Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Biker's Bride Wants Revenge: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

FIVE YEARS LATERDAMIEN “REAPER” VOSS“It’s the sixteenth.” My lighter flicks open, flame snapping bright. The guy kneeling at my feet flinches like I’m about to torch him. Pathetic. My men hold him down while he spits excuses.“Your money’s coming, Reaper, I swear—”I sigh. Loud. “That’s what you said last month.” I snap the lighter shut, let the silence chew him up. “So tell me—am I stupid, or are you suicidal?”He stammers. I don’t listen. I’m already irritated I even had to show up for this. Normally, I send Bones, my Sergeant-at-Arms, to shake down debtors. But it’s either this or be at my old cranker’s house, listening to him lecture me about Wendy Osborne.The heiress who keeps throwing herself at me like I’m her goddamn prize. Out of all people, she could’ve chased Christian—the polished twin, the safe one, the one our old man parades around. But no. She wants me.Can’t say I blame her. Exceptional taste and all. But become a pawn in a marriage to link two rich families? Hard

RHEA“We’re here with Elara Hale—Head Designer of the wildly popular Wardrobe and wife of CEO Victor Hale. One half of New York’s favourite power couple. This week’s NYFW lineup has cemented Wardrobe as the most influential fashion brand in the world. When Wardrobe began, did you ever imagine reaching this level?”Elara crosses her legs on-screen, polished and perfect. I button the cuffs of my shirt as I watch, sitting in an apartment that’s technically a downgrade from hell, but still better than a prison cell. The ceiling leaks, rats hold nightly concerts, the heater’s dead… but there’s a bed, a roommate who snores instead of stabs, and most days, that’s enough.Elara smiles. “I always knew my husband was destined for success, so none of this surprises me. His vision and my designs built Wardrobe. I never doubted we’d make it.”The interviewer beams like she’s been personally blessed. I glue the sole of my shoe back on and dig around for my bag.“Of course. And do you have any advic

RHEAI’m still trying to accept that this is actually happening when one of the board members — a balding man with sweat shining at his temples — clears his throat again. “Mr. Da—”“Oh, relax,” he cuts in, flicking a lazy hand. His other hand keeps turning the note over between his fingers. “My brother won’t hear a word from me.”A pause.“But that doesn’t mean this mess won’t eventually crawl its way back to him. Employee evaluations are what — two weeks away?”Oh.So, that’s his play.The room locks up. Not a single spine stays straight.He opens the note again, eyes skimming it with a softness that makes my jaw tighten. The contrast is jarring. Someone beside me grips the edge of the table hard enough that it creaks.“This is usually when people start making better choices,” he says lightly, lifting his stare to sweep the room. Slow. Unrushed. Dangerous. “Wouldn’t you agree?”Nobody dares answer.I click my tongue silently. Really? Not one of them has the spine to knock that smugne

RHEAI take my sweet time looking around the mechanic’s shop—anywhere but at my kidnapper, who’s wiping black grime off his still very shirtless body. I’m assuming it’s engine oil. I refuse to care.Jude drops me off and disappears just as suddenly as he showed up. One second he’s there, the next he’s gone. Not even Oldie pays him any mind.Every tool, every bike I look at makes my anger spike higher. It builds. It coils. And eventually, I can’t hold it in anymore.I’ve learned one important thing in life—get things off your chest immediately.It’s that, or end up back in prison for murder.“What am I doing here?” I snap. “Why did you lie to me? And why the hell do you even exist—”“One question at a time, Dot.” Damien smiles, and somehow that makes it worse. “Can you pass me the wrench? The one right next to you.”I hurl it at his head. Not to maim. Just to find an outlet for the throb in my chest.He laughs and catches it easily. “Thanks, Rhea.”I bristle. “So you do know my name. Y

RHEADamien does have someone take me home.It’s a kind-looking elderly man, and to my surprise, he pulls up in a black Mercedes. Maybe all the motorbikes I’ve been on in the last twenty-four hours have finally scrambled my brain, because the sight genuinely throws me.“Thank you,” I tell him as he opens the back door for me. I slide in, and he waits until I’m settled before smiling, pleased as anything.“Anything for Prez’s old lady.”I don’t even get the chance to correct him before he shuts the door gently and walks around to the driver’s seat. Once inside, he gestures to a small button near the armrest.“You can slide the glass up if you’d like some privacy.”Grateful, I’m just about to do it when I remember something. “I’ll need to give you directions. My place is…” I hesitate, unable to find a polite word for run-down or dumpster-fire. “Very remote.”“Nonsense,” the old man—Ernest, I’ve learnt—waves me off. “Prez already told me everything I need to know. You just sit back and m