RIDE WITH ME, THE BIKER PRESIDENT'S LOVE

CHAPTER 1 POV: Elara The bar smelled like whiskey, leather, and bad decisions. I should have turned around right then. Should have walked back out the door, gotten in Lilly's beat-up Honda, and driven back to the little studio apartment where my daughter was sleeping. That was the smart thing. The safe thing. The thing I'd done a hundred times before. But I didn't. I stepped deeper into the dim room instead, letting the door swing shut behind me. The sound echoed — heavy, final. Like a lock clicking into place. The Blackwood Reapers' headquarters wasn't what I expected. Rough wood walls. Dark corners. A jukebox playing something low and mean in the corner. Pool balls clacked in the back. Men in leather sat at tables, nursing beers, not looking at me. No. That wasn't true. They were looking. Every single one of them. But not the way men usually looked at me — not the hungry, assessing stare I'd learned to hate in my old life. This was different. Colder. Like I was a problem they hadn't decided how to solve yet. Walk out, I told myself. You don't belong here. You never belonged anywhere. But my feet kept moving. Two years. Two years since I'd run from everything I knew. Two years since I'd changed my name, dyed my hair, and built a quiet life in a sleepy coastal town where no one asked questions. Two years since I'd held my newborn daughter in a motel bathroom and promised her we'd never be found. Two years of looking over my shoulder. Two years of being afraid. And now my mother was dead. I'd come back to bury her — and to sell the house I'd grown up in. Three weeks. That was the plan. Three weeks, and then Mia and I would disappear again. Three weeks. I just needed a job to get through them. Lilly said this place was hiring. She didn't tell me it was an MC bar. She didn't tell me the man behind the counter was the most dangerous man in the city. I looked up. He was already watching me. --- He stood behind the bar like he owned it. Because he did. I knew who he was before I knew his name — the way you know a storm is coming before you see the lightning. Kael Blackwood. President of the Blackwood Reapers. Billionaire CEO by day. Outlaw king by night. The kind of man who made headlines and disappeared them in the same breath. Six-foot-four of tattooed, lethal muscle. Dark hair, short and messy, like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times. A jaw cut from stone. Eyes the color of a moonless night — black, bottomless, and utterly certain. He held a white rag in one hand, a glass in the other. He was wiping it slowly. Deliberately. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he'd been waiting for me. "You're not from here," he said. His voice was low. Rough. Gravel wrapped in velvet. It hit me somewhere low in my stomach, and I hated how my body reacted before my brain caught up. "No," I managed. "I'm not." He set the glass down. Wiped his hands on the rag. Walked around the bar slowly — deliberately — like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run. I should have run. I didn't. He stopped close enough that I could smell him. Leather. Cedar. Something darker underneath — smoke, maybe, or danger. His presence filled the space between us, heavy and warm and impossible to ignore. "Name?" he asked. "Ellie." The lie came easy. It always did. I'd been Ellie for two years. Ellie was safe. Ellie was no one. Ellie had a daughter and a job and a life that didn't matter to anyone. "Ellie." He said it like he was tasting it. Testing it. Deciding if he believed me. His head tilted, just slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he'd already solved. "You're lying." My heart stuttered. "Excuse me?" "You heard me." He stepped closer. I stepped back. My spine hit the edge of the bar. He didn't stop until there was nowhere left to go — until I was trapped between him and the wood, breathing in leather and smoke and something that made my knees weak. "You've got a fake name," he said quietly. "A fake smile. And a real good reason to be running from something." His eyes dropped to my hands. To the way they were shaking. "I can see it in your eyes." I should have been afraid. I was afraid. But not of him. I was afraid of how much I wanted to tell him the truth. "I'm looking for a job," I said, lifting my chin. My voice didn't shake. I was proud of that. "Lilly said you might be hiring." He laughed. Low. Dark. Unamused. "We don't hire outsiders." "Then I'll find somewhere else." I turned to leave. His hand caught my wrist — gentle, but firm. Unbreakable. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse, and I felt it — the heat of his skin, the calluses on his palm, the way his touch lingered like he had every right to it. "Wait." I looked back. His eyes had softened. Just a fraction. Just enough to make me forget how to breathe. "What's your real name?" he asked. I swallowed. "Elara." "Elara." He said it like a prayer. Like a promise. Like he'd already decided something I didn't understand yet. His thumb circled my pulse, slow and deliberate. "I'm Kael." "I know who you are." "Good." He stepped closer. His chest brushed mine. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then you know I don't let go of what's mine." --- I pulled my wrist free. It took everything I had. "I'm not yours," I said. My voice was steadier than I felt. "I'm not anyone's." He smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a man who'd heard those words before — and never believed them. "Not yet," he said. The words hung between us. A promise. A threat. A truth I wasn't ready to face. I turned and walked out. The door swung shut behind me. The night air hit my face, cold and sharp, and I sucked in a breath like I'd been underwater. What was that? I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I walked to Lilly's car, got in, and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white. My wrist still burned where he'd touched me. I could still smell him. Not yet. I started the engine and drove home. --- Mia was asleep when I got back. She was curled up on the couch, her stuffed rabbit tucked under her chin, her little chest rising and falling in the soft rhythm of dreams. I stood in the doorway for a long moment, just watching her. Six years old. Dark hair like her father. My eyes. My mother's smile. She was the only thing in the world that mattered. I crossed the room and knelt beside her. Brushed a curl from her forehead. Pressed a kiss there, soft and lingering, the way my mother used to kiss me. "I'm here, baby," I whispered. "I'm here." She stirred. Her eyes fluttered open — half-asleep, trusting, safe. "Mommy?" "Yeah, baby. It's me." "Did you get the job?" I hesitated. "Not yet." She yawned. Snuggled deeper into the couch. "That's okay. You'll find something." My throat tightened. She was six years old, and she was comforting me. "I love you, Mia." "Love you too, Mommy." She was asleep again in seconds. I sat on the floor beside her, my back against the couch, and let the tears come. Silent. Hot. Falling into my lap. Did I matter? The question echoed in my skull, old and familiar. Did any of it matter? Did he ever love me? Or was I just a pawn? I didn't know the answer. I wasn't sure I wanted to. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and looked at my daughter. At her small hands. Her soft breath. Her absolute trust in me. I won't let anyone hurt you, I promised silently. Not him. Not anyone. Not even the man with the dark eyes and the voice like gravel. Not even Kael Blackwood. My wrist still burned. I closed my eyes. --- Chapter 1 Ends