Page 33 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Sadie walks me to the front door while Owen runs upstairs looking for a toy motorcycle he apparently desperately needs to show me before I leave. The house is quieter suddenly.

Warm sunlight spills across the hallway floorboards. For a second, neither of us speaks. Then Sadie exhales softly. “About this morning…”

I grin slightly. “Could’ve gone worse.”

She shakes her head ruefully. “He thinks you’re a superhero motorcycle man.”

“Honestly? I’ve been called worse.”

She laughs quietly. Then her expression softens. “I had a really good time.”

My throat suddenly feels tight. I cough. “Yeah,” I say honestly. “Me too.”

Too much. That’s the problem. I reach for the door but stop as my eyes land on a folded piece of paper, half-shoved beneath it. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, as if my body senses something is wrong.

“What’s that?” Sadie asks.

I crouch and pick it up—it’s a piece of paper, folded twice, no envelope, no address. Whoever sent this delivered it by hand. Something cold crawls slowly up my spine before I even open it. My instinct already knows.

I unfold it carefully, going completely still as I see the two lines written in thick black marker. The entire world narrows. Every protective instinct I have detonates at once as I read it.

YOU’RE MINE. ANYONE WHO TOUCHES YOU DIES.

Chapter 9

Sadie

The kitchen suddenly feels cold. The sunlight still streams warm through the windows. Owen is still thundering around upstairs. Coffee steams gently from the mug in my hand, the smell comforting and familiar, but all I can see are the words on the paper in Kane’s hand.

YOU’RE MINE. ANYONE WHO TOUCHES YOU DIES.

A sick, twisting feeling crawls through my stomach. “What…” My voice comes out thin. “What the fuck?”

Kane goes completely still beside the door. Every trace of softness from breakfast disappears instantly. The playful warmth. The lazy smiles. The easy teasing. Gone. Now he just looks dangerous. His jaw tightens so hard that I see the muscles in his neck jump beneath the tattooed skin. His eyes move slowly across the note again, his expression flattening into something cold and ugly.

Fear spikes sharply through me. Not of him, not quite, but the world suddenly feels alien and wrong. “That isn’t funny,” I whisper.

Kane looks at me sharply. “Who’s got a key?”

“What?”

“To the house.”

“I—” I frown. “Just my friend Dani, and Ethan does.”

His expression darkens immediately. Of course it does. Who can blame him after what he saw last night? Plus, it’s investigation 101, the husband is the first person the cops would look at. Yet still…

A horrible knot forms in my stomach. “No,” I say quickly. “No, Ethan wouldn’t—”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness of the word makes me flinch slightly. Kane notices and exhales hard through his nose, dragging a hand across his jaw. When he speaks again, his voice is still rough, but I can tell he’s trying to remain calm. “Sadie. Your ex showed up drunk last night, screaming at you.”

“He wasn’t screaming.”

“He pushed you over.”

I open my mouth. Close it again. Because, technically, he did, but it still feels wrong to hear someone else say it out loud. “It wasn’t like that. It was an accident. He was upset.” The excuse sounds weak even to me. The kind of thing abused wives say about their mean, violent husbands all the time.

Kane stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yeah,” he says flatly. “Clearly.”