Semua Bab Reaper's Ride: A Dark Biker Romance : Bab 11 - Bab 20

(Jax’s POV)The kid led them down a narrow, treacherous dirt track. Moonlight cast long, twisted shadows over the broken road. Jax’s engine growled beneath him, a furious beast. It couldn’t drown out the pounding of his heart.Every second counted. Every mile brought him closer—or maybe too late. The thought was a cold, sharp blade.The boy, shivering slightly, pointed ahead. “There. That old factory. The van went inside.” His voice was a whisper.Jax’s eyes narrowed. The building loomed in the dark. Rusted steel, shattered windows like vacant eyes. A skeleton of a dead god. The air grew heavy, thick with decay and damp earth.“Stay back,” Jax barked at the kid. Then to his men: “We go in fast. We go in hard. Watch for traps. Caleb’s play. He’ll have something waiting.”The Blackfangs fanned out, fluid and lethal. Weapons drawn. Boots crunched gravel, sound swallowed by the vast silence. Each man, a shadow, moving with practiced efficiency.Jax’s chest burned. A fierce, protective fir

The morning sun filtered through the dusty blinds of the clubhouse like weak, golden threads. It was warm, almost oppressively so, and far too bright after the endless, brutal night. Jax had pushed himself to the limit, and beyond. He’d barely slept, running on adrenaline and the raw, lingering fear for Lila, and the unexpected ache for Sarah.He heard the quiet movements from her room, the soft rustle of fabric. He knew what she was doing. Knew she wouldn't stay.Sarah folded her few clothes into the duffel bag slowly, methodically. There wasn’t much to pack—a few borrowed T-shirts, some worn jeans, the oversized Blackfangs sweatshirt Jax had given her. Still, every piece felt heavier than it should. Loaded with the weight of choices. Of escape. Of survival.The soft, firm knock at the door was almost inaudible over the hum of his own exhaustion.He knew it was him before she even spoke. He felt her presence, a quiet pull.Jax leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest

(Sarah’s POV)“Damn it,” Sarah muttered, glaring at the latte machine. It hissed and spat like a demon, steam blowing into her face. The heat curled the loose strands of her hair into chaos. The morning in Port Harcourt was already warm, and the machine only made it worse.“You’re fighting a losing battle,” Cassie called from the back. Her voice was laced with dry amusement. “That thing’s older than most of my regrets. Just kick it.”Sarah wiped her arm across her forehead with the back of her hand and exhaled slowly. The smell of burnt milk lingered. “Do regrets normally squeal at you and burn your fingers?” she asked, half-seriously.“Only the good ones,” Cassie retorted, a low chuckle in her tone.Sarah was halfway through scraping dried milk from the side of the machine when the doorbell chimed. A soft, clear sound.The air in the small coffee shop shifted. It wasn't just the bell. A presence.Even before she turned, she knew it was him. A familiar ripple of tension and awareness

(Earlier that Day)(Jax’s POV)The smell of oil always calmed him. Sharp. Honest. Uncomplicated. A familiar comfort in the workshop.Jax worked a rag over his Harley’s gas tank. Slow, even circles. The steel gleamed under the harsh workshop lights. The garage was silent. Just the distant click of a ceiling fan. The soft hiss from the pressure valve.He needed this. The peace. The simple focus.Because every time his hands stilled, his mind drifted. And always, it drifted to her.Sarah. The soft gasp she made when his fingers grazed her bare skin. The way her nipple had peaked under his thumb. The low, desperate moan she let out, just before she pushed him away.His body remembered it too well. Every curve. Every tremor.Jax scrubbed harder at a stubborn spot on the tank. Like he could clean the memory off his skin. Burn it away.Smitten? Fuck no. He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do love. Not after Lana. Love was a weakness. A pain that never truly healed.It was just lust. Adrenaline.

(Jax’s POV)The smell of pancakes filled the cabin. A sweet, warm comfort.She had learnt to recreate it well. Sarah stood by the stove, flipping one with the edge of a fork. The pan hissed softly. In the background, Lila sat at the table, arms crossed, head down. Still fuming in that silent, stubborn teenage way.Sarah had managed to get Lila to her cabin last night, after Jax called her in a rage. Hopefully, the father and daughter could have a mature conversation. Sarah believed they could.Footsteps. Heavy. Slow. They approached from the hallway.Sarah didn’t turn. She knew who it was. The air shifted.“I can smell breakfast,” Jax’s voice rumbled. It was thick with hangover, rough, but still incredibly sexy. A low, gravelly sound that made her stomach flutter.She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. A small smirk played on her lips.“Then you’re still alive?” she teased.He stepped into view. Shirtless. His dark jeans unbuttoned at the top, hanging low on his hips. Hair a tang