Wreck Me, Riot: A Dark Biker Romance

The sirens cut through the night like a knife. Sienna Maddox tightened her grip on the steering wheel of the ambulance as the flashing lights painted the cracked asphalt in blue and red. The dispatch call had been vague: Bar brawl, multiple injuries. Possible weapons. Proceed with caution. She hated these calls. The chaos, the booze-soaked bravado, the blood. Every time she stepped out at one of these scenes, she saw ghosts. Memories she’d buried so deep, she only remembered them in nightmares. Tonight felt... too familiar. "Second time this month the Rusty Tank’s been lit up," her partner grumbled beside her. “These damn bikers don’t know how to behave.” Sienna didn’t respond. Her heart was already pounding, throat tightening with something she couldn’t name. As they pulled up, the flashing lights of two sheriff’s cruisers lit the gravel lot. A crowd of people stood outside—some shouting, some smoking, some watching like it was free entertainment. And in the middle of it, covered in sweat, blood, and rage, was a man who made the air stall in her lungs. Him. Tall. Broad. Tattooed. Dressed in a leather cut with the words Steel Vultures MC sewn across the back. The emblem—a rust-colored vulture clutching a spiked chain in its beak—was unmistakable. He stood with his fists clenched, jaw tight, as two deputies yelled at him to stand down. But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at her. Sienna didn’t move. He had a scar under his left eye. A thin one. Faint, but still there. Her fingers twitched with the memory of it, even though she didn’t know how she could possibly remember. She hadn’t seen him in ten years. Not really. Not since the night she was taken. The night she was saved. “Hey,” her partner said sharply. “You okay?” Sienna blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” They stepped out of the ambulance, and the air hit her like a blast furnace—hot, thick with sweat, smoke, and adrenaline. A bleeding man was sitting against a wall, cradling his shoulder. Another guy was groaning on the ground, probably concussed. But all her eyes could do was find him again. He hadn’t moved. “Miss,” one of the deputies called. “This one needs a medic.” He jerked his thumb toward the guy sitting against the wall. Sienna moved toward the injured man, kneeling down, gloves on, professional. She took vitals, asked him questions, worked on controlling the bleeding. She could feel him still watching her. “Name?” she asked the patient. “Duke,” the man winced. “You’re new.” “I’m not,” she muttered, focused. “You just don’t remember faces unless they bleed.” A rough chuckle, then a grunt. Behind her, heavy boots scraped the pavement. She felt them before she heard him—his presence darkening the air around her. When she turned her head, he was only a few feet away, hands relaxed now, but tension radiating off him like heat waves. Up close, he looked like violence in a man’s skin. Veins in his forearms, faded knuckle bruises, a broken chain tattooed around his throat like a collar he broke himself. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low. Her breath caught. “Neither should you.” A flicker in his eyes—recognition? Confusion? She stood. “You’re bleeding.” There was a thin gash on his cheek, fresh. “Sit down and let me patch it up.” “I’m fine.” “It wasn’t a question.” They stared at each other. Like two storms threatening to collide. After a pause, he sat on the curb, and she knelt in front of him. He smelled like smoke and motor oil. Her hands were steady as she cleaned the wound. “What’s your name?” she asked, even though she already knew. “Riot,” he answered. “And you’re Sheriff Maddox’s daughter.” She froze, just for a second. He smirked. “Didn’t think I’d notice?” “I didn’t think you’d care.” “I don’t. Just funny. You’re the last person who should be near a Vulture.” “And yet, here I am,” she said, voice cool. His smirk faded. “You always this mouthy, or just with me?” Sienna stood up slowly. “Only with people who think they know who I am.” He stood too. Close now. Too close. “You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked, quietly. “From ten years ago.” Riot’s gaze sharpened, jaw ticking. “What are you talking about?” Sienna stepped back. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.” But it did. Because while he had blood on his fists that night... she remembered his arms around her. She remembered his voice, promising her she was safe. And now, standing face to face with him again, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be safe from him.