Chapter 3
Morgan
Her apartment felt different somehow, as if the revelation about Jason had somehow altered the physical space.
As she dropped her keys and bag on the kitchen counter, she caught sight of the framed photo of her and Jason together at the harbour last summer. His arm around her shoulders, his smile picture-perfect.
What a joke.
She snatched up the frame and dumped it face-down in the trash. One down, too many to go.
She moved about her apartment, removing the evidence of her cheating, lying bastard of an ex, and she figured she’d test the waters and see if Bullet was another lying bastard or if he actually gave her his real number.
After their text exchange—which had brought an unexpected smile to her face—she felt Bullet had proven that decent men still existed.
He was funny. Unexpectedly so.
And unlike Jason, he didn’t try too hard. He just kept up, matched her tone, and left her wondering what else he was capable of.
As Morgan got ready for bed, she re-read their exchange from twenty minutes ago, a smile tugging at her lips despite everything. Masked Vigilante. What kind of man hid behind a helmet and motorcycle gear, yet stepped in to defend a stranger? And why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
She did always prefer Batman over Superman.
“Get it together, Morgan,” she muttered, tossing her cellphone onto her bed. “You just ended one relationship. Literally an hour ago.”
Still, she couldn’t shake the image of him—tall, powerful, commanding even without showing his face. The contrast between the intimidating black helmet and the gentle way he’d offered his arm was... intriguing.
Her landline rang, jarring her from thoughts of her mysterious rescuer. Only a handful of people had that number. Her parents would have been the main suspects—if they had still been alive.
Morgan hesitated, turning toward the old-fashioned rotary phone on her dresser. It had once belonged to her mother, who’d adored vintage films—the kind with dramatic heroines, sweeping orchestras, and long cigarette holders no one actually used.
After her mother had passed, Morgan inherited not one, but three of the old fashioned rotary phones. They each had a special place in her home, as she couldn’t bring herself to part with them.
So she paid the monthly landline fee, used them occasionally to order pizza, and told herself it was worth it to keep a little piece of her mother’s world alive.
She picked up the ringing receiver. “Hello?”
“So you’re home.” Jason’s voice, slightly slurred. He’d obviously been drinking. “That was quite a performance tonight.”
She gripped the receiver tighter. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“You embarrassed me in front of an important client.”
“You embarrassed yourself when you decided to cheat.” Morgan glanced towards the front door that she couldn’t see from her bed, suddenly very aware of the flimsy chain that was the only thing preventing him from using his key that he’d talked her into giving him just two months ago. “Don’t call here again.”
“We need to talk about this like... like adults, Morgan.” He stumbled over his words, “I was handling a client. It was just... just business.”
“Is that what you call it? Because from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like you were seconds away from having your tongue down her throat.”
A tense silence followed before he switched tactics. “That biker friend of yours—you know him?”
Something cold slithered down Morgan’s spine. The question felt like a threat.
“Well enough,” she lied. “He’s very protective.”
“Didn’t look like the type of guy you’d hang around with.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jason.” Her white knuckles showed stark against the black phone cord in her fist. “Like the fact that I’m hanging up now and blocking your number.”
“Morgan—”
She placed the receiver down with deliberate calm even as her heart pounded against her ribs. Before she could talk herself out of it, she jumped out of bed and checked her front door for the lock and the chain that was her only defense if Jason tried to break in.
Secure, but suddenly it seemed woefully inadequate. She dragged one of her kitchen chairs over to prop under the doorhandle. Maybe overkill, but one could never be too careful.
You should change your locks tomorrow. Her helmeted hero’s advice echoed in her thoughts.
Morgan glanced back at her phone. Should she text him again? No—it was ridiculous to rely on a stranger she’d just met, even if he had helped her tonight. She wasn’t some damsel who needed constant rescuing.
Instead, she called Tessa.
“Oh my God, finally!” her friend answered without preamble. “Did you confront that cheating bastard? Tell me everything.”
Morgan sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “I did. At the restaurant. It was... messy.”
“Good messy? Like you dumped marinara sauce on his lying head?”
Despite everything, Morgan laughed. “No, though that would have been satisfying. Just your standard public confrontation, complete with staring patrons and a humiliated now-ex-boyfriend.”
“I wish I could have seen his face. Did the blonde realize she was the side piece?”
“I don’t think so.” Morgan twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “She seemed surprised when I said I was his girlfriend.”
“What a piece of—wait.” Tessa’s voice sharpened. “Are you okay? Are you home? Do you want me to come over?”
The concern in her friend’s voice made Morgan’s eyes sting unexpectedly. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You don’t sound fine. I’m coming over.”
“No, it’s late, and you have that early meeting tomorrow.” Morgan took a deep breath. “But there’s something else. Something weird happened after I left the restaurant.”
“Weird how?” The suspicion in Tessa’s voice was immediate.
“Jason followed me out. We were arguing on the sidewalk, and this biker stopped to help me.”
“A biker? Like, leather cut, motorcycle, Sons of Anarchy, the whole deal?”
Morgan laughed, “No... well, sorta. Not like those Motorcycle Club romance books you’re always reading.”
Tessa scoffed loudly, “I read no such thing.”
“Shut up, you totally do and love every moment of them, I even loved that one you made me read with the guy with the pierced-”
Tessa cut her off before she could fall too far down the fantasy rabbit hole, “Yes, you’ve told me all about your curiosity about piercings, but back to our main event. Tell me about this motorcycle man who beat up Jason, and whisked you on to the back of his bike, riding off into the sunset.”
“You’re ridiculous, and that didn’t happen.”
“Ugh, fine. So if you didn’t ride off with Biker Boy, what happened?”
“He was dressed in full black leather gear, pants, riding jacket, helmet, the whole shebang. He stepped in between me and Jason when he wouldn’t let go of me.”
“That sounds... terrifying and hot at the same time. Was he cute?”
Morgan rolled her eyes, though Tessa couldn’t see it. “I have no idea. He never took off his helmet.”
“Seriously? That’s some superhero-level mystery.”
“It wasn’t like that.” But even as she said it, Morgan knew it was exactly like that. “He was just being decent.”
“Uh-huh. And did this decent, mysterious, night-riding biker get your number?”
Morgan bit her lip. “Actually, I got his.”
“WHAT?” Tessa’s shriek made Morgan pull the phone away from her ear. “Morgan Elizabeth Reeves! You just broke up with Jason and already got a biker’s number?”
“It’s not like that,” Morgan protested, though heat crept up her neck. “He walked me to my car, and I asked for his number in case... I don’t know, in case I needed help again.”
“And does your dark knight have a name?”
Morgan hesitated. “He goes by Bullet.”
“Bullet,” Tessa repeated flatly. “Like, the thing that kills people... Bullet?”
“It’s obviously a nickname.”
“Obviously,” Tessa agreed. “Because his parents definitely didn’t look at their newborn and think, ‘You know what would be cute? Naming him after ammunition.’”
Morgan laughed despite herself. “He was nice, Tess. Respectful. He told me I should change my locks since Jason has a key.”
“He’s right about that. I’ve been telling you to change those locks and dump Jason’s sorry ass since you told me he was acting weird three weeks ago.”
“I know, I know.”
“So when are you seeing this Bullet again?”
“I’m not,” Morgan said quickly. Too quickly, based on Tessa’s knowing “mmhmm” on the other end. “I just got out of a relationship. The last thing I need is to jump into something new, especially with someone I literally know nothing about.”
“Except that he rides a motorcycle, goes by the same name as a deadly object, and likes to rescue women from jerky ex-boyfriends.”
“Not helping, Tess.”
“All I’m saying is, the best way to get over someone is to—”
“If you say ‘get under someone else,’ I’m hanging up.”
Tessa’s laugh was warm through the phone. “I was going to say ‘treat yourself to something that makes you happy,’ but your mind clearly went somewhere specific with Motorcycle Man.”
Morgan groaned. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Change those locks tomorrow! I’ve got meetings this weekend, but call if you need anything. And I want to hear all about it during our lunch on Monday!”
After they hung up, Morgan found herself looking at the text exchange with Bullet again. It was harmless, right? Just thanking someone who’d helped her. But that flutter in her stomach when she reread his messages suggested it might not be so simple.
Her phone chimed with an incoming email, pulling her attention from Bullet’s texts. The subject line made her stomach drop.
URGENT: Status Update Required – Client Presentation
An email from Richard. At 10:48 PM. Unbelievable.
Morgan, I noticed several inconsistencies in the Henderson portfolio you submitted today. We need to address these before I meet with them tomorrow. Please review the attached notes and have a revised version emailed to me by 8AM.
She clicked on the attachment, blood pressure rising as she scanned his “notes”—a list of nitpicky changes that contradicted the direction he’d given her yesterday. Changes that would take hours to implement.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered, tossing her phone aside.
Today had already been the longest day imaginable. She’d broken up with her boyfriend of nine months after catching him cheating, been borderline threatened by said ex, and now her boss wanted her to pull an all-nighter on a Friday night for changes that would probably be reversed tomorrow anyway.
Morgan rubbed her temples where a headache was forming. Focus on one problem at a time. The locks. She needed to handle that first thing tomorrow. Then the Richard situation. Then... well, everything else would have to wait.
She glanced again at her phone, at the text from the mysterious man who called himself Bullet.
Maybe Tessa was right. Maybe she did need something—or someone—that made her happy for a change.
Before she could overthink it, Morgan picked up her phone and typed a new message.
Do mysterious bikers who rescue damsels in distress also know any reliable locksmiths who make emergency house calls?
She hit send before she could change her mind, then set her phone down and opened her laptop to start on Richard’s ridiculous revisions.
To her surprise, her phone chimed almost immediately.
As a matter of fact, I do. How’s noon tomorrow?
Morgan stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was crazy. She didn’t know this man. He could be anyone.
But then again, he’d had every opportunity to be creepy or inappropriate earlier and had instead been nothing but respectful. And right now, with Jason having a key to her apartment and her boss making unreasonable demands, she could use an ally—even a helmeted one.
Noon works. Thank you.
She added her address, then immediately wondered if that had been too trusting. But he’d already responded.
Locksmith will be there. You won’t need to pay him. Let’s just say it’s part of the masked vigilante package.
Morgan couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. I can pay for my own locks.
I don’t doubt it. But humor me this once.
She should argue. She should insist on her independence. Instead, she found herself typing: Just this once. Thank you, Bullet.
Get some rest, Morgan.
Four simple words, yet the warmth they spread through her chest was anything but simple. Morgan set her phone down and turned back to her laptop, the mountain of work suddenly seeming a little less daunting.
Tonight she’d finish Richard’s impossible demands. Tomorrow, she’d get new locks. And maybe—just maybe—she’d learn a little more about the man behind the helmet who called himself Bullet.