Chapter 7 Morgan #2
The third man—shorter but powerfully built, with close-cropped dark hair—simply nodded in greeting, his expression reserved but not unwelcoming.
“Morgan, meet the guys,” Bullet said, guiding her forward with a light touch at the small of her back. “Viper—” he indicated the sharp-featured one, “—Diesel—” the bearded one, “—and Hawk.” The power house with the close-cropped hair.
Morgan extended her hand. “Thank you all for stepping in on Friday night.” She noticed Bullet took this moment to turn away, presumably to remove his helmet and replace his sunglasses.
Viper shook her hand first, his grip firm but not overpowering, encased in thin black leather gloves. “Any friend of Bullet’s is a friend of ours.” His eyes flicked to her outfit with professional assessment. “The jacket works even better than I expected.”
“You have a good eye,” she said, putting the pieces together that this was the fashion designer friend who had selected her gear. “Everything fits perfectly.”
“It’s a gift.” He shrugged modestly, though his expression suggested he was well aware of his talent.
Diesel enveloped her hand next, his handshake enthusiastic. “Bullet said this would be your first ride. How’d you like it?”
“I’m already addicted,” Morgan admitted, his energy was contagious. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”
“Oh, we’ve got a convert,” Diesel laughed.
Hawk’s handshake was brief but sincere. “Nice to see you again under better circumstances,” he said quietly.
There was something about these men—a shared quality beneath their different exteriors. A watchfulness, a controlled strength, a deep loyalty to each other. Morgan could see why Bullet valued their friendship.
“Coffee and snacks before we hit the road?” Diesel suggested.
As the group moved toward the café entrance, Bullet reappeared beside her. His helmet off, but face once again concealed behind the mask and sunglasses.
Bullet touched her elbow, “It’s my turn to order, faster for us to take turns each week instead of all of us going up and ordering separately. Go ahead and sit and I’ll be back with stuff for everyone.”
As Bullet approached the counter, she followed the men towards a corner table away from other patrons, a little nervous to be left alone with his friends so quickly. Morgan noted how Hawk and Diesel positioned themselves—backs to walls, clear sightlines to exits. Must be their military habits.
She took a seat next to Diesel, and Viper slid into the seat across from her.
“So,” he said, giving her a onceover and an easy smirk, “You survived your first ride. Not bad.”
“I think I loved it,” Morgan admitted. “Once I got past the part where I thought I might fly off the back.”
Diesel chuckled beside her, making his crows feet prominent on his tanned face. “That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”
“She didn’t go running for the hills when they stopped," Hawk added with mock seriousness.
A flicker of doubt crept in. Was this their move? Take a girl for a ride, pull her into the circle, make her feel special—just long enough to get her hooked then drop her like a bad habit once they’d gotten what they wanted?
Before the thought could take root, Viper leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“Weird, right?” he said casually. “It’s always just us guys on Sundays. You’re the first lady we’ve let crash the party.”
He didn’t say it like a warning. More like a quiet reassurance. A truth.
Morgan exhaled, tension she hadn’t realized was building easing from her shoulders.
“Good to know,” she said, offering a small smile. “I was starting to wonder if this was your usual recruiting tactic.”
Diesel snorted. “If that was our move, we’d all be off the market by now.”
Morgan smiled, but something in her chest shifted. Bullet had invited her—not just into his space, but into his life. His circle.
She glanced toward him, still in line, the back of his head clearly visible without the helmet, but still a mystery.
He brought me here.
She turned back to the guys. “Well, thanks for letting me tag along. I promise not to ask for matching jackets. Unless Viper has these in mens.” She gestured to her red jacket Bullet had arranged for her.
Diesel grinned. “Damn. And here I was hoping you’d start a trend.” He nudged Viper with his foot under the table. “When was the last time you got us anything?”
“When was the last time you asked?” Viper shot back with a grin.
Diesel’s eye roll and long suffering sigh brought out a laugh that Morgan quickly disguised as a cough.
“No one loves me around here.” Diesel whined to her.
She chuckled at the clear familiarity they had with one another.
Bullet returned with a tray of coffees and pastries. Morgan noticed he’d ordered her a vanilla latte—exactly what she would have chosen for herself. He must have been paying attention last night when she mentioned her coffee preferences.
“Are they giving you a hard time?” Bullet asked as he pulled up a chair to their booth to sit beside her.
“Just getting to know your crew,” Morgan said with a small smile.
Viper leaned back, hands behind his head. “We’re a charming bunch. Practically irresistible.”
Bullet snorted. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.” He turned to Morgan, saying in an exaggerated whisper. “They mean well.”
“Protective?” she asked, only half-joking.
“Something like that,” Diesel said, more sincere than she expected.
The weight of that settled softly over the table. Morgan glanced at Bullet, but his face was still hidden behind the mask and sunglasses.
She couldn’t help wondering—why her?
“So,” Hawk said, breaking the moment, “Are we sticking to the usual route?”
The conversation shifted to roads and timing, weather conditions and traffic patterns. Morgan sipped her latte and watched the four men interact—the shorthand of long friendship, the easy ribbing, the absolute trust. It was beautiful to witness.
When they finished their coffee and pastries, they strolled outside and towards their parked bikes, each one unique and different, just like their owners.
They prepared to mount their bikes and Bullet helped Morgan with her helmet, his touch lingering slightly longer than necessary.
“We’re changing up the ride a bit. About thirty minutes to a lookout for a break at Lands End, then maybe another thirty minutes and we’ll stop for lunch. Break up the ride a bit so you aren’t too sore tomorrow. Still want to come?”
“Try and stop me,” she challenged, feeling a confidence she hadn’t experienced in longer than she could remember.
He nodded and turned away to get situated behind his own helmet before mounting his bike to steady it for her to do the same.
As they pulled out of the parking lot, the four bikes in formation, Morgan tightened her hold around Bullet’s waist and surrendered to the experience. The morning sun warmed her shoulders, the wind rushed past her helmet, and ahead stretched the open road and possibility.
For the first time since her parents died, since her career stalled, even before Jason’s betrayal, Morgan felt like she was moving forward instead of simply treading water. And it had all started with a man whose face she still hadn’t seen.
The irony wasn’t lost on her—finding clarity through a relationship built on mystery. But as they accelerated onto the highway, the powerful machine beneath them responding to Bullet’s confident handling, Morgan decided some contradictions were worth embracing.