Page 11 of Diary of a Biker Queen

But it was Luca I dreamed of.

We touched down on US soil, and Luca stood impatiently behind the rest of the passengers in the aisle of the plane, waiting for his turn to get off. His entire body was stiff, his breathing too fast, and he clutched his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white.

I slipped around Lynx so I could stand behind Luca. “Hey,” I said to him quietly.

He didn’t answer. Just stared straight ahead.

I sighed. “Okay, so you don’t have to talk to me. Hell, I wouldn’t either. I can’t blame you for that. But I do know your sister is going to be okay. I know Reaper and War and the guys at the club are great. They’ll take care of her.”

He stared back at me, his eyes cold. “She’s a terrified sixteen-year-old girl who doesn’t know them. The woman who has been taking care of her for the past year has had to leave town for fear my father will torch her house with her inside. And Isabella’s only living family are at war with each other. How okay would you be if you were in her shoes?”

He was right. None of it was okay. But neither was he. And unlike Isabella, he had nobody to take care of him.

No one except me.

So he could be mad. He could yell at me and tell me to leave him alone or put the blame for the entire situation on my shoulders. I’d carry it. I deserved that. But I couldn’t stand seeing him hurting and do nothing.

I took a chance and wrapped my arms around him from behind.

And for a moment, I thought I felt his body sag against me in relief.

But it was gone all too quick. And one word came out in a choked breath. “Don’t.” He sucked in a sharp lungful of air. “Just…don’t.”

I let him go, even though it broke me to do so when all I wanted to do was hold him and fix this whole fucking mess.

But there was no fixing it. He knew it. And now that we were back on US turf and having to face it all, so did I.

He walked off the plane, and there was nothing I could do but silently follow.

Familiar faces waited for us in the arrivals area. War, Hawk, and Reaper stood like giant, intimidating walls of muscle and leather, their expressions grim.

Luca’s steps faltered, but he quickly regained his composure, stopping in front of War. “My sister?”

War didn’t seem insulted by the lack of formal greeting. He just nodded. “We have her. She’s back at my clubhouse.”

Hawk, War’s second-in-command, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Luca, clearly no love lost between them. “You’re fucking lucky she reminded me of my sister-in-law. All big, broken eyes, both girls fucked over by men decades too old to be looking at them. They’re close in age. Made fast friends after Isabella got in last night. They were watching Stranger Things in my living room when I left.”

Relief flooded me at the mental image of Luca’s sister safe, warm, and surrounded by good people.

Luca’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. He nodded at the bikers and formed words I doubted he’d ever said to them. “Thank you.”

Hawk huffed; his usual grumpy expression fixed in place. “Yeah, well, it’s not her fault she was unlucky enough to be related to you.”

Anger on Luca’s behalf rose inside me swiftly. I wanted to defend him to Hawk. This man knew nothing about how much Luca loved his sister. But I bit it all down because I knew Luca wouldn’t appreciate me trying to stand up for him.

Reaper reached my side and pulled me into a quick, one-armed hug. “Fucking hell. Violet is going to be so mad at you.” He smiled at me in the affectionate way a big brother might, though none of mine ever had. “It’s good to see your face.”

I urged him down into a proper hug and whispered in his ear, “Something happened with Lynx while we were away.”

He drew back quickly, staring at me, and then over at the man he’d shared a cell with for six years. His mouth pressed into a line, but all he did was nod, like he already knew exactly what had gone down, even though I knew Lynx hadn’t called him.

The fact he hadn’t was exactly why I was telling Reaper now.

He was his best friend.

And I was pretty sure Lynx needed help.

We hadn’t spoken a word about the way he’d carved a mark into the back of the man he’d killed. Or about how he’d held me afterward, like he hadn’t even noticed the blood and that I was the only thing keeping him from trying to murder every man in the room.