Ride Or Ruin The Biker Who Owned My Soul のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Elara's POV The first thing I learnt about the Iron Reapers was this: they didn’t need to threaten you; the air did it for them. I woke up before dawn to a deep rumble shaking the walls of the small room I was in. The sound wasn’t just noise; it was a warning, a reminder that I was far from anywhere safe or familiar. The Iron Reapers' bikes' engines roared beneath me, shaking the floor and my bones. For a moment, I forgot where I was, but then the memory hit me like a fist: steel gates, cold stares, and the word "marriage" hanging over me like a sentence I couldn’t escape. I sat up slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The room was bare, just a narrow bed pushed against the wall, a small dresser, and a single window barred from the outside. It wasn’t a prison cell, but it was close enough. I crossed to the window and looked down. There was a lot of activity in the compound. Men moved with purpose, checking their weapons, loading their bikes, and speaking in short, sharp sente

Elara's POV The wedding didn’t start with music or celebration. It began with a heavy suffocating silence that pressed against my ears as I stepped into the floodlit yard of the Iron Reapers’ compound. My hand was locked tightly in Ruin’s grip, and around us, engines idled in a slow, threatening rhythm. Motorcycles formed a half circle, standing like sentinels guarding a ritual older than any law. This wasn’t a celebration. It was a warning. Men stood shoulder to shoulder, their leather vests marked with the Iron Reapers’ insignia. Their faces were hard, unreadable. Some watched me with curiosity, others with resentment, and a few with something that chilled me to the bone—pity. That pity terrified me more than any glare or sneer ever could. I wasn’t dressed like a bride. No white, no veil, just a simple black dress Mara had handed me minutes before, her eyes soft but full of worry. “You stand tall,” she had whispered. “They can smell fear.” So I did. Ruin walked beside me, his

Elara's POV The Iron Reapers’ rules weren’t taught in classrooms or whispered in quiet moments. I learnt them the hard way by surviving the kinds of nights that broke others. That night was no different. It ended in blood and smoke, but not the way I had feared. Nikolai Volkov disappeared into the chaos before he could pull the trigger. Ruin didn’t chase him. Instead, he chose me. He grabbed my arm and dragged me through a hidden stairwell, his body always pressed between me and the bullets that ripped into the walls behind us. Every step was a gamble, but he never faltered. He was my shield. By dawn, the compound was scarred but still standing. So was I. I was bruised and shaken but alive. Ruin didn’t sleep that night, and neither did I. The weight of what had happened pressed down on us like a storm cloud that refused to pass. The sun rose pale and weak through the barred window of Ruin’s room. It cast long, cold shadows across the bed I hadn’t dared to touch and the floor where

Elara's POVThe photo burned itself into my mind.My father knelt on concrete, his hands bound behind him, his face swollen and bruised but his eyes were still defiant. Still alive. The timestamp blinked in the corner of the image, cruel and precise.Recent.My fingers shook as I locked my phone and slid it into my pocket, as it might bite me.Ruin watched me from across the room. He didn’t ask what the message said. He already knew. His jaw was set, his body coiled like a loaded weapon, but his eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—were on me, not the threat.“They’re moving faster,” I said quietly.“Yes.”“You expected this.”“Yes.”That should have terrified me.Instead, it made me angry.“Then stop deciding everything for me,” I snapped. “I’m not a package being shipped between monsters.”Ruin stepped closer, his presence filling the space until the air felt thick. “You’re not a package,” he said lowly. “You’re leverage. And that makes you dangerous.”“I didn’t ask to be.”“No,” he agr

Elara's POVI didn’t truly leave. I walked down the corridor like I meant to obey the message, like I meant to disappear into Volkov’s trap but I stopped at the first junction, pressed my back to the cold concrete, and listened.Ruin’s footsteps thundered behind me, then slowed.“Lock the exits,” he ordered someone. “No one leaves.”I held my breath.Men moved, doors slammed, the safehouse shifted into lockdown mode, and the air hummed with tension. I waited until the noise drifted away, then slipped down a service hallway I’d noticed earlier—narrow, dim, forgotten.I wasn’t running.I was learning. Because Ruin was right about one thing: trust was a loaded gun.And someone here was aiming it at my back.The hallway opened into a maintenance corridor lined with pipes and exposed wiring. A single bulb flickered overhead. I followed the low murmur of voices, keeping my steps soft, my breathing shallow.The voices came from the infirmary.I slowed, heart pounding, and leaned closer to th