28. Rick
28
RICK
The abandoned airstrip comes alive at midnight, but I’m not here for the races. Clay and I watch from the shadows as bikes line up under portable floodlights, keeping our focus on three Death’s Head members clustered near a sleek black Ducati.
“That’s the one,” Clay murmurs. “Third time she’s raced for them. They’re using her as cover.”
The female rider he’s pointing out moves with professional grace, all lean muscle and careful confidence. Not their usual type.
“She’s good,” I observe as she takes practice runs. “Too good for club racing.”
“Exactly.” Clay passes me his phone, showing surveillance photos. “She shows up at races across three states. Always with different Death’s Head escorts.”
Something cold settles in my gut as I study the images. Young women appearing at races, then disappearing. Routes that cross state lines, using MC culture as cover for something darker.
“They’re expanding operations,” I say, watching another group of Death’s Head members arrive. “Using the racing circuit for recruitment?”
“Among other things.” Clay’s voice holds disgust. “Perfect cover for moving product. Or people.”
The implications hit hard. I think of Evie, who is safe at home with our girls, and of all the families in Wolf Pike who trust us to protect their children.
A new group roars in—more Death’s Head, but these ones are different.
“Sacramento boys,” Clay identifies them. “Same ones that have been watching the gallery.”
My hands clench. Ever since Skylar’s video went viral, these professional hunters have been coming closer. Now they’re infiltrating local MC events, using Death’s Head as muscle.
The female rider takes her position for the first heat. Up close, she can’t be more than twenty. Something about her reminds me of Evie—that careful watchfulness, that hint of running from something.
“Got movement,” Clay warns as two Death’s Head members approach our position. We fade deeper into shadows, but their conversation carries on.
“Boss wants her running northern routes,” one says. “Says she’s the perfect cover for the new operation.”
“Sacramento approved?”
“Yeah. They’re expanding territory. Need fresh faces for distribution.”
They’re building infrastructure and preparing to move bigger operations into Wolf Pike.
The race starts—engines roaring, the crowd cheering. But I’m watching the men in shadows, the ones exchanging packages and coordinates. I’m building evidence for whatever war is coming.
“Rick.” Clay’s voice pulls me back. “Got eyes on Marcus.”
Death’s Head’s president stands apart from the crowd, deep in conversation with one of the Sacramento suits. The way they study the female rider like she’s a product rather than a person makes me wish I could put them down right here.
But we need intel more than vengeance. We need to understand what’s really coming for our town and our family.
The night progresses with more races and more careful observation. We document faces, capture conversations, and build our case.
“They’re planning something big,” Clay says as the crowd starts thinning.
Before I can speak, Marcus’s voice carries across the now-quiet lot. He’s on the phone, tone respectful in a way that sets off warnings.
“Yes, sir. Territory’s being prepared… Yes, the woman’s movements are tracked… No sir, she doesn’t attend races…”
They’re reporting to someone about a woman. He’s powerful enough to command both motorcycle clubs and professional muscle.
“Time to go,” Clay warns as bikes fire up. “Got what we need.”
The ride home gives me too much time to think. About young women being trafficked through race circuits. About professional killers hunting for God knows who. About all the pieces we still don’t understand.
Teller’s waiting at the clubhouse, expression grim as we report. While Clay presents evidence, I study maps of race routes. They spider across states, creating a network perfect for moving people undetected.
“They’re not just after someone,” Teller concludes. “They’re using the hunt for her as cover to expand operations.”
“Getting ready to move something bigger through our territory.”
“Or someone.” Clay pulls up photos of the female rider. “This is the third girl they’ve used this way. The others disappeared after a few months.”
The implications settle like lead. They’re threatening every family in Wolf Pike.
“Increase patrols,” Teller orders. “Especially around schools. And Rick?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep your family close. All of them.”
I head home with dawn breaking, mind full of dark possibilities.
The house is quiet when I enter. I find Evie in her bed, wearing a crop top and short pants, her dark hair spread across the pillow.
She stirs when I sit beside her, green eyes blinking open. “You’re late.”
“Club business.” I brush the hair from her face, needing to touch her. “Are the girls okay?”
“They are.” She leans into my hand. “You look worried.”
Instead of answering, I kiss her. Pour everything I can’t say into the press of my lips against hers. She responds immediately, arms wrapping around my neck to pull me closer.
“Shower first,” she murmurs when I try to deepen the kiss. “You smell like motorcycle exhaust.”
In the bathroom, she helps strip off my leather, her touch lingering on tense muscles. When she steps into the shower with me, I groan at the sight of water running down her body.
“Let me,” she says softly, taking the soap. Her hands relieve the stress in my shoulders while I breathe in the steam and her scent.
“Better?” She presses against my back, breasts soft against my skin.
I turn, catching her mouth in a hungry kiss. Push her against the tile, swallowing her gasp as my hands find her breasts. When I pinch her nipples, she arches into my touch.
I growl against her neck. “I need you to be safe always.”
She guides my hand between her thighs, where she’s already wet despite the water. I circle her clit with my thumb while sliding two fingers inside her, loving how she clenches around me.
“Please,” she begs when I drop to my knees. “Rick…”
We both moan when I finally taste her. I take my time, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her clit. Her hands tangle in my hair as I work her higher.
When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips. I keep going, not stopping until she pulls me up for a desperate kiss.
“Bed,” she pants. “Need you inside me.”
We barely dry off before tumbling onto sheets. She’s so beautiful spread beneath me, skin flushed and damp. When I push into her, we both curse at how perfect it feels.
I growl, setting a deep rhythm. She meets every thrust, nails scoring my back. Drawing it out as long as I can, I work her toward another peak.
She comes again with a cry, walls clenching around me. I follow immediately, burying my face in her neck as pleasure crashes through me.
After, she curls against my chest while I trace patterns on her skin, thoroughly satisfied.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong?” I ask quietly. “If you needed protection?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I have all the protection I need. Right here.”
I hold her closer, silently vowing to deserve that trust. To keep her safe from whatever storms are coming.
Even if I have to burn the world down to do it.