Ride Or Remember

CHAPTER 19

LIORA

It had been a week since I moved into Evans’…scratch that, Ryder’s house, and I’m enjoying every moment of it.

I had quickly learned that calling him Evans, even by accident, got under his skin. The first few times I did it, the look he gave me could have frozen hell over. So, I stopped.

Ryder it was.

If using his first name meant he would stop looking at me like I was some helpless stranger he had reluctantly taken in, then I would gladly make the adjustment.

“You think this cake is going to be enough?” I asked Jane, the cook whose duties I had unofficially stolen. “They never come alone, those men move in packs.”

I sighed and reached for another bowl.

I genuinely enjoyed being in the kitchen. Cooking had always been therapeutic for me. I liked cooking for Evans, and that hasn’t changed.

“This should be enough.” Jane replied.

I still didn’t understand Ryder’s world.

I didn’t understand why his friends swore so much that every sentence sounded like a creative insult.

I didn’t understand why they were always riding motorcycles, arriving and leaving with the deafening roar of engines.

And I definitely didn’t understand the leather cuts they wore over their shirts, the ones decorated with patches, symbols, and names that clearly meant something important to them.

As a book editor, I had spent years buried in manuscripts, polishing fictional worlds and fixing plot holes.

These?

These looked suspiciously familiar.

The thing was, bikers were supposed to exist only in romance novels.

On pages.

In stories where the dangerous, tattooed biker with a tragic past fell hopelessly in love with the sunshine heroine.

Not in real life.

Then again, I had once believed the same thing about the mafia.

Imagine my shock when I discovered that real mafias actually existed and they were nothing like the polished, overly romanticized versions I spent my days proofreading.

Reality was far messier, far scarier.

Which was exactly why I refused to entertain the possibility that Ryder’s strange lifestyle meant anything more.

No.

Absolutely not.

From a distance, I heard the low, thunderous rumble of bikes rolling in echoed through the space, growing louder with every second. It was a sound I had quickly come to recognize over the past week.

My head snapped up instantly, a smile breaking across my face before I could even stop it.

“They’re here,” I squealed, already untying my apron in a hurry.

I moved fast, almost tripping over myself as I pulled the knot loose and smoothed down my clothes. My fingers immediately went to my hair, fixing it in quick, nervous strokes as if that would make any real difference.

Jane, standing by the counter, watched me with amused eyes. She shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Why don’t you go and welcome him,” she said, turning back to the cake she was decorating, “while I finish up here?”

I paused for half a second, then shook my head with a grin I couldn’t hide.

“He’ll find me,” I said confidently.

He always did.

A few seconds later, the kitchen door opened.

And there he was.

Ryder.

Standing in the doorway, owning the entire space without even trying.

His hair was slightly wind-tousled, dark strands falling loosely in a way that made him look even more dangerously handsome than usual.

He leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes landed on me.

I rushed over, balancing a tray of cupcakes carefully in my hands.

“I didn’t add strawberries,” I said quickly, lifting the tray slightly toward him with a proud little grin. “I still remember you’re allergic to them.”

Ryder stared at me for a moment like I had just said something completely insane, then he reached out, picked up a cupcake, and raised a brow.

“I am not allergic to strawberries,” he said flatly.

I blinked at him.

Of course he would deny it.

He could choose to believe whatever he wanted. I wasn’t about to take chances with his health just because of his stubbornness and pretense.

“Is it good?” I asked, bouncing slightly on my feet without realizing it. My eyebrows lifted playfully as I watched him. “I haven’t made this in a long time.”

He took a large bite and for a moment, he just chewed, his expression unreadable as always before suddenly letting out a low sound of approval, almost a hum, before swallowing.

“This is perfect.”

I stood on my tiptoes without thinking, brushing off a few crumbs had somehow gotten close to the corner of Ryder’s lips with my thumb.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I brought my thumb to my mouth and sucked the crumbs off instinctively.

Ryder went completely still.

The cupcake in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth, frozen in place as his eyes locked onto me. He blinked once… then again, like he was trying to process what he had just seen.

Jane, who had been quietly working at the counter, paused. She glanced between us, her jaw slacking. Without a word, she placed her utensils down and quickly slipped out of the kitchen.

Ryder’s gaze didn’t move.

It drifted slowly from my thumb… to my lips… and then finally settled on my eyes.

I swallowed hard.

My throat suddenly felt dry, and my lungs completely forgot how to cooperate. I could feel my heartbeat everywhere, my chest, my ears, even my fingertips.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe properly.

Clearing my throat awkwardly, I broke eye contact and quickly turned my face away. My fingers immediately went to my hair, tucking it behind my ear like it suddenly needed fixing.

“Something good is smelling,” a voice called out from somewhere outside the kitchen.

“I’m certain Liora is showing off her cooking skills again,” Logan added as he approached.

He walked into the kitchen mid-sentence, then stopped abruptly the moment he saw us.

His eyes flicked between me and Ryder, then to the cupcake still in Ryder’s hand, then back to us again.

A slow grin formed on his face. “You greedy fucker,” he said with an amused scoff, clearly joking. “You already started the feast without us?”

Ryder finally blinked.

Slowly, he tore his gaze away from me and took a breath like he had just resurfaced from underwater.

“It is my house,” he replied flatly. “Of course I will start the feast first.”

Logan rolled his eyes and moved further inside, already reaching for a cupcake from the tray on my hand.

“I can take one, right?” he asked.

My cheeks were warm, and I hated how obvious it felt. I quickly adjusted my grip on the tray and gave a small smile.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than expected.

I cleared my throat immediately and tried again, softer this time.

“It’s for everyone.”

“Really?” Logan repeated, already reaching for the tray before I could even respond properly. “Then I’ll help you distribute it.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he walked past Ryder and slapped his shoulder before disappearing into the living room with the cupcakes.

I cleared my throat, trying to shake off whatever strange tension was still in the room.

“I’ll go say hello to the boys,” I mumbled, already stepping away before I could overthink it.

But I barely made it two steps.

“Don’t get too familiar with them anymore,” Ryder’s voice came from behind me.

I paused mid-step.

“They’re getting too fond of you.”

I turned slightly, a small laugh escaping me as I looked at him over my shoulder. “Too fond of me?” I asked, tilting my head. “Or my cooking?”

“Both.” He shoved the rest of the cupcake into his mouth, chewing slowly. “They’re starting to make it a ritual,” he added after swallowing. “Showing up here every day after work.”

I shrugged. “I don’t mind cooking for them,” I said honestly. “Besides… your house feels empty most of the time. It’s okay to have people around.”

A small crease formed between his brows, subtle but noticeable. “I hate people showing up in my house,” he said flatly.

My nose scrunched immediately. “Grumpy, are we?” I teased.

Ryder rolled his eyes at me and for some reason, that simple act made him look less like the intimidating man everyone seemed to fear and more like someone I was slowly getting used to.

“You’re not my old lady, Liora,” he said. “Keep acting like that and they’ll start thinking you are.”

I frowned slightly, the teasing fading from my face.

“They’ll want my patch on you,” he added. “And that’s not possible.”

My smile faded completely now.

I hesitated for a second, trying to understand what exactly he meant.

“Is this some sort of biker club or something?” I asked slowly, finally saying what had been sitting at the back of my mind for days.

Because honestly… every time he spoke, it sounded less like normal life and more like something straight out of one of those underground stories I used to edit.

But instead of answering me, he simply walked past.

“Remember,” his voice came again, already moving away, “don’t talk to the guys with one patch. They’re prospects. They’ve got no business laughing or joking with you.”

My brows pulled together immediately.

“What is a prospect?!” I called after him, turning fully now.

He didn’t even stop walking. “You don’t need to know that, just do as you’re told.”