “We start a war because a purpose drives us. We strik