The Biker Who saved me

Chapter 1: Only Those with Comfort cry The Harley hummed beneath my hands. For just one stupid second, I actually let myself believe tonight was going to be special. I was twenty-three today. Happy f*****g birthday to me. I built this bike out of trash and broken parts, spending nights covered in grease and welding copper trim while Scott slept like a baby down the hall. I even bought a cheap vanilla cake and strapped it to the back seat. Vanilla. My favorite since I was a kid. Tonight, I’m opening up, I’d promised myself that morning while wiping black grime off my cheek. Tonight, I stop making him wait, I’ll give it to him and maybe our story would take a good turn from then. God, I was such an i***t. Good things didn't happen to girls like me. They never did. When I pulled up to the house, June’s shiny white car was sitting right in the driveway. My stomach dropped. My half-sister never showed up unless she wanted something, or unless she was coming to remind me that she was Dad’s precious golden child and I was just the mistake he was forced to keep. She’s still your sister, I lied to myself, grabbing the cake off the back seat. Just try to be nice. I opened the front door quietly. That was my first mistake. The noises hit me before I even made it to the hallway. Heavy, wet, disgusting sounds. Breathing. Moaning. The cardboard cake box slipped out of my hands and crashed onto the floor. I didn't care. My heart was pounding so hard in my ears I thought my chest was going to explode. Those sounds were coming from my room. My bed. The bed I’d made that morning before work. My legs felt like lead, dragging me down the hall. The bedroom door was cracked open just an inch. I pushed it. Scott was on top of June, pinning her against the edge of the mattress. Her skirt was pulled all the way up around her waist, his hands tangled in her hair, pounding into her. They didn't even notice me standing there. Not for three long, agonizing seconds. Three seconds was all it took for every "I have to work late," every "you're just paranoid," and every cold shoulder to suddenly make sense. Then Scott looked up and saw me. “Sarah…” His face went pale. He pulled out of her so fast he almost fell over his own pants. June didn't even hide. She casually pulled her dress down and sat up, looking at me like I was a piece of trash stuck to the bottom of her shoe. No guilt. No shame. Nothing. “Finally,” June sighed, checking her nails. “You’re home.” My voice came out flat. Cold. I hated how quiet I sounded when my whole life was falling apart right in front of me. “Get the f**k out,” I said. “Actually…” June grabbed a thick paper envelope off my nightstand and threw it at my feet. “You’re the one leaving. Dad updated his will two months ago. The house is mine. The money, the land, all of it belongs to me now.” She rubbed her flat stomach with a sick, fake smile. “Oh, and I’m pregnant with Scott’s baby. So pack your s**t and get out of my house.” I looked at Scott. He stared down at the floor, too much of a coward to look me in the eye. Ten months I gave this guy. Ten months of my body, my time, my heart and he couldn't even look at me. “It’s my birthday,” I whispered, I just said it because I couldn't believe this was real life. June smirked. “Happy birthday. You’ve got ten minutes.” I didn't cry. Crying was for people who had someone to comfort them. I walked over to the closet and grabbed my duffel bag, the same bag I always kept packed since I was a kid, just in case my family decided they didn't want me anymore. I shoved my clothes inside, grabbed my tools, and dug out the cash I’d hidden under the floorboards. On my way out, I stopped at the bedroom door. Scott was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. “Every time your life turns to s**t from now on,” I told him quietly, “just remember you picked her.” I slammed the front door shut behind me. The storm hit me fifteen miles down the highway. Rain poured down like buckets of ice water, soaking straight through my leather jacket until I was shivering to the bone. I didn't know where I was going. I just needed to get far away from that bed and those disgusting noises. At mile twenty, my bike started coughing. Cough. Stutter. Pop. “No, no, no, come on!” I yelled into the storm, pulling over onto the muddy shoulder. I shut the engine off, popped the side panel open, and shoved a tiny flashlight into my mouth so I could see. My hands were shaking so bad from the freezing cold that I could barely hold my pliers. Flooded engine. Bad fuel line. I knew this bike inside and out, but my fingers were too stiff to move right. I jerked the line too hard, and sharp metal sliced deep across my palm. “f**k!” I screamed, dropping the tools. Before I could wrap my hand, the deep, terrifying roar of heavy engines shook the ground beneath my feet. Six massive bikes rolled out of the dark, their bright headlights blinding me. These weren't normal bikes. These were huge, custom monsters that made your whole chest vibrate when they revved. I stood up, holding my bleeding hand against my stomach, rainwater dripping down my face. The lead rider pulled right up to me and stopped. The guy was huge. Even sitting down, his shoulders were wider than a doorway. He killed his engine, unbuckled his helmet, and pulled it off. He had a rough, scarred jaw, wet dark hair, and cold grey eyes that pinned me right where I stood. His heavy leather vest had a big patch: IRON VIPERS MC. Underneath it said: VP. And under that, his name: FORGE. He swung a long leg over his bike and stepped toward me. He didn't rush. He moved like a predator who knew nobody could mess with him. Without asking, he crouched down by my Harley and looked at the engine. “Flooded,” he said. His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver straight down my spine. “Hell of a night to get stuck out here.” He looked up, those silver eyes locking onto mine. “You build this yourself?” “Yeah,” I spat out, taking a step back. “Good work.” He stood up, and I realized just how massive he was. Easily six-foot-four, built like a brick wall. “You’re bleeding, kid.” “I’m fine.” He didn't argue. He just reached inside his leather vest, pulled out a clean black bandana, and held it out to me. I hated taking help, but blood was dripping down my wrist. I snatched it and wrapped it tight around my hand. “Forge,” he said, introducing himself. “Our clubhouse is four miles up the road. Warm. Dry. Got food, booze, and tools. We can haul your bike back in the morning.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s the catch? What do you want from me?” He didn't dodge the question. His eyes stayed glued to mine. “Nothing.” “Guys like you don't do s**t for free.” A faint, dangerous smirk touched his lips. “Guys like me? You don't know a f*****g thing about guys like me, sweet face.” “I know what your patch means.” “Then you know Iron Vipers don't take what isn't offered.” He took a step closer, his huge body completely blocking the freezing wind from hitting me. “You’ll be a guest. Nobody touches you. You have my word.” Behind him, five other giant bikers sat on their engines, waiting silently for his command. Total authority. I looked at my dead bike, the blood soaking through his bandana, and the dark, empty road ahead. I had no house. No money. No man. No family. Nothing. “I fix my own bike tomorrow morning,” I said, looking right up into his face. “Wouldn't dream of stopping you.” “And I’m outta there the second it’s running.” “Your choice.” He didn't try to touch me. He didn't try to bullshit me. In a world full of people who had spent my whole life lying to me, this dangerous stranger was the only person giving it to me straight. “Fine,” I said. I climbed onto the back of his massive bike. When I wrapped my arms around his waist, the heat coming off his body hit me like a furnace. He was rock hard, all muscle under that wet leather. My freezing, exhausted body practically melted against his back. “Hold on tight, Rowan,” he growled, pulling his helmet down. He didn't ask my real name. He just gave me a new one, slapped the throttle, and the bike roared to life. As we shot into the dark storm, I buried my face against his broad back, holding on for dear life. I’d lost everything tonight. I was broken, bleeding, and stripped bare.