All Chapters of The Biker Alpha's Lost Mate : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

AliceJerome catches us right outside the wall room door, phone already in his hand, face serious for once instead of that usual half-grin he wears. Reign stops walking the second he sees him, and since our fingers are still locked together, I stop too. I haven’t let go since we left the pack hall after the rogue lineup, and honestly, I haven’t wanted to. And every time Reign’s thumb brushes over my knuckles I get this stupid flutter in my stomach that I’m trying really hard to ignore.“Got the footage,” Jerome says without preamble, holding the phone out. “CCTV from the pack hall block corridor weeks ago. Caught the whole thing.”Reign takes the phone with his free hand, thumb still hooked around mine, and angles the screen so I can see too. The video is grainy, timestamped around midnight, black-and-white night vision. Three wolves—big, masked, moving fast—catches Gabe walking back from maybe patrol. They don’t hesitate. One grabs Gabe by the throat, slams him against the wall. Anot

AliceThe pack house feels heavier these days, like the walls are listening. Reign has everyone on edge, questioning loyalties in quiet corners, pulling people aside after meetings, checking patrol logs twice, three times. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t accuse anyone outright, but the tension is there in the way conversations drop when he walks into a room, in the way eyes follow him. He’s looking for the spy, the one Gabe said was already inside, maybe two of them, and every day that passes without answers makes him look frustrated.I’m sitting on the edge of our bed, legs crossed, watching him pace the room. He’s got a stack of patrol reports in one hand, flipping through them without really reading anymore. The mark on my neck still tingles sometimes, especially when he’s close like this, and I catch myself touching it without thinking.“Reign,” I start, keeping my voice even. “Nova was in the armory again today. Alone. She left fast when Jerome walked in, like she didn’t wa

ReignThe gate guards radio up that Nova’s back, and she’s not alone. I’m in the war room with Jerome and Knox going over patrol rotations when the call comes through. Nova’s voice crackles over the line, calm but with that edge she gets when she knows she’s got something big. “Tell Reign to meet me at the main house. I’ve got someone he needs to see.”Jerome raises an eyebrow. “She sound serious?”“She always sounds serious when she wants attention,” I mutter, but I’m already standing. Something in her tone pulls at me, the way it used to when we were younger and she’d drag me into trouble just to watch me get out of it. I tell the guys to finish without me and head outside.The yard is busy—bikes lined up, a couple riders tinkering with engines, smoke drifting from the grill someone fired up for lunch. Nova’s bike is parked crooked near the steps like she couldn’t be bothered to straighten it. She’s leaning against the handlebars, arms crossed, watching me walk over. Beside her is a

NovaMy plans are finally falling into place. Three weeks ago I had gotten information from my intel network that someone who fits my description of the girl Reign has been looking for had surfaced in a backwater slave pen up north. A girl with dark hair, the right age, the right build, close enough to the old photos and stories he used to tell when he was drunk or tired or just lonely enough to talk. I didn’t wait. I paid the price, got her out, and spent every night since coaching her. I made her repeat the stories and things I heard Reign narrate every time, until she could say them in her sleep. I taught her the way Alice used to tilt her head when she was nervous. The way she used to laugh, short, surprised, like she didn’t expect joy to find her. I made her practice saying “Ryder” until it sounded natural, until it didn’t crack on the edges.I watched her rehearse in front of the cracked mirror in that shitty motel room, voice shaking at first, then steadying. I corrected her p

RyderThe music from downstairs keeps thumping right through the floorboards, steady and loud, making my skull vibrate every time the bass drops. I’ve never been this drunk in my entire life. Not even close. I’ve put away bottles that would knock most guys flat and still managed to ride straight through the night without wobbling. Tonight though, my head feels stuffed with cotton, everything’s moving a little too slow and a little too fast at the same time. My skin is burning up, sweat trickling down my back even though the night air coming through the open doors is cool. I keep blinking, trying to focus on the faces around the table, but they blur at the edges like I’m looking through dirty glass.I laugh at Knox’s dumb joke about Jerome’s last fight, the sound coming out thicker than usual, rough around the edges. My tongue feels heavy, like it doesn’t want to cooperate. I lift the bottle again, take a long pull, and the whiskey burns going down, but it doesn’t clear anything. If a