MY HOT BIKER SAVIOUR
The thought of Marcus laying one filthy finger on her was enough to make my blood boil.
“Warehouse by the docks,” Duke said, riding up beside me, his voice crackling through the comms. “Scouts say there’s at least ten of them inside. Vipers colors.”
I gunned the throttle, the roar of my bike cutting through the night like thunder. “Ten’s not enough to stop us.”
Tank grinned, revving his engine. “Damn right.”
The Hellfire MC rode as one — leather, metal, and fury on two wheels.
Our headlights slashed through the darkness, reflecting off the rusted containers lining the dockyard.
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