Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Biker's Bride Wants Revenge: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

RHEA“Don’t tell me you’re working again!” I startle, and the needle pricks my finger. I barely flinch—just press my bleeding finger to my mouth and check Camryn’s onesie. Thank goodness, no stain.Elara yelps. “God, Aurora, you’re disgusting! You couldn’t just wash your hands?!” She scrunches her nose like she’s physically offended.I smile at her, tilting my head. “Oh, sorry! Reflex. I didn’t even think about it. Are you okay?”“And to answer your question—I wasn’t working,” I add, lifting my creation. Weeks of work went into this. Camryn’s obsessed with abstract paintings, and tomorrow’s her second birthday. I’ve stayed up all night sewing, making this happen. The onesie looks simple, but the stones and sequins are lined perfectly to match the painting she loves. Just thinking about it makes my head ache.“It’s Camryn’s birthday gift! What do you think? Pretty, right? I haven’t finished the stoning yet, and I wanted to hand-sew the stitching…” I trail off when I notice Elara’s expr

DAMIEN“Damien. What a surprise.”Ignacio Velez—president of the Cilantro Group, Wendy Osborne’s uncle, and a professional nuisance—rises from his seat to greet me. The two women flanking him shift obediently, bowing their heads as they scramble to cover bare skin that was never meant to stay uncovered for long.His private room overlooks the chaos of the club below. Vixen’s Kiss in full bloom—music, bodies, hunger. Exactly how he likes it. Front-row seats to pick which unfortunate woman he’ll drag upstairs next.He offers his hand.I glance at it. Then ignore it.The Cilantro Group is a business my family can’t afford to offend. Convenient for them. Less so for me—considering the Vosses only remember I’m “family” when it benefits them. To Ignacio, though, I’m a problem. To me, he’s a thorn with deep pockets.His jaw tightens. The hand curls into a fist before he lets it fall back to his side, expression smoothing into something polite.“You’re a difficult man to get a hold of,” he sa

RHEASomething’s wrong.Not wrong in the obvious way—no disasters, no screaming, and certainly no blood. Wrong in the quiet way. The kind that makes the back of my neck itch.My landlord finally fixed the apartment. Not patched-up fixes either. Real ones. The ceiling doesn’t leak anymore, which means no more waking up every few hours to dump out a bucket like some kind of idiot. The heating works. Properly. I don’t wake up shivering anymore. And the rats—Gone.I don’t trust it.People don’t suddenly become decent for no reason. Especially not my shitty landlord who’d rather have the city mayor tear the building down than spend a penny on renovations.And then there’s Voss Atelier.Just like Damien said. Just like I already suspected but refused to believe—because believing in nice things is how you get blindsided—I got the call.Not a polite maybe.Not a we’ll be in touch.The job.Creative Director.I did celebrate. Titan insisted. Roofus even made his version of hangover soup as a

RHEAPRESENTHis eyes never leave mine.I make damn sure of it.I hadn’t even been certain he’d be here—this was meant to be reckless fun, nothing more. A provocation. I did hesitate, briefly, at the thought of getting Marek into even more trouble, but technically? I wasn’t breaking any rules.He said no dancing.He never said what kind.And if a woman wants to wear next to nothing, climb a pole, and move like sin under flashing lights—who is any man to stop her?It’s a coincidence, really. One of the dancers called in sick. Her outfit was already here. Brand new. Practically waiting for me.Now, though, coincidence feels like a lie I tell myself.I look toward the shadowed booth.Storm-grey eyes catch mine instantly, sharp and unblinking. The kind of gaze that doesn’t look away first. Rings glint on his fingers as he shifts, lazy but alert, the lights catching just enough to reveal the suggestion of ink along his forearms.So. He came.Since he’s here, I might as well make it worth t

RHEA“You only have one chance now,” he says, voice low and smooth like velvet dragged over steel. “Walk out that door and I forget tonight ever happened. No punishment. No consequences. You get my forgiveness, clean and easy, my love.”He pauses, eyes searching mine, that dangerous glint sharpening.“But that’s not what you want, is it?”His gaze drops slowly—deliberate—down my body, lingering on my chest, my hips, between my legs, like he can already see how wet I am.“You want me to punish you.”The word punish rolls off his tongue like a promise.“You want to be my good girl again. You want me to make you take it.”He leans forward slightly, still seated, still not touching me.“And right now, just thinking about what I’m going to do to you has your little pussy soaked, doesn’t it? Thighs slick. Clit throbbing. Begging for my attention.”Fuck.Heat floods me—instant, overwhelming. My nipples tighten hard against my bikini top. My thighs clench together on instinct, trying to ease t