The Biker and The Fed

Chapter Three

KAREN

The mat slaps against my back hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. Blood blooms copper on my tongue where I bit down. Above me, Ryan grins like we're kids again and he just won at Mario Kart.

"Dead." He offers a hand. "Third time in ten minutes."

I take it, let him pull me up. The dojang smells like sweat and eucalyptus oil. Wednesday afternoon means the space is empty—no students, no witnesses to the FBI agent getting her ass handed to her by her cousin.

"You're telegraphing." Ryan resets his stance. "That hook kick—you drop your shoulder before you commit. Anyone trained will read it."

"Anyone like an ex-SEAL?"

His expression shifts. "Especially someone like that."

We've been at this for two hours. My muscles burn in that good way, the way that means they're remembering. Rain drums against the high windows. Always rain in Portland.

"Again." I reset my stance, weight distributed, breathing controlled.

"You've got the technique." He circles left. "But you're in your head instead of your body."

He's right. My mind keeps circling back to last night. To silver eyes. To the ghost of almost-contact that still burns on my lips. To the way Dominic looked at me like he was reading something I didn't know I'd written.

Ryan moves. I block—barely—and counter with an elbow strike he deflects. We trade combinations, rhythm familiar from two decades of this. When we were kids, before I understood what I was, Ryan would come to Queens every summer. We'd spend hours in my father's dojang while our mothers drank tea and spoke rapid Korean, their voices rising and falling like twin songs.

My mother and Aunt Eun-woo. Identical twins born to the same pack—one blessed with the white wolf, one born beta and normal. Miyoung the activist who made enemies with every speech. Eun-woo the quieter one who married an alpha and learned to navigate pack politics without making waves.

Ryan knew what I was before I did. When I shifted for the first time at twelve—terrified, alone in my bedroom at two AM—he talked me through it on the phone. Told me it was okay. That I wasn't broken.

He sweeps my leg. I go down but roll, come up ready.

"Better." He's breathing harder. "But you're still holding back."

"I'm not—"

He's on me before I finish. Fast. Wolf-fast despite his control. I block, deflect, give ground as he drives me toward the wall.

At the last second, I drop, sweep his legs, use his momentum. He hits the mat hard.

Silence.

Then he laughs. "There she is."

I offer my hand. He takes it.

"Fight like that when it matters." He stands, rolls his shoulders. "Dominic Kade isn't some street thug you can out-technique. He's alpha. Trained. He'll smell fear before you know you're afraid."

The way Ryan says Dominic's name—careful, weighted—sends ice down my spine.

"You know him."

"Of him." Ryan walks to the water station. "My father has a treaty with the Iron Fangs. We don't cross into their territory, they stay out of ours. But I've met Dominic twice. Once at a summit. Once when a rogue omega wandered into our territory and he came to collect her."

"And?"

"And he's exactly what you'd expect from fifteen years as a SEAL and another eight running an MC." Ryan meets my eyes. "Calculating. Patient. Doesn't waste movement or words. When he looks at you, you feel it. Like he's cataloging every weakness, deciding if you're worth his time or just another problem."

My mouth goes dry. "You think he's dangerous."

"I think he's lethal. There's a difference." Ryan sets down the water. "Dangerous means unpredictable. Dominic isn't unpredictable. He's controlled. Which makes him worse than any berserker who can't leash their wolf."

I think about the way Dominic watched me dance. The deliberate touch. The way he pulled back before our lips actually met, like control was something he practiced religiously.

"He hired me."

Ryan goes very still. "When?"

"Last night. I auditioned. He was there."

"Did he—" Ryan's voice drops. "Does he know?"

"That I'm FBI? No. But he knows I'm lying about something." I press my fingers against my temples. "He called me out on the ballet training. Said I move like Juilliard."

"Because you do." Ryan crosses his arms. "Karen, listen. If Dominic suspects you're law enforcement, if he thinks you're a threat to his pack—"

"I know."

"Do you?" His eyes flash amber. "My father told me what happened to the last person who tried to infiltrate the Iron Fangs. DEA agent, six years ago. Went undercover trying to bust them for gun running. They made him. Found his body in the Columbia River. What was left of it."

Cold spreads through my chest. "When was this?"

"Six years ago." Ryan's jaw tightens. "They don't kill cops who come at them legal. But an undercover agent? Someone who betrayed their trust? That's pack law. And pack law doesn't give a f**k about federal jurisdiction."

My hands shake. I ball them into fists.

"I have to do this."

"Why?" His voice gentles. "She's been gone eight years. If she's alive—"

"She is."

"—then maybe she doesn't want to be found. You have to consider—"

"She went hunting." The words come out sharp. "Dad's killers. She told me she'd come back. She promised."

Ryan is quiet. Rain picks up, harder now, drowning everything except water against glass and my heartbeat.

"We were nineteen," he says finally. "When Uncle David died. When Aunt Miyoung left. You called me at two in the morning. I could barely understand you through the crying. Do you remember what you said?"

I close my eyes. I remember all of it.

"I said I was going to find them. Whoever killed Dad. Make them pay."

"You were nineteen and traumatized and your father's blood was still under your fingernails because you tried to save him." Ryan's hand lands on my shoulder. Warm. Steady. "You've spent eight years preparing for this. Training. Studying. Turning yourself into a weapon. But what if the answer you find isn't the one you want?"

"Then at least I'll know."

He studies my face. Whatever he sees makes him sigh.

"Come here. I'm going to teach you something."

We move back to center mat. Ryan drops into a fighting stance I don't recognize—weight forward, hands positioned wrong for tournament rules.

"Forget honor. Forget fair." His voice takes on the teaching tone. "If you're fighting someone bigger, stronger, trained—you fight dirty. Understood?"

I nod.

"Throat strikes." He demonstrates, fingers rigid. "Don't pull it. Full force. Collapse the windpipe."

He moves to my side. "Kidneys. Most people protect their front. Forget their sides are vulnerable." His fist hovers over my lower back. "Hit here hard enough and even an alpha drops."

He circles behind. "Spine. Between the shoulder blades. Palm strike, elbow, anything—you disrupt the nervous system. Temporary paralysis if you're lucky."

"What if they're already on me?" I ask. "Pinned?"

"Eyes." Ryan's fingers stop just short of my face. "Thumb to the eye socket. Push hard. Most people release immediately."

"And if they don't?"

His hand drops to my throat. "Bite the carotid. Wolf or human, everyone bleeds."

Clinical. Brutal. Necessary.

We drill the moves until they feel like muscle memory instead of theory. Ryan doesn't pull his strikes. I don't ask him to. He drops me twice more—kidney shot that steals my breath, throat strike that stops a millimeter before impact.

"Enough." He's breathing hard. So am I. "You'll be sore, but at least you'll be alive."

I stretch, feeling every impact bloom under my skin. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet." He grabs his gym bag. "Dad wants to talk to you."

Right. Kim Sung-ho. Alpha of Cedar Hill. My uncle by marriage. I've met him three times—twice at family gatherings, once at my father's funeral where he stood apart from mourners, watching with eyes that saw too much.

"He's got advice." Ryan's expression is unreadable. "About the assignment."

"How does he—"

"He's alpha. Knows everything in his territory." Ryan heads toward the locker room. "Five minutes. Clean up."

He disappears.

I strip and step into the shower. Hot water loosens muscles already stiffening. I wash away sweat and try not to think about how many ways this can go wrong.

Dominic's face surfaces. Silver eyes. That almost-smile. The way his voice dropped when he asked who I really was.

I turn the water cold. Doesn't help.

When I emerge—clean jeans, sweater—Kim Sung-ho is standing center mat. Shorter than Ryan but broader, built like granite. Gray threading through black hair. Eyes that flash amber.

"Karen." He inclines his head. "You look well."

"Thank you." Suddenly hyperaware of every bruise forming. "Ryan said you wanted to speak with me."

"Walk with me."

He doesn't wait. I follow.

Outside, rain has softened to mist. Residential street. Old trees. Houses that have seen generations. Sung-ho walks with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Your mother and my wife were twins." He speaks Korean. My comprehension is better than my speech, but I manage. "When Miyoung disappeared, Eun-woo grieved as if she'd lost half her soul. Which she had."

"They were close."

"Closer than most twins. Miyoung was white wolf, blessed and feared. Eun-woo was beta, normal, safe. But Miyoung protected her sister. When others mocked Eun-woo for being ordinary next to extraordinary, Miyoung made sure they understood there would be consequences." He glances at me. "Your mother believed in justice the way some believe in gods."

Past tense.

"She's alive." Harder than I intend. "I know she is."

Sung-ho stops. We're under a cherry tree, bare branches dark against gray sky.

"You're going into Iron Fangs territory." Not a question. "Looking for information about Miyoung."

No point lying. "Yes."

"The FBI believes the Iron Fangs are involved in her disappearance."

"The FBI believes they're involved in multiple disappearances. Mom is one of seventeen."

Silence stretches. Then: "Dominic Kade lost his sister to forced breeding. Did you know that?"

The words hit like a fist. "What?"

"Almost ten years ago. She was nineteen. Omega. Beautiful. Obsessed with ballet." Sung-ho's expression remains neutral, but something moves behind his eyes. "An East Coast alpha took her. Kept her. When she died in childbirth, Dominic burned that pack to ash. No survivors."

My throat closes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you need to understand what you're walking into." He turns to face me. "Dominic Kade protects women that others see as prey. He built Crimson Moon as sanctuary. His pack doesn't traffic shifters. They save them."

"Then why do all the disappearances circle his territory?"

"Because predators hunt near sanctuaries." Gentle. Patient. "You're looking in the wrong direction, Karen. The Iron Fangs aren't your enemy. But if you go in believing they are, if you treat Dominic like a criminal—"

"I know how to do my job."

"Do you?" Not cruel. Honest. "You're twenty-seven. First deep cover assignment. Investigating the pack that might have information about your mother. You're already compromised."

"I can handle it."

"Can you handle falling for him?"

The world tilts. "What?"

"You met him last night. You're here today training like you're preparing for war. That tells me he got under your skin." Sung-ho's eyes are knowing. "Dominic Kade is alpha. Ex-military. Dangerous in ways you can't imagine. If you're not careful, you'll mistake intensity for connection."

"That's not—I don't—"

"I'm not judging. I'm warning." He starts walking again. "Whatever you think you're prepared for, it won't be enough. Dominic will see through you. Test you. And if he decides you're a threat, your badge won't protect you."

We circle back. My mind spins with information I can't process. Dominic's sister. Ballet. Forced breeding. Burned pack.

"My mother came through his territory eight years ago." I switch to English, needing precision. "Looking for my father's killers. Did she find Dominic?"

"I don't know. But if she did, if he helped her—" Sung-ho pauses at the entrance. "Then she trusted him. Your mother didn't trust easily."

He goes inside. Leaves me standing in mist.

I check my phone. Three missed calls from Bryce. Two texts from Pete Robinson. One voicemail.

Pete's voice: "Karen, it's Pete. We need to talk. Before you go back to the club, I want face-to-face. That's not a request."

I dial. He answers immediately.

"Where are you?"

"Cedar Hill. Training."

"Get to the safe house. One hour."

He hangs up.

Dread pools in my stomach. Bryce talked to him. Went behind my back to try pulling me from the assignment.

The safe house is forty minutes south. I make it in thirty-five.

Pete's car is there. So is Bryce's.

Inside, Pete sits at the folding table. Laptop open. Coffee half-empty. Bryce stands by the window. Won't meet my eyes.

"Sit." Pete gestures.

I sit. Keep my face neutral.

"Agent Reynolds has expressed concerns about your assignment." Carefully level. "He believes you're too emotionally invested. That your judgment is compromised."

I look at Bryce. He still won't look at me.

"Agent Reynolds is entitled to his opinion." My voice matches Pete's tone. "But this is my assignment. I'm the one who's been preparing—"

"You met the target last night." Pete cuts me off. "Dominic Kade. Hired you on the spot. That's fast, Karen. Suspiciously fast."

"He hired me because I'm good. My cover is solid."

"Or he suspects something." Bryce finally speaks. Voice tight. "Be reasonable. You walk into a werewolf MC and the alpha personally oversees your audition? That's not standard. That's a red flag."

"Maybe he's thorough."

"Or maybe he's onto you."

Tension crackles. Pete watches us both.

"The wire cut out after fifteen minutes." Pete taps his laptop. "We got audio of your conversation with the hiring manager. Then nothing. What happened?"

I'd crushed it under my heel. Destroyed evidence.

"It malfunctioned." The lie tastes like ash. "Water damage. I was sweating—"

"Don't." Pete's voice hardens. "Don't lie to me, Park. You're one of my best agents, but if you're compromised, I need to know now."

Bryce makes a sound. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. She's already covering."

"I'm not covering for anyone. I'm doing my job."

"Your job is to gather intelligence, not—"

"Not what?" I stand. "Not actually get close? Not take risks? You want me to infiltrate an MC but do it without actually infiltrating?"

"I want you to stay objective." Bryce finally looks at me. "But you stopped being objective the moment you found out they might have information about your mother."

The words hang like an accusation.

Pete sighs. "Karen, sit down."

I sit.

"Bryce has a point." Pete's voice gentles. "Your personal connection to this case—"

"Is why I'm perfect for it." I lean forward. "How many agents do we have who can dance? Who can pull off the stripper aesthetic without looking undercover? Who understand supernatural culture from the inside?"

"Three," Pete admits. "Including you."

"And of those three, how many have combat training to survive if things go wrong? How many can pass as human but still register as other enough that a werewolf MC won't immediately reject them?"

Silence.

"One," I answer. "Me. I'm the only agent who can do this."

Pete studies me. Weighing. Calculating.

"You go back in." The verdict lands. "But you check in every twenty-four hours. You wear a wire that works. And if I get even a hint you're compromised—if Dominic Kade figures out who you are—you extract immediately. Understood?"

"Understood."

"And Karen?" Grave expression. "If it comes down to a choice between the mission and your safety, you choose safety. That's an order."

I nod. We both know it's a lie.

Bryce follows me outside. Rain has picked up. We stand under the overhang.

"You're making a mistake." Low. Careful. "This isn't about the mission anymore. It's about your mother. That's going to get you killed."

"Maybe."

"Karen—"

"What do you want me to say?" I turn to face him. "That you're right? That I should walk away?"

"I want you to admit you're scared." His hand reaches for mine. I let him take it. "I know you. I know what you're like when you fixate. You don't see the danger until it's too late."

He's not wrong. Eight months together. Field partners before that. He knows me.

But he doesn't know about the pull in my chest. Doesn't know about the way Dominic looked at me like he was reading something I didn't know I'd written. Doesn't know that part of me—the wolf part—recognized something in those silver eyes.

"I'll be careful." I squeeze his hand. "I promise."

He pulls me close. Presses a kiss to my forehead.

Feels like goodbye.

I drive back to my apartment as dusk settles. Streets blur with rain and neon. My phone buzzes. Pete: New wire ready tomorrow. Pick it up before your shift.

Another text. Unknown number.

Looking forward to Tuesday, Scarlett. - D

My heart stops.

Dominic. He has my number. Already investigating.

Playing with me.

I should be terrified. Should report this. Should recognize the threat.

Instead, I save the number. Type back: I don't disappoint.

Three dots. Then: Good.

I stare at the screen until it goes dark. My reflection stares back—hair damp, eyes too wide, lips parted.

Ryan's warning echoes: He'll smell fear before you even know you're afraid.

Sung-ho's words follow: Whatever you think you're prepared for, it won't be enough.

And underneath, the pull in my chest that has nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with silver eyes. I'm walking into fire.

The question is whether I'll burn or be forged into something stronger.