Chapter 5
The message came at noon. The Shadow Riders wanted a meeting.
King called church immediately. Every patched member filled the room, the air thick with tension and rage as King relayed the message.
"They want to talk," King said, his voice edged with scepticism. "Reaper reached out. Says they want to settle things."
A scoff came from the end of the table. "Settle things?" Fang sneered. "That means they want to talk us into giving up Sofia. Not fucking happening."
Goliath’s jaw ticked; his arms crossed over his broad chest. "We go," he said, his voice low and lethal. "We listen, but we don’t give an inch. If they think they can take her, they’re dead wrong."
King nodded. "That’s what I figured. Mount up. We ride out in twenty."
The meeting took place at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Wolverine MC rolled in, engines growling like thunder, a silent promise of war. Goliath dismounted his bike, his golden eyes locking onto Reaper, the Shadow Riders’ President, who stood in front of a line of his men.
Grant wasn’t there. Good. Goliath would have ripped his fucking throat out if he was.
Reaper exhaled a cloud of smoke, his lips curling as the Wolverines approached. Reaper was an imposing figure—tall, lean but with a wiry strength that made him unpredictable in a fight. His face was gaunt, sharp cheekbones accentuating his hollowed-out eyes, a cruel smirk permanently etched onto his lips. Long, greying hair hung past his shoulders, tied back loosely, giving him an almost spectral appearance. Tattoos crawled up his neck and down his arms—each one a story of violence, of bloodshed. Unlike most club presidents who carried themselves with controlled authority, Reaper thrived on chaos. He was unpredictable, known for making moves that made no sense until it was too late.
No one really knew how old he was. Some said he had been leading the Shadow Riders for decades, others whispered that he had taken the presidency in a bloodbath so violent that even his own men feared him. What was certain was that he had no morals, no honour—just power and the will to wield it however he saw fit. If Grant was cruel, Reaper was something worse. He was a man with nothing to lose, and that made him more dangerous than anyone.
"I’ll make this short," he said, voice dripping with arrogance. "We want the girl."
A growl rumbled in Goliath’s chest. He took a step forward, but King held up a hand, keeping the situation from turning into an all-out bloodbath.
"Not happening," King said coldly. "She’s under our protection. That means she’s off-limits."
Reaper sighed, shaking his head. "Look, King. I respect you. But you know how this works. The girl belongs to us. She’s got unfinished business with Grant, and we’re here to collect. We’re not walking away empty-handed."
Goliath clenched his fists, barely holding himself back. "Then you don’t fucking walk away at all."
Reaper’s men tensed, hands inching toward their weapons.
King remained unshaken. "You come near Sofia again, and we will consider it an act of war. You know how that ends."
Reaper stared at him for a long moment before chuckling darkly. "Fine. Have it your way. But you’re making a mistake. We’ll be seeing each other real soon."
With that, the Shadow Riders mounted their bikes and rode off, leaving behind a promise of violence in their wake.
King exhaled. "This isn’t over."
Goliath’s wolf snarled inside him. No. It was just beginning.
Back at the clubhouse, the air was charged. The men were tense, restless after the meeting.
As soon as they stepped inside, King barked the order. "Lockdown. Until this business with the Shadow Riders is done, no one leaves the compound without approval. We double up security on the perimeter, and every patched member keeps a weapon within reach."
A ripple of agreement went through the room. The Wolverines weren’t afraid of a fight, but they weren’t stupid either. They knew the Shadow Riders weren’t done, and when they came back, it wouldn’t be for words.
Goliath barely heard the conversation around him. His head was still pounding with frustration, his hands itching to do something. The moment he caught sight of Sofia on the back porch, everything else faded into the background.
He strode toward her, his breath coming out in rough bursts. She turned, sensing his presence, her blue eyes widening slightly when she saw the raw tension in his face.
"You shouldn’t have gone into town," he said, his voice tight.
Sofia crossed her arms, her stance defensive. "I was with the others. They wouldn’t have let anything happen."
Goliath’s lips pulled back slightly, his wolf bristling. "You don’t get it. It’s not just about what could have happened—it’s about what will happen. They’re watching. Waiting. You stepping outside this club was like painting a target on your back."
Sofia frowned, a flicker of something passing through her gaze. "Why do you care so much?"
Goliath took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. Because you’re mine. The words burned inside him, but he couldn’t say them. Not yet. Not when she was still trying to run from what they were.
Instead, he exhaled sharply. "Because you’re under my protection. That means you don’t get to put yourself at risk."
Sofia’s jaw tightened, but before she could respond, a low tremor ran through his body.
Sofia felt it, too. That deep, unsettling knowledge that trouble was coming. That this wasn’t over. Goliath steps down from the porch and turns towards her, watching her.
He was breathing hard, his fists clenched, his entire body coiled too tight. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched, his entire body coiled too tight.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he began to undress.
Sofia’s breath caught in her throat as Goliath’s hands moved to the hem of his cut, pulling it off and tossing it onto the nearby chair. His broad chest was already rising and falling with heavy breaths, the ridges of his abs flexing as he reached for the hem of his shirt. In one smooth motion, he dragged it over his head, revealing the full scope of his body—hard muscle, taut skin, battle scars tracing his ribs and abdomen like whispers of past wars.
Her throat went dry. She knew she should look away, that whatever was happening right now wasn’t normal, but she couldn’t. She was frozen, torn between uncertainty and something she refused to name.
Then his hands moved to his belt. Her stomach flipped. Was he really—?
Goliath unfastened it with practiced ease, shoving the leather through the loops before his fingers went for the button of his jeans. Her pulse hammered as he popped it open, dragging the zipper down in agonizingly slow movements. Her breathing shallowed as he pushed his jeans down his powerful thighs, stepping out of them until he stood before her completely naked—unashamed, unapologetic.
Sofia’s fingers trembled at her sides, her entire body locking up. She didn’t know what to do. Turn away? Stare? Say something? Nothing in her life had prepared her for this moment. For him.
Heat flooded her face, and she instinctively glanced away, only to have her gaze dragged back to him. The raw power in his stance, the sheer animalistic confidence, was impossible to ignore.
Goliath didn’t speak. He simply watched her, waiting, letting her reaction sink in. And the worst part? She had no fucking idea how to react.
Then it happened.
His body trembled, muscles shifting, bones cracking in a way that made her stomach turn. And then—fur. Claws. A beast where a man had just stood. A massive wolf, dark as midnight, stood before her, golden eyes piercing straight into her soul.
Her knees buckled. The world spun.
"What—what the fuck?" she whispered, stumbling backward.
The wolf took a step forward, lowering its massive head, eyes still locked onto hers.
"Sofia." Alaska’s voice was calm behind her, though Sofia could barely process it. "It’s okay."
Okay? Nothing about this was okay.
Goliath shifted back in front of her, his body once again human—a powerful, primal man standing in the dim light, breathing heavily, his gaze never leaving her.
"You needed to know," he said simply. "This is what I am. What we are."
Sofia could not breathe.
"I—" She backed away. "I can’t—this is too much. I need to leave."
Goliath’s expression darkened instantly. "You’re not leaving."
"You can’t tell me what to do," she snapped, her voice rising. "This isn’t normal. None of this is fucking normal! I can’t—I can’t be part of this!"
Goliath moved, caging her against the wooden railing, his hands gripping it behind her. His scent surrounded her, his heat, his dominance.
"You think I’ll let you go?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "You think I’ll let you walk away from me now that I’ve found you?"
Sofia’s breath hitched. His face was so close. Too close.
"I don’t belong here," she whispered, but even she didn’t believe it.
Goliath exhaled roughly. "You do."
And then, he stretched out his hand grabbing Sofia behind her neck he pulls her towards him, lowering his head he kissed her. The moment their lips met; a fire ignited inside her.
Possessive. Desperate. Claiming.
She gasped against him, but instead of pulling away, her fingers curled into his cut, anchoring herself. It was raw, undeniable. Until reality slammed back into her.
Sofia shoved him away, her breathing ragged. "I—I need time."
Goliath stood there, his chest heaving, his golden eyes burning with an emotion she wasn’t ready for.
"Time?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "Take it. But don’t think for a second that I’m letting you go."
Sofia’s heart pounded. Because deep down, she knew he was telling the truth. She would never be able to escape him, and the terrifying part? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to.