The Biker’s Revenge: Loving The Enemy’s Daughter

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Blade’s pov

Morning light stabbed through the thin curtains like a warning I couldn’t ignore, slicing the dark security of the bedroom into jagged, unforgiving pieces. I woke up with Skyler curled tightly against my chest, her bare, tattooed leg thrown possessively over mine, dark hair spilled wildly across the pillow. Those intricate ink lines I’d traced with my tongue just hours ago were glowing faintly in the pale dawn. She looked peaceful—almost soft—in sleep, her lips slightly parted and one hand fisted loosely in the fabric of the sheet near my hip.

Mine.

The word hit hard, a heavy, suffocating weight that was both deeply possessive and entirely wrong. I’d spent the night buried inside Stone Callahan’s daughter, marking her, claiming her, devouring her, while the man who’d put a bullet in my father’s skull slept somewhere just down the hall.

The brutal reality crashed over me like ice water, chilling the lingering warmth in my veins. This wasn’t just a good time. This was suicide wrapped in the best p***y I’d ever had. I was playing a lethal game, and the line between taking revenge and getting lost in her was beginning to blur into a dangerous fog.

I tried to slide out of the tangled sheets without waking her, aiming for a clean, detached exit to clear my head. But Skyler stirred instantly, as if her body knew the exact moment I tried to pull away. She let out a low, breathy hum in her throat as her hand slid down my stomach, her fingers tracing a slow, agonizing path lower until they wrapped firmly around my already-hard c**k.

“Trying to sneak out, stranger?” she murmured, her voice a husky, thick purr of sleep and lingering sin.

Her eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded and dark with a dangerous mix of exhaustion and instant desire. That sharp, infuriating smirk formed on her lips, her thumb tracing the crown of my length with slow, agonizing friction.

“After you f****d me senseless twice? Rude, Blade. Real rude.”

I groaned, a harsh sound tearing from my throat as my hips jerked into her grip despite myself. “Sparks, stop. Your old man finds me in here and I’m dead before breakfast.”

“Then you better be quiet,” she whispered, leaning up to press her lips against my jawline, her breath hot against my skin. She shifted, her thighs parting, sliding her wet center over my thigh in a slow, torturous rub that made my teeth grind. “Mmm. One more round before you run? I could ride you quick—keep you quiet while I come on your c**k again. Unless you can't handle it.”

The challenge in her eyes was a match to a powder keg. The temptation was completely lethal, erasing every ounce of common sense I had left.

“You think you can break me?” I growled, flipping her onto her back in one violent, fluid motion. I pinned her wrists above her head, locking my fingers through hers as I leaned down, crowding her body with my weight. My c**k aligned perfectly with her slick, swollen heat, a desperate ache flaring between us. “I’ll ruin you for anyone else, Sparks. Keep playing with fire and I'll make sure you can't walk by the time I'm done.”

She laughed—low, throaty, and utterly fearless—and wrapped her legs tightly around my waist, pulling my hips flush against hers. “Then burn me, Blade. I dare you.”

I caught her jaw, tilting her face up to claim her mouth in a deep, filthy kiss that tasted like the wreckage of last night. We tangled together, tongues tracing, teeth grazing, a desperate, frantic battle for dominance that had my heart hammering against my ribs. I pressed hard against her, feeling her slickness through our lack of clothes, the friction driving me right to the edge of sanity. She moaned into my mouth, her hips rolling up to meet mine, demanding the very thing that would get us both killed.

Suddenly, the brutal reality of our world shattered the illusion.

Boots thundered down the hallway outside, heavy and unmistakable. Stone’s voice boomed through the corridor, loud enough to rattle the thin bedroom door on its hinges. “Church in fifteen! Everyone with a pulse gets their ass in the chapel. Now!”

Skyler froze instantly beneath me, her eyes widening as the breath hitched in her throat. My blood turned to pure stone, the adrenaline spike souring the lust in an instant.

“s**t,” she whispered, her hands suddenly pushing urgently at my chest. “He never calls early church unless something’s going down. You gotta go—the back window. Now, Blade.”

The sudden shift from intense heat to cold danger made my chest tighten. I looked down at her, seeing the genuine flash of worry mixed with the fading haze of pleasure in her eyes. I didn't just want her body; I wanted to control the chaos she brought out in me.

I leaned down and kissed her once more, a hard, bruising, possessive bite to her lower lip that made her gasp. “This isn’t over, Sparks. Tonight, you’re riding my face until you cry.”

“Go!” she hissed, though her fingers lingered on my bare shoulder for a fraction of a second too long.

I rolled off the bed, my muscles tight as I scrambled for my clothes. I yanked on my jeans and shirt, checking the weight of the knife in my boot and ensuring my gun was tucked securely into my waistband. My leather cut was still hidden away—prospect status meant I didn't wear the full colors yet, which was the only thing keeping my true identity under wraps.

Skyler pulled on a tank top and shorts, sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. Her gaze followed my every movement, a volatile mix of raw heat, unspoken worry, and a strange, budding attachment that terrified me more than her father's wrath. “Be careful out there, Blade. And stop looking at me like you want to drag me back to the mattress. Go.”

I slipped out the back window, dropping silently into the cool dirt behind the clubhouse.

Forcing my breathing to slow, I circled the building, systematically wiping every trace of Skyler from my face and adjusting my clothes. I forced my features into the cold, unreadable mask of a loyal new prospect. By the time I walked through the heavy front doors, the scent of her was still clinging faintly to my skin, but my mind was locking into survival mode.

Most of the Reapers were already filing into the dimly lit chapel, the air thick with stale smoke and tension. Stone stood at the head of the heavy wooden table, his massive frame casting a long shadow. His sharp, calculating eyes scanned every single face as I slid into an empty seat near the back.

His gaze landed squarely on me—hard, assessing, and unblinking. For a terrifying, suspended second, the room went dead silent in my ears. Did he know? Had someone seen me drop from the window?

“Blade,” Stone grunted, his gravelly voice cutting through the murmurs. “You fixed that van clean. First real test passed. You’re riding with us on a pickup this morning. Small crew—me, the VP, you, and two others. We’re meeting a new supplier. I want eyes on everything. You spot trouble, you speak up. Prove you belong to this club.”

I nodded, keeping my heart rate perfectly steady, my voice dropping into a respectful, flat tone. “Got it, Prez. I’m here to work.”

Inside, a dark, vicious thrill spiked through my chest. A pickup run with a small crew, including the President and VP. It was an absolute goldmine. I could sabotage the drop subtly—loosen a line on the van, feed false coordinates later to my Vipers, or orchestrate an ambush that looked like the work of a rival club. Stone Callahan had executed my father in cold blood, and this was the first real c***k in his armor. This was my chance to start dismantling his world from the inside out.

Yet, even as the cold math of betrayal calculated in my head, the ghost of Skyler’s touch burned on my skin. Her moans still echoed in the back of my mind. Every time Stone looked at me with approval, I didn't see a target; I pictured his daughter spread out beneath me, gripping the sheets and screaming my name while her father’s empire burned.

I was a loyal prospect on the outside. A traitor setting a lethal trap on the inside. And utterly, hopelessly obsessed with the enemy’s daughter in every dark, forbidden corner of my soul.

Stone slammed the heavy wooden gavel down, the c***k echoing like a gunshot through the room. “Wheels up in thirty. Stay sharp, gentlemen.”

As the meeting broke and the men began to shuffle out, Skyler appeared in the doorway of the main room. Her eyes locked with mine across the crowded space, cutting through the sea of leather and denim. She didn't say a word, but she gave me the smallest, wickedest smirk—her lips still slightly swollen from the bruising kisses we’d traded. The mutual secret hung between us, heavy and volatile.

I adjusted my jeans, the weight of my knife and my growing obsession pressing heavily against my thigh as I followed the crew out to the roaring bikes.

Stone wanted my loyalty. I wanted his blood. And Skyler? I wanted her screaming my name while both of our clubs burned to the ground.

The trap was officially set, and God help me, I was stepping right into it with her.