All Chapters of The Biker Alpha's Lost Mate : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

RyderThe decision settles heavy in my chest, but my face remains unreadable as I turn away from Nova and look at Jerome. The room still smells like metal and sweat, tension thick enough that even breathing feels deliberate.“Lock her in the underground wing,” I instruct evenly, my voice firm and controlled. “Isolate her from the general cells. No contact without my approval.”Nova jerks forward in her chair, the chains around her wrists clinking sharply. “Reign, no,” she pleads, her voice cracking as panic replaces the calculated softness from earlier. “You cannot do this to me.”I do not look at her immediately. I let the order sit in the air first. Let it become real.Jerome nods once and steps forward, but I lift a hand slightly, stopping him for a second. My eyes drift to Nova then, and for a brief moment I see her the way I used to. The girl who found me bleeding out years ago. The girl who pressed her hands against my wound and refused to let me die. The one who sat beside my b

AliceI do not tell Ryder where I am going.He is busy barking orders in the courtyard, tightening borders like the walls of this place can protect him from his own past. Guards are doubling shifts, patrol bikes are lined up, radios crackle every few seconds with updates from the outer perimeter. The entire compound feels alert, stretched thin.Good.If Nova thinks she can shake this pack from the inside, she will learn quickly that I do not sit back and watch.I take a steady stride toward the underground wing alone. No escort. No announcement. The guards at the entrance stiffen when they see me.“Open it,” I instruct calmly.Mason hesitates for half a second, then nods and unlocks the heavy door. “Alpha did not mention a visit.”“I am not asking for permission,” I reply evenly.The door groans open, cool air brushing against my skin as I descend the concrete stairs. The sound of my boots echoes faintly, deliberate and measured. I do not rush. I want her to hear me coming.The corrid

RyderAlice has been so clingy lately. Ever since the pregnancy hit the fourth month, she can’t seem to keep her hands off me. I wake up most mornings with her already pressed against my back, one arm slung over my waist, fingers tracing slow circles on my stomach. She’ll nuzzle into my neck, breath warm against my skin, and whisper things like “I need you” before I’m even fully awake. It’s like her body decided four months in that it wants me constantly, and I’m not complaining. Not even a little.Tonight is no different. We’re in bed early because she said she was tired, but the second the door closes she’s on me. She pushes me back against the pillows, climbs into my lap, straddles my thighs. Her belly is round now, noticeable under the loose shirt she’s wearing—my shirt, actually, one of the black ones she keeps stealing. It stretches tight over her bump, and fuck, seeing her like this does something to me every time.She leans in and kisses me hard, hands already tugging at my sh

RyderMonths pass, and the changes are undeniable. Nova’s belly grows alongside Alice’s. Alice has become more irritable lately, snapping at the smallest things. I want to touch her, to hold her close, but these days she flinches if I even graze her shoulder. She huffs, rolls her eyes, or mutters complaints under her breath. She’s a storm coiled in a human frame, and pregnancy only seems to have sharpened the edges.I stand outside the cabin where she’s pacing, arms crossed over my chest. Her feet kick at the gravel in a rhythm I can almost feel under my boots. “Alice,” I call quietly, “can I—”She spins on me, eyes flashing. “Can you what, Ryder? Touch me? Hug me? I’m fine. Really. I don’t need you hovering over me every second.”I take a slow step back, hands raised slightly in surrender. “I just thought maybe—”“Maybe what?” she cuts in, voice sharper now, “You thought I’d let you baby me again? I’m pregnant, not fragile.”I bite back the words that want to come out, the ones about

RyderNova begins serving her hard labor sentence after two weeks of recovery, and I make sure the guards rotate in shifts so there is no room for sympathy or foolish mistakes. The underground field behind the old training grounds is where she works, hauling stones with the other offenders, sweat soaking through the thin gray dress they issued her. She does not look at me when I pass by, and I do not stop walking. Whatever we had, whatever stupidity led to that night, it is buried under the weight of what she did to my pack and to my mate.The child remains under pack protection, under my protection, and more than that, under Alice’s.If anyone had told me months ago that Alice would be the one hovering over Nova’s son like a mother hen, I would have laughed in their face. Yet every night when I step into the nursery, I find her there, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair loosely tied at the back of her neck, moving around the room like she belongs there.Tonight is no different.I push