Running From My Abusive Husband, Claimed By A Biker

Chapter Three

Emma’s POV

Ryder came back after a while and stopped just inside the doorway, staring at me.

“Are you Emma Hart?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. My throat felt raw.

How did he know?

He looked frustrated, jaw tight, and opened his mouth like he was about to say something sharp when the phone rang again. Ryder snatched it from his pocket and answered with pure roughness. “Yeah?”

I couldn’t make out the words on the other end, but whatever was said made him rake a hand through his damp dark hair in clear frustration. “I should babysit some girl and a kid?? Come on, man. I got s**t to do—deals runnin’, runs to make. This ain’t my damn job. You know the reason why I can’t agree to this.”

He listened again, shoulders tense, pacing a few steps before stopping dead. The muscle in his jaw flexed hard. “You serious right now? …Yeah, yeah, I hear you. But I’m tellin’ you, this better not turn into a goddamn headache.”

Ryder ended the call with a low curse and shoved the phone into his pocket. He dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, then fixed me with a hard stare that made the air in the room feel thinner.

“You might’ve already put two and two together from that call, but here it is straight: while your grandpa’s away, me and my boys are responsible for your safety. You and the kid stay under club protection until he gets back and handles your ex.”

I didn't know exactly who these men were, but it wasn't hard to guess. They all wore sleeveless leather vests with matching patches. Dozens of motorcycles were parked outside, and I'd caught glimpses of handguns tucked beneath their vests when they rescued us. No one even tried to hide them. The high fences, security cameras, and guards watching every corner only confirmed one thing.

These men weren't ordinary.

They were part of something dangerous. Something most normal people would run from the second they realized what they were looking at.

But my grandpa had called them. And Grandpa had never played about my safety. If he trusted these men to protect us, then I would too.

After everything Shawn had done, I no longer believed ordinary people could protect us. The police believed the mayor. The town believed the mayor. Even the doctors had taken his side.

But these men didn't look like the kind of people who cared that Shawn was the mayor.

I nodded slowly, exhaustion making my voice soft. “Thank you. I won’t cause problems. I just… I need Noah to be safe.”

Before Ryder could respond, a couple of the other bikers approached from the main room, keeping a careful distance so they wouldn’t crowd me. They were big and inked like Ryder, but their expressions were surprisingly open and friendly—almost gentle in a way that felt out of place against the hard edges of the clubhouse.

The tallest one, with an easy grin and a “Tank” patch on his cut, spoke first. “So you’re the old man’s granddaughter, huh? Well, nice to meet you, darlin’. I’m Tank. This is Blaze and Jax.”

The others nodded, offering warm smiles that reached their eyes. Blaze rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “It’s been ages since we had a girl on this turf who wasn’t… well, club regular. You and the little guy are safe here. No one’s gonna bother you. Promise.”

Jax leaned casually against the nearby wall, voice low and gentle. “Treat us like brothers, yeah? We’re family to each other in this club. Your grandpa’s word is gold around here. Anything you need—food, extra blankets, someone to watch the kid while you rest—just holler. We got you.”

Their open, welcoming energy cut through some of the tight fear still lodged in my chest. I managed a small, watery smile. “Thank you. Really. I don’t know how to repay any of this.”

But even as they spoke, the phrase *the old man* kept echoing in my head.

How did my grandpa know these men? Men who screamed dangerous in every sense. Did he have some kind of business with them? Something he’d never told me about in all the years I’d known him?

Tank waved the question away with a low chuckle before I could ask it. “No repayment needed. Old man says jump, we jump. That’s how it works.”

Ryder snorted beside me, clearly less enthusiastic about the arrangement, but he didn’t interrupt. “Room’s ready in the back. Let’s get you two settled.”

I followed him down the short hallway, Noah still sleeping heavily in his arms.

The building had grown quieter. Voices drifted from somewhere downstairs, low and muffled, followed by the occasional burst of laughter. Rain tapped steadily against the windows.

Ryder pushed open a door at the end of the hall and stepped inside first. The room was simple but clean—a double bed against the far wall with fresh sheets, a small couch under the window, a plain dresser, and a bathroom off to the side.

Someone had already left a tray with sandwiches wrapped in foil, a couple of bottled waters, and a few folded clothes that looked soft and new on the dresser.

He laid Noah carefully on the bed, adjusting the blankets with a surprising amount of care for a man who looked like he could break someone in half without trying. Then he stepped back, putting clear distance between us again.

“Sheets are clean. Bathroom’s through there. One of the girls will bring whatever else you need in the morning. Don’t leave the compound. Clear?”

I nodded, still standing near the door, arms wrapped around myself. My wet clothes had started to dry in places, stiff and cold against the bruises.

He didn’t wait for a reply. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft, final sound.

I stood there for a long moment in the sudden quiet, listening to Noah’s steady breathing, and tried to convince my body that we were safe—for now.

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