Page 4 of Sold to the Biker

“What are you going to do with me?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly. I can see she's trying hard to keep a brave front and the thought almost makes me smile.She's cute.

“I'm taking you home,” I reply simply.

Her eyes flicker at the word. Home. She looks like she wants to say something but decides against it. She gives me a curt nod of permission and I gently place the helmet on her head, fastening the strap beneath her chin. My fingers brush against her skin, and for a brief second, I'm caught in the mesmerizing depths of her gorgeous green eyes, unable to look away. The desire to touch her, to claim her lips and explore the soft curves of her body, surges through me. My fingers linger at her jawline, my thumb grazing her cheek.But now isn't the time for that.

I rein in my desire, swallowing the lustful thoughts swirling in my head.Control.I've always had it, and I'm not about to lose it now.

I swing my leg over the bike and reach for her hand again, guiding her behind me. She climbs onto the seat, her body tense against mine as she grabs the sides of my jack. I rev the engine, the sound roaring to life, drowning out the weight of everything else for a moment.

“Hold on tight,” I say gruffly, and she obediently slides her arms around my torso. “Good girl,” I mutter to myself as I pull away from the auction house.

My good girl.

Chapter Three

Leah

The motorcycle slows as we pull up to what looks like a cabin tucked away in the woods. I blink, taking it all in. I don't know what I expected my new ‘prison’ to look like, but it definitely wasn’t a beautiful cabin with large windows and a nice porch. It feels... warm. Safe, even. A stark contrast to Harry's big, cold mansion.

The engine cuts off, leaving the air heavy and quiet. My buyer—I still don’t know his name—swings off the bike with ease, then turns to offer me his hand. He's a tall man. Very tall. He's not quite as muscular as Kane, but that doesn't make him any less intimidating. I glance at his outstretched hand, at the colorful ink that runs up his arm disappearing into the short sleeve of his shirt, and I can't help but wonder how far it goes. I let my gaze roam to his face, taking in the sharp, well defined features, his black hair is tied back in a ponytail, but it’s his eyes that throw me off. They’re a deep, staggering blue, intense yet oddly gentle. He's a very handsome man, in a rugged, unrefined kind of way– the kind of hero that I read about in adventure books.

Snap out of it, Leah!

Taking a deep breath, I take his hand. His grip is surprisingly gentle and warm as he helps me down. Our gazes clash and I feel my breath catch in my throat at the intensity in his deep blue eyes.

What was that?

I follow him to the door, unsure of what to expect next. The inside of the cabin is just as warm as the outside with nicely worn out furniture and a nice fireplace. The place smells just like him, a heady mixture of wood and earth. “This way,” he says quietly, his deep voice filling the space. He leads me down a narrow hallway and opens a door. It’s a small bedroom, but cozy—a bed with a soft-looking comforter, a dresser, and a dim lamp casting soft shadows on the walls.

There’s an awkward pause, and I can feel the tension settling between us. I swallow, glancing at him shyly before asking, “What’s... your name?”

I feel a little ridiculous for asking, but I need to know something, anything, about him. His blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I feel like I’m sinking into their depth. “Don Vincent,” he says, his voice low but clear. “But everyone calls me Don.”

My blood runs cold at the sound of the name. Don Vincent… He can't be the infamous Don I've heard about, right? The ruthless leader of the Black Vipers Bikers, rumored to have killed his best friend for the position? The same man who owns most of the nightclubs and casinos in Newark, and was once arrested under suspicions of running an underground cartel?

This must be some sick joke… I have just not been sold to the most dangerous man in Newark.

“Y-you're…” I swallow, clearing my throat lightly. “You're not the leader of Black Vipers, are you?”

“My reputation precedes me, I guess,” he says, his lips slightly turning upward in a cryptic smile.

“I'm sorry, I mutter, suddenly feeling guilty for sounding so judgmental. It's something about his expression, the fleeting disappointment in his beautiful blue eyes. “I didn't… I just…” I let my voice trail off before I make another blunder.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Leah,” he says, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Do you need anything? Dinner, maybe?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m... I’m not hungry.” My stomach is too knotted with everything that’s happened tonight.

An awkward silence settles between us. I steal a glance at him, quickly averting my eyes when they clash with his. There’s something about him that makes me feel both nervous and... drawn to him. I can’t explain it, but it’s there. I’m not sure what to make of it yet.

“If you need anything,” he says finally, “just let me know.” He pauses for a second longer, like he wants to say more, but instead he turns and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything. The events of the day feel like a blur—Harry, the auction, the terror of what could’ve happened. But my mind keeps drifting back to Don. There’s something about him that I can’t quite wrap my head around. It's ironic that he saved me tonight with the kind of reputation he has. Isn't he supposed to be some dangerous thug who eats girls like me for breakfast?So who is the gruff yet gentle giant who treats me like I'm some delicate flower? What does he want from me? What is he going to do with me? It feels like he saved me tonight and I should trust him, but if there's anything I've learnt so far in life, it's never to trust anyone. Even the ones that are supposed to be family…

But why do I feel like I'm safer here? With him.

A soft knock pulls me out of my thoughts. My head jerks up, and before I can even answer, Don steps into the room. He’s holding a steaming cup of something and… a small box. His presence fills the space, a commanding kind of quiet that both unnerves and reassures me.

“Hot chocolate,” he says, handing me the cup.