RIO
The house was flawless.
The moment Wolf opened the door and guided me inside, my eyes widened, and my jaw dropped to the floor.
It was rustic inside, which I wasn’t surprised by. Still, the beautifully treated log pillars between the open-concept living room, which leads straight into the large dining room and even larger kitchen, nearly made me pinch myself to make sure I was awake.
“This is your place?” I asked. I didn’t mean to insult him; I was just in disbelief that a home this beautiful existed.
Weren’t bikers meant to be rough, messy and party animals?
I know it sounds horrible, but I half expected beer cans and whiskey bottles scattered on a stained coffee table with smoke-stained walls and a stack of old, discarded pizza boxes in the corner.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t
