Chapter 8 Morgan #2
Morgan noticed that whenever Bullet needed to take a bite, one of the others would naturally create a distraction—Diesel would launch into a story, or Viper would show her something on his camera, or Hawk would ask her a question about her work.
The coordination was so seamless, it was obvious they worked well as a team.
“So, Morgan,” Hawk asked during one such moment, “what do you do when you’re not letting Bullet sweep you onto the back of his bike?”
“Marketing and design at Vertex Creative,” she answered. “Though lately, I’ve been questioning that choice.”
“Why’s that?” Diesel asked, his voice suggesting genuine interest.
“My boss is..." She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Challenging. The kind who makes you redo projects endlessly just to assert control, then chooses your original concept anyway.”
“Sounds frustrating,” Hawk commented.
“It is. The work itself I love—helping clients tell their stories visually, creating brands that connect with people. But under current management, it’s becoming soul-crushing.”
“Why stay?” Diesel asked bluntly.
Morgan shrugged. “Bills. Rent. The practical realities of adulting.”
“What would you do if money wasn’t an issue?” Viper asked, echoing something similar to what Bullet had asked her the day before, his gloved fingers carefully selecting a fry.
“I’d focus on cause marketing,” Morgan answered without hesitation. “Telling the stories of organizations actually making a difference.”
She paused, then added, “In college, I interned with a nonprofit that helped revitalize local arts programs. I got to design a campaign that boosted their donor base by over 30%—still one of the best projects I’ve worked on.”
A small smile tugged at her lips before it faded.
“But my dream job? There's this coastal conservation foundation—small, elite, massively impactful. I applied a few years ago, but they’re nearly impossible to get into unless you know someone who knows someone. One of those places where résumés just vanish unless they come with an inside connection.”
As she spoke about their mission and the kind of work she’d love to do for them, Morgan realized she was more animated than she’d felt in months.
Being around these men—their quiet confidence, the way they carried themselves, their understated success—made her own, almost forgotten dreams, feel less impossible.
By the time they finished eating, Morgan felt as though she’d known these men for years rather than hours. The conversation had flowed easily from work to travel to movies, revealing a universal disdain for reality television but eclectic love for different genres.
“Ready for the return journey?” Bullet asked as they prepared to leave. “Different route, more technical riding. We can take it slow.”
“I trust you,” Morgan said simply, and meant it.
Outside, as they walked toward the bikes, Viper’s phone chimed. He checked it with a frown.
“Problem?” Bullet asked.
“Fabric shipment issue I need to handle,” Viper said with a sigh. “Milan’s having a meltdown. I’ll need to head back early.”
“Everything okay?” Morgan asked, concerned.
“Nothing catastrophic, just timing issues,” Viper assured her. “Fashion waits for no man.”
“I’ve got to head back early too,” Diesel added and Morgan’s eyes narrowed at the suspicious timing. “Meeting tonight I forgot about.”
Hawk didn’t even bother with a pretense. “You two should take the scenic route. Weather’s perfect for it.”
Morgan looked between them, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Are you all trying to give us alone time?”
“Us? Orchestrate something?” Diesel’s exaggerated attempt at innocence was laughable. “Never.”
“Completely coincidental,” Viper agreed with a straight face.
“Totally unplanned,” Hawk added.
Morgan laughed, genuinely touched by their transparent matchmaking. “Well, thank you for the coincidental alone time, then. It was wonderful meeting all of you.”
Each man gave her a different farewell—Diesel’s bear hug, Viper’s precise handshake with his gloves still firmly in place, and Hawk’s respectful nod. Within minutes, their bikes roared to life and departed, leaving Morgan and Bullet alone in the parking lot.
“Your friends are about as subtle as a sledgehammer,” she observed with a smile.
“They mean well,” he said, sounding both embarrassed and fond.
“I like them,” Morgan assured him. “They care about you. That says a lot about the kind of man you are.”
He seemed momentarily at a loss for words. “I need to put my helmet back on for the ride,” he said, reaching for it. “Would you mind turning around for a second?”
Morgan nodded and obliged, facing away from him. She heard the rustle of fabric as he pulled down the mask, the soft click of sunglasses folding, then the familiar sound of his helmet being secured.
“All set,” he said, his voice now coming through the helmet’s modulator.
She turned back to find him fully helmeted, his face once again completely concealed. His mask pulled down around his neck. There was something both frustrating and thrilling about the mystery he maintained.
“The scenic route they mentioned,” he continued. “It’s along the ridge line. Best views in the state, but the road’s more challenging. We don’t have to take it.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not if you ride responsibly. It’s just more twists, steeper grades.”
Morgan stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on his arm. “Do you want to take me on the scenic route?” she asked, surprising herself with the suggestive undertone in her voice.
“Yes,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower despite the electronic filter. “Very much.”
“Then let’s go.”
The ride back was even more exhilarating than the journey out. The roads wound higher into the cliffs, offering breathtaking vistas around every curve. Morgan held Bullet tighter, her body moving naturally with his.
They stopped at several lookout points, each view more spectacular than the last. At one coastal pull-off, they grabbed something quick from a roadside stand—grilled shrimp tacos and cold sodas eaten on a wooden bench overlooking the ocean. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect.
As the afternoon light began to soften into evening, Morgan found herself wishing the day would never end.
When they finally reached the city limits, a profound sense of disappointment settled over her. Tomorrow meant returning to her frustrating job, to the routine that had been slowly draining her spirit. Today had been an escape, but reality awaited.
“I should probably take you back home.” Bullet asked as they stopped at a traffic light.
She gave him a squeeze of acknowledgement, “Probably,” Morgan replied through their helmet communication system.
They rode in comfortable silence through the city streets. When they pulled up outside her apartment building, twilight was settling over the city. Morgan dismounted with more grace than she had that morning, her body having adjusted somewhat to the rhythm of the bike.
“Thank you,” she said, removing her helmet and smoothing her wind-tousled braid. “Today was... I don’t even have words for how amazing it was.”
Bullet cut the engine, though his helmet remained firmly in place. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Your friends are wonderful,” she added. “I can see why you value them so much.”
“They liked you too,” he said. “Trust me, I can tell.”
An awkward silence fell between them, neither quite ready to say goodbye.
“Would you have time to come up?” Morgan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess herself.
She tried to read him—the pause, the angle of his head, the way his fingers flexed at his sides.
“The helmet stays on,” he finally said, his voice soft but firm.
“I know,” Morgan assured him. “I’m not trying to... I just don’t want today to end yet.”
Something in his posture relaxed. “Then lead the way.”
As they walked into her building, Morgan felt a flutter of nervous excitement. She was enjoying every moment she spent with Bullet and wasn’t sure how this all would play out, but was excited to find out.
Most people might think that inviting a man whose face she’d never seen into her apartment was the height of stupidity.
By any rational standard, it was madness.
But through every word and deed Bullet was proving himself to be not only trustworthy, but also someone she was starting to picture more and more in her everyday life.
He held the door for her with old-fashioned courtesy, and followed her through.
His presence was solid and reassuring behind her and as they headed towards her apartment, Morgan discovered that what once seemed like madness, now felt like clarity.
His faceless devotion had become something she found herself craving with unexpected intensity.