Falling for the Biker

1. Ruby

Ruby

I hate this feeling. I hate feeling the need to look over my shoulder at all times of the day to make sure I’m not being secretly watched or followed.

Even if I am, what am I supposed to do about it? My poor noodle arms are as defenseless as they come. Sure, I can throw a punch, but I think I’d end up hurting myself more than I’d hurt the person following behind me.

That person. Specifically, my stalker. A person whose identity I am not familiar with.

Just keep walking, Ruby. You’re almost there.

Every step I take away from the heart of Willowbrook Ridge, the more unease I feel that something bad might happen.

The only way I can escape one dangerous person is to head in the direction of another.

On my phone, I have an address already pulled up. Keeping my attention on the screen to keep myself calm, I watch as I get closer and closer to my final destination. A tattoo parlor that I had never known about until a police officer mentioned it to me.

I was told the answer to my problems would be inside. A last resort if the time ever came. Well, we’re hitting that point.

As my phone reveals that I’ve reached my destination, my steps slow to a complete stop.

Lifting my head to look at the shop, I grimace at the Crossroads Ink sign.

What a fitting name. That’s how it currently feels right at this moment. I’m at a crossroad. If I can’t get what I need, then what outcome will I find down the dark path I’m going to be forced to take?

Dragging my eyes away, my shoulders relax an inch at the sight of a motorcycle sitting in one of the spots. Against the asphalt, the word OWNER is painted, cracked, and faded with time.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

As soon as I step inside, it’s like abandoning one world and stepping onto another.

Graffiti covers the walls, a design that holds more purpose than an attempt to cause damage. On top of painted words are posters of women with enough skin showing to make me blush.

Music blares somewhere deeper into the shop, but it’s muffled behind a closed door.

Fighting off a shiver to stop from looking weak, I try to find something that isn’t whispering in my ear that it’s a good idea to run away.

There’s a gentle hum of buzzing sounds. Leather chairs are paired with wooden stools arranged around the shop, creating small, station-like sections. Currently, two of them are occupied.

One has a woman with fiery red hair and a steel-eyed look as she stares down at her current project, as if she’s drawing a masterpiece.

Another has a man with a beard and a leather vest with the very design I’m looking for. A patch belonging to the Steelwood MC. This must be him. The owner. The man I’m hoping will save me.

With his back turned to me, offering nothing but the fanged skull curving against his spine, he holds no interest in even looking over his shoulder to see who is here to interrupt the peace.

“Aren’t you cute?” The woman smiles at me from her chair without lifting her gaze. Pausing her work, she turns to give me her full attention. “You got an appointment?”

Just thinking about putting a needle to my skin makes my stomach clench up. My limit of handling pain is a fat zero. Knowing me, I’d pass out. The thought alone is enough to make me dizzy.

“No, um,” I stiffen up underneath her gaze. “I’m looking for someone named Finn?”

Her brows come together like she’s puzzled before turning her attention back to the glowing red canvas of the shoulder she’s working on. “No one by that name here. Sure you got the right place?”

Opening my mouth to say more, the bearded man a few feet away from her shakes his head.

“Cherry.” Saying the word, I’m caught off guard by the deep rumble of his voice.

From the way the redhead looks at him, I realize Cherry is her name. Has to be a nickname or something.

“We’re taking a ten.” The man states the words like a demand as his chair creaks with movement. Setting down his tattoo gun and peeling off his gloves, he ignores the way the person visibly relaxes at the mention of a break. Instead, he’s turning to me.

If I thought the woman could see through me like glass, then this man is an X-ray, seeing every fragile bone and frantic thought.

His eyes are so dark brown they’re nearly black, pinning me in place with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. A scowl digs lines into his brow, and a fresh wave of fear-induced adrenaline hits me.

This is my savior? He looks more like the final boss.

Then my traitorous eyes catch on his hands—large, capable, with faded ink across the knuckles. Against the bone, scars from years of violence that were once covered by gloves only moments ago.

For a hysterical second, I wonder if those hands could be gentle, before I shut the thought down.

Terrifying. He’s just terrifying. He’s perfect, just the thing I’m looking for.

I’m shaking in my shoes, and he hasn’t even acknowledged my existence.

Stepping toward me, I stiffen up, but he walks right past me.

“Step outside.” This time, his words are meant for me.

Feeling like I have no choice but to listen, I follow at the heel of his boots.

The air is cool when we leave the shop. He doesn’t take me too far from the entrance, stepping a few feet away. He looks agitated.

“Finn?” I ask softly, feeling like I’m wrong the moment the word leaves my lips.

He shoves his hand into his back pocket to pull out a crushed pack of cigarettes. Pinching one between his fingers, his frown seems to grow.

“Only my baby sister and her husband can call me by that name. Everyone else?” He says the words so gruffily. “I go by Diesel.”

My nose scrunches out of habit. “Like the stuff you put in cars?”

Lighting the cigarette, I watch as the flames glow against his cheekbones. He inhales slowly, as if he needs the smoke more than air. Exhaling, he doesn’t look any more relieved. “Like the stuff you put in cars.”

He then looks at me, waiting, his stare weighing heavily. I stare back until I realize why silence is forming between us.

“Oh!” Squirming, my eyes shift to the crumbling brick wall. “Hi. I’m, um, Ruby.”

His cigarette glows, leaving behind ashes cascading toward the sidewalk. “Like the rock?”

His attempt to return the blow cracks the tension. For the first time in weeks, my lips curve into a half-smile. “Gemstone, not a rock, but yeah.”

He grunts, a sound that vibrates in the space between us. Then his gaze drops from my face, sweeping down my body with a slow, thorough assessment that has my skin prickling.

It’s not a leer; it’s more like he’s trying to figure out what landed on his doorstep. He doesn’t blink until he reaches the scuffed tips of my sneakers. My heart is hammering again, but it feels different now—less about pure terror and more about being so utterly seen.

“What do you want?” he asks, his eyes flicking back up.

Not only is he intimidating, but he also doesn’t beat around the bush. Good. I need someone who doesn’t waste time. I’ve had enough of that already.

“Help.” The answer comes too easily. “I was told that you’re a part of a group that helps solve people’s problems.”

Feeling like I’ve got one shot, I tell him in a long rush about my “problem”. My stalker. Someone who lives to torment me by leaving notes in my mailbox and hints of their presence in my life.

“Please.” The word escapes me, leaving behind a raw feeling in my throat. “I don’t know who else I can ask.”

Just thinking about going home to find something else, to continue getting spooked and letting fear run my life…

Stubbing out what little is left of his cigarette against the building, he flicks the butt in a nearby trash can.

“Talk to the cops.” His answer comes too fast, like it’s that simple. He turns away as if he’s already done with this conversation. He’s heard enough.

My body moves without thinking. Desperation overrides survival instinct. I reach out, and my fingers make contact with the sun-warmed skin of his forearm, tracing the raised edge of a tattoo. The second I touch him, his entire body goes rigid, like a statue.

I expect him to shove me away, but he doesn’t.

He just… freezes. My own breath catches.

His skin is surprisingly smooth over the hard cord of muscle.

The frown on his lips softens from anger to something else—surprise, maybe?

Annoyance? I can’t tell, but the fact that he hasn’t thrown my hand off feels like a tiny, significant victory.

Somewhere in this darkness consuming my life, there’s a light, and it’s got to be Diesel.

“They said they can’t do anything until something happens.” I shiver at the reminder and blink a few times when my eyes start feeling wet. “One of them told me to come here.”

Seconds pass by before he looks down at me. Those eyes of his look pitch black, and for a few passing seconds, I realize just how deep they are. So endless, I risk falling too deep if I’m not careful.

Is he trying to see if my problem is worth his time?

“I’ll pay you for your time, obviously.” The words tumble out of me, and I realize I’m still touching him. Pulling back, heat trickles up my neck. “I don’t have much, but I’ll give you everything I have. None of it will matter if… "

If my stalker decides to stop haunting me from a distance and attacks me, I can only imagine the outcome being fatal.

“Please, Diesel.” I’m not above begging. “Willowbrook Ridge is my home, and I don’t want to be forced to leave. Please.”

He lets out a long, weary sigh that seems to drain the aggression right out of him. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, I see the fatigue behind the intensity.

“This isn’t something I can just say yes to.

There’s a process.” The word isn’t a rejection.

It’s a possibility. Hope, warm and dizzying, floods my chest. It’s so potent it makes me lightheaded.

“Are you safe to return home for now, until I can wrap things up here? The shop doesn’t close for a few hours, and I’ve got a couple more appointments. ”

Thinking about finding my window open, stopped only by the piece of wood I shoved in each one, I’m quick to shake my head, and he curses under his breath.

“Go somewhere public then. Somewhere with lots of people. Willow Perk is right down the street.” He jerks his chin. “Get a coffee and one of their muffins. Relax. If you want my help, then you have to do everything I say.”

I straighten at his words, and my smile is back. Suddenly, the crossroads I dreaded earlier seem less shaded and more like sunlight creeping through puffy clouds.

“I’ll buy you one. That should be a good start to this, right? What flavor do you like?” The words keep flooding out, and I already know I’m a chatter when I get nervous.

Diesel doesn’t tell me; instead, he orders me to start walking. Promises he’ll find me when he’s done.

I don’t know what this process is that he’s talking about, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this problem of mine go away. If they just roughen up my stalker, scare him away, that’s enough.

So, under his command, I go. I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back with every step, a physical pressure between my shoulder blades.

But instead of feeling hunted, it feels…

protective. A strange, fierce sense of security wraps around me, a shield woven from his promise and that heavy, unwavering stare.

It’s only when I turn the corner and the connection is broken that the shield vanishes.

The coffee shop is in sight, but the safety is gone.

I’m alone again, and for the first time, the solitude feels heavier than before.

I’m not just hoping he’ll save me from my stalker; I’m already anticipating the moment his presence fills the space around me again.