Running From My Abusive Husband, Claimed By A Biker

Chapter Two

Emma’s POV

Ryder froze mid-step. For a long second his hard expression flickered—something haunted flashing behind his eyes. He cursed under his breath, jaw tight, then moved.

“Goddamn it.”

He crouched fast, rain streaming off the broad lines of his shoulders, and carefully lifted Noah out of my arms. One large hand supported my son’s head while the other braced his small, struggling chest. “Doc’s at the clubhouse. We’ll get the kid checked. That’s it. No promises beyond that.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. I grabbed the duffel with shaking hands and climbed onto the back of Ryder’s Harley when he jerked his chin toward the seat. My arms wrapped tight around his solid waist as the engine roared to life beneath us.

The bike vibrated powerfully between my thighs as we sped off, his brothers falling into a protective formation around us.

The compound emerged through the rain, surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Dozens of motorcycles were parked beneath dim security lights, facing a solid two-story building that looked more like a fortress than an ordinary house.

Ryder killed the engine and helped me down, his grip firm on my elbow. Those intense eyes met mine again, guarded and unreadable.

“Doc’ll be here in a minute,” he said gruffly. “Stay in the back room until the kid’s stable. Don’t wander.”

A couple of the men gave us curious looks as we passed, but Ryder barked a few short orders and they melted away without comment.

Noah was settled on a worn leather couch in a quiet back room, blankets tucked around him. A grizzled older man they simply called Doc showed up within minutes carrying a serious medical kit, a portable oxygen tank, and a nebulizer.

He worked fast and quiet—checking vitals, fitting the mask over Noah’s face, adjusting the flow of medicine with the calm of someone who had done this too many times before. The dry warmth of the room and the real medication finally began to ease the worst of the attack.

Noah’s color slowly returned. His little chest rose and fell more evenly.

I sank into the chair beside him, tears of pure relief stinging my eyes. Every muscle in my body trembled with leftover adrenaline.

Ryder was still there, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, watching.

I swallowed hard and looked up at him.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from screaming into the storm. “You saved him. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t stopped.” I hesitated, then forced the next words out. “Do you… do you have a phone I could use? Just for a minute. I need to call my grandfather.”

Ryder stared at me for a long beat, expression unreadable. Rain still dripped from the ends of his dark hair onto the shoulders of his cut. Without a word he pushed off the doorframe and strode out of the room.

I sat there stroking Noah’s damp hair while he dozed. Minutes later, heavy footsteps returned. Ryder came back in and stopped directly in front of me.

Up close like this, the difference in our sizes hit me hard. I was petite to begin with, but he towered over me. His tattooed biceps strained beneath the damp fabric of his black shirt as he held out an old, battered flip phone.

“Here,” he grunted.

My hands shook as I took it from him.

I could still hear my grandfather’s voice from the day of my wedding, as clear as if he were standing in the room. He’d pulled me aside after the ceremony, face serious, eyes full of worry most people never saw on him.

“That boy Shawn… I don’t trust him, Emma. Not one bit. He’s got a mean streak under all that charm. You remember this—if anything ever happens, you call me. Anytime. Day or night. I mean it.”

I’d been so stupidly in love back then. Young, naive, and blind to every red flag. I had laughed it off and told him with all the confidence in the world, “Grandpa, I trust Shawn with my whole heart. He could never do anything to hurt me.”

How wrong I had been.

I dialed the number I knew by heart and pressed the phone to my ear with a trembling hand.

It connected after two rings. “Hello?” My grandfather’s familiar, gruff voice came through the line.

The sound of it broke something inside me.

Tears flooded my eyes instantly, spilling down my cheeks faster than I could stop them. “Grandpa… it’s Emma,” I choked out, my voice cracking on his name.

“Emma? What’s wrong, darlin’? Talk to me.”

Everything poured out of me in a messy, sobbing rush.

I told him about Shawn—about the years of abuse, the beatings, the threats, and the way he controlled every part of my life. I told him how I'd tried to leave before, only for Shawn to convince everyone I was unstable. No one believed me. Not the police. Not the town.

My shoulders shook with harsh sobs as I forced myself to continue.

"Tonight he lost control again. I grabbed Noah and ran. We made it out, but the car broke down on the highway in the storm. Noah had a terrible asthma attack—he couldn't breathe, Grandpa. He was turning blue. I thought he was going to die right there in the car..."

I sucked in a shaky breath.

"If it wasn't for the man who stopped with his friends... they helped us. They got Noah to safety, and a doctor treated him. He's breathing better now, but I... I don't have anywhere to go. We have nothing but the clothes on our backs and a little cash I hid. Please, Grandpa... if you can help us, if you can do anything at all... I'm begging you."

The line went silent for a beat. Then my grandfather’s voice exploded with low, controlled fury. “That bastard. I’ll deal with Shawn myself, you hear me? The second I’m back, that piece of s**t is finished.” He paused, the anger sharpening into something colder. “I warned you about him, Emma. I told you that boy had a mean streak under all the smiles and the speeches. But you were so damn stubborn. Head over heels. Wouldn’t listen to a word I said.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, fresh tears falling. He was right. I had been.

After a long moment he sighed heavily, the worry clear beneath the anger. “How’s my great-grandson doing? Is Noah okay?”

“He’s breathing better now,” I whispered, glancing at my sleeping boy. His little fingers still clutched the toy motorcycle even in sleep. “The doctor here gave him proper treatment. He’s exhausted but stable.”

Another heavy sigh. “Good. Listen, darlin’, I’m out on a business trip in Japan right now. I won’t be back for at least a month. But I’ll handle this. Let me contact someone first. He’ll come get you and make sure you and Noah have protection while I’m away. Stay put and stay safe. Do not leave that place. I love you, Emma.”

“I love you too, Grandpa,” I managed before the line went dead.

I lowered the phone, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. The room felt too quiet. A few seconds later the door burst open.

Another heavily inked man—younger, sharp-eyed, attractive in a rough way—came rushing in holding a different phone. He shoved it toward Ryder, practically yelling, “Prez! The old man’s calling right now—says it’s urgent!”

Ryder’s stoic expression didn’t change as he took the phone. His eyes flicked to me once, unreadable, before he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him with a soft, final click.