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

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Blade’s POV

The next morning hit like a hangover I hadn’t earned.

Harsh, unfiltered sunlight stabbed through the grimy, oil-streaked windows of the shitty back room they’d tossed me in behind The Rusty Chain. It was more of a glorified storage closet than an actual bunk, smells of old rubber and industrial cleaner clinging to the walls, but it still beat sleeping on the back of my bike. Not that I’d slept much anyway. Every single time I dragged my eyelids shut, all I could see was Skyler’s mouthy little smirk, the defiant spark in her dark eyes, and the unforgettable way her soft body had fit against mine—like a missing piece of a puzzle I never wanted to solve.

Sparks. f**k, that nickname already felt too right. It rolled off my tongue like a brand, marking her as mine before I’d even truly touched her.

I dragged a faded black tee over my head and yanked on my heavy denim jeans, my movements methodical. I strapped my combat knife securely to my boot and slid my piece into the small of my back, adjusting the leather of my vest over it. Infiltration or not, cover or not, I wasn’t walking these enemy halls unarmed. Stone Callahan’s daughter had lit a match directly under my skin last night, and the burn was spreading fast—flooding straight down to my d**k and sinking deeper into much darker, uncharted territory.

By the time I navigated the winding hallways and hit the sprawling commercial garage attached to the clubhouse, the space was already roaring with life. The air was thick with the heavy clang of metal tools, the pungent scent of premium gasoline, and the deep, throaty growl of exposed engines.

And right in the center of it all was Skyler.

She was bent completely over a chopped-up Softail, her rounded ass perfectly displayed in tight, faded denim. Grease streaked the golden skin of her toned arms, and a stray smudge of charcoal sat right on her cheekbone, looking so damn endearing it made my tongue ache to lick it off. She hadn’t noticed my boots hitting the concrete yet. Good. It gave me a long, agonizing second to just watch. To let the dark obsession sink its teeth even deeper into my chest.

“You always stare at tools like you wanna f**k ‘em, or is it just my bike that’s got you so worked up?” she called out without bothering to turn around. That sharp, teasing edge in her voice cut cleanly through the noise of the power tools.

I smirked, stepping out of the shadows and strolling closer until I was standing directly behind her. I got close enough to feel the physical heat rolling off her skin, close enough to catch that faint trace of vanilla underneath the motor oil.

“Just admiring the view, Sparks,” I drawled, my voice a low rumble. “Though if you keep waving that pretty ass in my face, I might forget I’m actually here to look for work.”

She straightened up slowly, wiping her hands on a rag before turning to face me. She held a heavy wrench in one hand like a weapon, her posture relaxed but lethal. Her eyes raked over me—lingering on the breadth of my chest, the tattoos trailing down my arms, and the obvious, hard bulge in my jeans that I wasn't doing a damn thing to hide. Her lips twitched with a mixture of amusement and raw interest.

“Bold words for a prospect who’s still on incredibly thin ice, Blade,” she said, stepping a fraction closer, matching my intensity. “Most new guys know better than to flirt with the president’s daughter before they’ve even earned a real patch.”

I didn't answer with words. I just stepped right into her personal space, using my size to back her up against the Softail until the cold chrome of the frame pressed firmly into the back of her thighs. I braced my hands on the bike on either side of her hips, caging her completely without making actual physical contact. Yet.

“Who said anything about flirting? I’m just being honest,” I whispered, leaning down until my lips were inches from hers. “You’ve got a lot of fire, Sparks. Makes a man want to get burned. Makes him want to pin you down and see exactly how loud that pretty mouth gets when it’s not busy running.”

Skyler’s breath caught sharply, her chest rising and falling against the tight fabric of her tank top. But she didn’t back down. Defiance was practically etched into her bones. Instead, she lifted the wrench, dragging the cool metal tip lightly down the center of my chest, tracing the line of my sternum down to my stomach—teasing, threatening, and sending a violent jolt of arousal straight to my gut.

“Careful,” she murmured, her voice dropping an octave. “The last guy who talked to me like that ended up with his own wrench wrapped around his balls. You offering to be next, stranger?”

I reached down and wrapped my fingers around her wrist, halting her movement. My grip was firm as I guided her hand—and the tool—lower, until it hovered just inches above my heavy belt buckle. My grin was pure sin.

“Only if you promise to kiss it better afterward. I’ve got a real strong feeling those lips of yours would feel incredible making amends.”

She let out that throaty, dangerous laugh that went straight to my d**k, but her pupils were completely blown out, her cheeks flushed underneath the grease. The air between us turned thick, suffocating and heavy with the kind of primitive s****l tension that could start goddamn wars. I could smell the heat on her, could almost taste the want on her tongue even though we hadn't even crossed the line yet. My c**k strained violently against my jeans, aching to just bend her right over the seat of that chopper and show her exactly what kind of monster she was waking up.

Suddenly, the heavy metal garage door banged open with a deafening rattle.

One of the Reapers—a massive, scarred meathead wearing a Vice President patch—stomped into the bay. “Skyler! Your old man wants you in the main office now. Something about the supply shipment coming in tonight.”

The spell cracked, but it didn't completely break. Skyler pulled back instantly, though her eyes lingered on mine, practically burning with unfulfilled hunger and challenge.

“Duty calls, Blade. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone,” she said, stepping around me. But right before she walked away, she leaned in one last time, her lips brushing the sensitive edge of my ear. “And stop staring at my ass. It’s distracting the other prospects.”

“Impossible,” I growled, letting my palm trace the flare of her hip as she slipped past. “It’s a work of f*****g art, Sparks.”

She flipped me off over her shoulder without looking back, but I caught the slight, unmistakable stumble in her confident stride. Good. Let her feel it too. Let her burn with the same reckless, dangerous need that was tearing me apart.

I spent the next few hours working up a sweat on a couple of broken-down engines, intentionally earning my keep while my mind spun in a thousand different directions. Every tool I picked up reminded me of the way her fingers had wrapped around it. Every heavy rumble of a test engine sounded like her laugh echoing in my head.

This was supposed to be a strict recon mission. Find the weak spots in Stone Callahan’s local operation. Learn the exact route and schedule for their next major drug run so my Iron Vipers brothers could h****k it and bleed them dry.

Instead, I was tracking her every move. I watched the way she navigated between the garage and the bar, the sharp, authoritative way she barked orders at lazy prospects, and the deep, quiet respect the older patched members gave her. She wasn’t just the president’s daughter. She was the goddamn beating heart of the Iron Reapers.

And my original mission was to rip it out.

No. That was the old plan. The new one—the darker, twisted obsession growing in my chest like a terminal disease—wanted to claim it. I wanted to claim her. I wanted to f**k her so deep, so thoroughly, and so often that when the bloody truth finally came to light, she’d still choose my bed over her father’s grave.

By late afternoon, the garage had cleared out, leaving only the scent of exhaust and shadows behind. I was using a rag to wipe the black grease from my hands when the soft click of boots signaled her return. She sauntered over, holding two sweating, ice-cold bottles of beer, and tossed one accurately into my grip.

“Truce?” she asked, tilting her bottle and clinking it against mine. But the raw, heavy look in her eyes said absolutely anything but truce.

I took a long, slow pull of the beer, my eyes locked on the column of her throat as she swallowed her own drink. I set the half-empty bottle down on a nearby workbench and immediately crowded her space again. I moved slower this time, deliberate and predatory, backing her into the darkened, isolated corner of the garage where the security cameras couldn't reach.

“Truce implies peace, Sparks,” I whispered, trapping her against the corrugated metal wall. “And absolutely nothing about you feels peaceful. You feel like a war. The kind where I pin you down until you completely surrender.”

Skyler’s back hit the wall with a dull thud. She tilted her chin up, her gaze defiant, hungry, and entirely uncovered. “You talk an awful lot for a man who hasn’t even had the balls to kiss me yet.”

That was all the goddamn invitation I needed.

I crashed my mouth down on hers—hard, demanding, and utterly claiming. A low, ragged groan ripped from my throat as I tasted her. She tasted like cold beer, sweet vanilla, and pure rebellion. Her lips parted instantly, her tongue fighting mine for dominance with a fierce, intoxicating intensity, while her hands fisted tightly into the fabric of my black shirt, pulling me impossibly closer.

The heat was instantaneous, an absolute inferno. I slid my large hand down her back, gripping the meat of her ass and lifting her slightly off the ground so my thick thigh could wedge directly between her legs. She rocked her hips against my leg once, twice, a needy, breathless little whimper escaping her mouth that nearly snapped my remaining sanity. I wanted to tear her clothes off right here on the dirty concrete.

I broke the kiss just a fraction of an inch, my lips brushing against her swollen ones as I growled out the truth. “You feel that? Feel how f*****g hard you make me, Sparks? Keep pushing me like this and a kiss is going to be the least of your worries. I’ll have you bent over, screaming my name while your daddy’s men are standing ten feet away on the other side of that door.”

Her laugh was breathless, wrecked, and beautifully corrupted. “Big talk, Blade. You might not even survive long enough to deliver on a promise that big.”

I nipped her bottom lip sharply, sucking it between my teeth before releasing it. “Try me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

The sudden, distant roar of a dozen heavy motorcycles pulling into the compound courtyard shattered the moment like ice. Stone Callahan’s main crew was back from the run.

Skyler shoved hard against my chest, her breathing shallow and wild, her lips visibly swollen from my mouth. She hastily wiped the back of her hand across her lips, but the lingering heat in her gaze promised everything.

“Later,” she whispered, that sharp, dangerous smile returning to her face as she smoothed down her vest. “If you’re still breathing by tonight.”

She turned and vanished through the door leading into the main clubhouse, leaving me standing in the shadows, hard as steel and twice as dangerous.

I adjusted myself with a rough curse, my mind racing. The obsession was sinking its roots deeper with every teasing word, every stolen touch, and every taste of her mouth.

Revenge for my father had brought me through those front doors. But Skyler Callahan was quickly becoming the only reason I wanted to stay. Even if it meant burning both of our worlds completely to ash.