Cyclops
Ink spotted them first. “Prez is gonna shit bricks when he hears about this,” he muttered.
He led her toward the bar. It wasn’t the most private place, but he needed eyes on the doors—and on his brothers.
“You all know what’s going on,” he said, addressing the room without turning his back on anyone.
“Her father put a bounty out on her. Half a million alive and unharmed. Which means they’re not looking to kill her—they’re looking to sell her off, eventually. ”
“Damn right it is,” Venom growled.
“She stopped being an outsider when her father’s men slashed her tires on Reaper ground. When she stepped into our bar, she became our problem and our responsibility.”
“That’s not how it works,” Razor argued.
“It’s how it’s going to work tonight,” Cyclops insisted. Silence filled the room again. He could see the shift happen. His brothers exchanged looks, weighing loyalty against danger, against money, and against the unknown. Cyclops straightened. “Anyone got a problem with it, speak now.”
Razor opened his mouth, but Venom’s glare shut it for him. Ink leaned forward. “Mace trusts Cyclops to run this place in his absence, and that’s enough for me.” One by one, the others nodded. They seemed reluctant, but he trusted that they’d stick with their decision to follow him.
Trixie was quiet, and he noticed. She stood by his side with her chin high and her eyes sharp as she watched everyone.
He could tell that she was calculating her next move.
Cyclops knew that trust didn’t come easy for her—not after what she’d been through with her father, but she was learning something important tonight.
The Road Reapers weren’t her father’s men.
He didn’t expect her gratitude. But when her shoulder brushed his—purposefully this time—he felt something settle inside him.
It was something dangerous, but it felt completely right.
“All right,” Cyclops said, “Trixie, you ride with me. Venom and Ink, you’re riding tail.
Razor, you run ahead and clear the compound. We leave in ten.”
Trixie froze, “Excuse me? I ride with you?” Her voice was sharp and defensive. He turned to her and saw her fear staring back at him while she tried to look defiant.
“Yeah,” he said. “Ride with me.”
“You want me to ride on the back of your bike for three hours?” she shot back. “Can’t we take a car or something?”
“There are no cars here right now,” he said.
“Let me ride my own bike. I know how to ride and can handle myself,” she insisted.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not questioning what you can handle. But riding with me means you stay within reach if shit goes sideways. You want independence? You get it after we survive tonight.”
She glared at him. “You like giving orders, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said honestly. “But I like keeping you alive more.” Her breath hitched. Just barely. Only someone watching her closely would’ve noticed, and he was watching her closely.
“If you ride with me,” he said softly, “I’ll know where you are at all times, and I’ll know that no one can touch you without going through me first.”
She hesitated for a long moment before nodding her agreement. “Fine,” she said, her voice low. “But only because your men don’t know me. If something happens, I don’t want to slow any of you down.”
Cyclops almost laughed. “Trixie, you’re the whole damn reason they’re coming.” She blinked at that. She wasn’t used to being the center of anything except the danger that her father had surrounded her with.
He handed her the helmet and watched as she put it on. Her hands shook only slightly, and he felt pride when he had no right to. When she wrapped her arms around him this time, it wasn’t out of desperation. It was a choice that she was making to go with him—willingly.
The convoy thundered out of the parking lot like a pack of wolves.
Razor was up front, Venom and Ink were behind them, and Cyclops was dead center with Trixie pressed tight to his back.
He felt her everywhere—her breath on his neck, her fingers gripping his cut, her body molded to his like she’d been made to fit there.
He knew that they were all dangerous thoughts, but he couldn’t seem to stop them from consuming him.
The night air whipped past them, carrying the scent of pine and asphalt and something electric.
Trouble was coming. He could feel it humming at the base of his spine, and it didn’t take long for it to catch up to them.
About halfway down the highway, Trixie tapped his shoulder.
It was the signal for him to slow down. He eased off the throttle until she leaned close enough to whisper into his ear.
“We’re being followed,” she breathed, and his blood ran cold.
“You sure?” he mouthed back over the engine.
“Yes, it’s a dark sedan. They don’t have their lights on, and they’ve been behind us since the exit ramp.” Cyclops didn’t turn his head to look back. He just shifted one hand to squeeze her leg in acknowledgment, letting her know that he’d handle whatever was back there.
He tapped his brakes twice—a signal that the riders behind him would understand instantly. Venom’s voice crackled through the comms. “We got company.”
Razor responded, “Two miles up, we’ve got a narrow stretch of road. You want me to box them in?” Cyclops considered it. A trap for a trap sounded about right to him.
“No,” he said, voice steady. “We take them where we want them to go.”
“And where’s that?” Ink asked.
Cyclops smiled to himself—a dark, feral smile.
“Off the road.” He shifted his weight, revved the engine, and took the next turn so sharply that Trixie’s grip tightened around him like a vise.
His brothers followed him as the whole line weaved onto the dark, tree-covered back roads where only locals dared to drive.
The sedan followed, and Cyclops almost felt sorry for them. They were persistent, he’d give them that. But that was what he wanted. Trixie leaned into his body, “You’re taking them into the woods?” she asked.
He glanced back at her. “Yes,” he breathed. “I’m taking them somewhere the odds are more even.”
“And what if they brought more than one car? What if this is exactly what they wanted?” she asked.
“Trixie.” His voice cut clean through her panic.
“I told you earlier—we stand beside you.” He watched her in the rearview mirror as something flickered across her face.
He wasn’t sure if it was fear, gratitude, or just something he wasn’t ready to name yet.
“And right now,” he murmured, “I need you to trust me.”
Her lips parted. “I do,” she whispered into his ear, surprising the hell out of him. He didn’t expect her to actually admit that to him, but he was so damn happy that she did.
His heart kicked like a punch, but he didn’t have time to unpack the weight of her words. “Then hold on,” he growled. He gunned the engine, leading them down the dark back road as the sedan behind them accelerated.
Ahead of them, the night waited, and Cyclops finally felt alive.
He loved how the night seemed to swallow them whole as Trixie clung to him.
The bike shot down a narrow service road bordered by trees that bent inward like skeletal arms. The darkness here felt thicker and seemed quieter.
It was the kind of quiet that hid secrets and bodies with equal ease, and it was the perfect place for an ambush.
Trixie’s heart hammered against his back as the terrain grew rougher under the bike’s tires.
Every jolt sent vibrations through her legs as they hugged his ass.
She had her chest pressed tightly to him, and damn if she didn’t feel right pressed up against him.
He could tell that she knew how to ride and wondered if she had ever ridden on the back of any of her father’s men’s bikes.
That thought just pissed him off as he sped deeper into the darkness.
He rode like he didn’t fear death, because he didn’t.
He had already danced with it and learned its steps.
He knew how to play the game, and right now, that was exactly what they were doing.
The comm crackled faintly between the bikes, but he couldn’t hear the words—just the tension.
It coiled in the air like wires waiting to snap.
When the trees opened into a clearing, Cyclops braked hard.
Gravel spat under the tires. The convoy fanned out around them with practiced precision, forming a semicircle as they blocked the road ahead.
They were blocking any escape for the men who were following them.
“Why are we stopping?” Trixie demanded, ripping the helmet off. Her voice came out sharp. “If they’re following us, we should be running, not stopping here in the middle of nowhere.”
He cut her off with a single look over his shoulder.
“We’re done running, honey. I’ve already told you that, back at the clubhouse.
” He meant it too. He refused to cower to any threat.
He was going to show her what it meant to have his club behind her.
Cyclops just hoped like hell that they’d be able to handle whatever had followed them into the darkness—not just for Trixie’s sake, but for his guys too.