Todos los capítulos de The Rogue Biker’s Plus-Size Mate: Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

Chapter 72
Laila POVThe ambulance bay smelled like metal and rain that had not fallen yet.Doors stood open. A stretcher hung halfway out like a tongue. My mother had one hand in the air, not waving, pointing, as if she could still run a room from a mattress.“Do not roll me like luggage,” she told the medic. “I have a daughter with a bad jacket and a worse man. They are coming.”“We are here,” I said.The medic jumped. Zane’s engine died behind me, loud enough that two orderlies looked at the bike like it might bite.Zara’s father was not on the concrete. He was on a phone under the canopy, coat neat, voice soft. That was worse. Soft men sign papers.“Emergency transfer,” the medic said. “We were told the floor is unsafe. Raid at an associated property. Policy.”“Associated,” I said. “That is a fancy word for my bar.”Zane stepped up to the stretcher and put one hand on the rail. He did not shove. He just made the wheels think twice.“She stays in this building tonight,” he said. “Y

Chapter 74
Laila POVWe did not go back inside the tape.The bar was a mouth full of law. My bed there would be a gift to anyone with a lens. The hospital had a guard and a mother who had already told me to fix what I left open.Zane put me on the bike anyway.“Hold,” he said.I held.The city peeled off us in strips. Cold air. Engine heat. His back like a wall I could trust more than paper. My stomach still felt marked under the jacket. I did not care. Let the highway know.The two riders fell in behind, not close enough to crowd, close enough that a third light would have to think.We left the tall glass and found the low places. Garages. Weeds. A fence with no sign. Zane turned into a lot that smelled like oil and rain and old rubber.The clubhouse was not pretty.A garage with bunks along one wall. A table made of a door. Helmets on nails. A fridge that hummed like it was tired. This was not Harlan’s yard. This was the place a rogue kept the people who still answered him.Three mo

Chapter 76
Laila POVDaylight made the jacket heavier.Zane put it on my shoulders like a door. No patch. Just leather that smelled like him and the garage. The skirt stayed. The mark stayed visible if the wind wanted it.“This is not a card,” he said. “This is a ride. You keep your hands on me. If someone cuts in, you do not play hero until I say.”“I will play whatever keeps you on the bike.”Rook snorted from her own machine.“City girl has jokes. Good. Jokes live longer than speeches.”Four engines. Zane. Rook. Eyebrow scar. Quiet chain man. Shaved head stayed on the lot with a rifle look and no rifle in sight. Someone had to keep the fence from growing Nessa again.We rolled into the strip like a sentence the city could not unread.Phones came up. Of course they did. Faceless Alpha. Plus size mate. Jacket. Daylight. I did not shrink. I let my thighs sit on the seat like they paid rent. Let them look. Let Zara’s interview choke on a picture she did not pose.Zane’s back was a wall

Chapter 78
Laila POVThe clubhouse smelled like petrol and bad coffee.Shaved head had the map on the door table. East spur. Fuel stop. Reid’s live still pinned like a fly.“Four bikes,” Zane said. “Rook with Laila. You two on my flanks. Nobody kills him. He talks. Talking is useful.”“I want his phone,” I said.“You can have his phone,” Rook said. “I want his grin.”We rode after dark anyway.Harlan had told us the highway was his. We took service roads until the last mile, then hit the spur like a slap. Engines. Heat. My thighs around Zane, jacket snapping, mark aching in the wind.The fuel stop was a bright island in ugly dark.Reid stood by a pump with his phone up, still performing. The buyer’s coat waited by the black car, rings dull under neon.They saw us too late.Zane took Reid off his feet before the grin finished. I took the phone and smashed the screen on the pump. Comments died in mid fire.Rook blocked the black car with her front wheel.The buyer lifted both hands.“Th

Chapter 80
Laila POV“The one that still has a pulse,” I told Rook. “Not the loud empty one.”She opened the throttle.Harden talked in my ear like a second engine.“Left fork. Contractor van. Heat signature in the back. The decoy is already posting itself on Reid’s live. Do not chase fame.”Zane’s light cut across and joined us. He had read the same fork in my silence.We caught the van on a service road that had no right to be this dark.Rook took the front. Zane took the side. Quiet chain man boxed the rear.The driver was the buyer’s man. I knew the rings on the hand that lifted off the wheel.“Do not,” I said.He still reached.Zane put him on the dirt without killing him. I yanked the back doors.My mother sat strapped, eyes clearer than the last wing, mouth already moving.“If this is a tour I want my money.”“Ma.”“Leather. You are late again. Faster than try, I said.”I laughed and it broke. I got her down. Rook covered the road. Shaved head zip tied the driver to his own bum