ASHLEY’S POV
It’s been about two hours since Quinn told Nonna to pack her bags and leave the mansion.
I don’t know why I held myself back there and said nothing.
Maybe because she’s Warrick’s mother, but firing Nonna over one mistake was unfair.
She’s been cooking for Warrick for over two decades.
If the meal is really bad, she should be given another chance, not instant dismissal.
To me, the meal was perfect… that’s what I ate.
I don’t understand why Quinn and her daughters complained that it was too salty.
I told Nonna not to pack.
I asked her to stay, that I’ll talk to Ripper and Adams, but she refused.
I also offered to talk to Quinn and ask for forgiveness on her behalf.
I know Quinn hates me on sight, but I don’t mind begging her for Nonna.
Nonna has been such a sweetheart since I moved in.
But Nonna said I shouldn’t.
“Challenging Quinn is never a good option, Ash.
She’s dangerous.”
Not that I am afraid of anyone, but if Nonna had let me help, things might be different.
She refused and said she’ll leave — though she said she’ll always come by the club from time to time, to visit.
I stand in front of the mirror and take another long look at my outfit.
I’ll be attending the church today.
As the biker’s old lady, I should dress well.
I don’t want to overdo it, so I pick a black crop top and high-waist baggy black jeans.
I also wear a black face cap — I purposely choose black since I am supposed to still be mourning my husband.
A sharp knock sounds at the door.
Adams opens it.
“Ready?” he says as the door slides open.
“It’s time.
Punctuality is a serious virtue in the biker world.”
I nod. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“Yes, I’m ready.
What do you think of my outfit, Adams?”
He pauses and glances at me.
“Good… perfect.
Not too much, not too basic.”
I exhale, a weight lifting from my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I say, then close my door and trail after him.
A few minutes later, we are downstairs, and Adams walks me to the door.
“Go on — Ripper’s waiting for you outside,” he says, pushing the door open.
“You’re not coming with us?” I ask, brows raised.
“No, I’m not,” he says softly.
“I’m not part of the SOC bikers.
I’m Mr.
Warrick’s butler…” He pauses, swallowing hard.
“…Now your butler.
You don’t need to worry about your safety.
Ripper will keep you safe.
Good luck, Ash.”
I nod and rush outside.
There he is, Ripper, sitting on his bike, dressed in full biker kit, a jacket with the SOC skull and Ripper boldly stenciled across the back.
My eyes sweep over his open forearms, the tattoos.
I step closer.
“Hey…” My voice comes out more croaked than I expect.
He turns and sits up straight.
“Hop on.
We’re running late.”
I hesitate for a second, then slowly swing onto the bike and settle in carefully.
Thankfully, he is patient.
I make sure there is enough space between us so our bodies don’t touch. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
My heart hammers against my ribs, my palms damp as I fight the urge to lean closer,just a little closer and touch him.
He must not know I have a crush on him.
No one should know.
Especially him.
I perch at the very edge of the bike, fingers hovering awkwardly before settling on the seat instead of his waist.
As if that will make this any easier, with the way my chest keeps flipping.
The engine roars to life before I can steady myself.
“Vroom.
Vroom.
Vroooom.”
The sound vibrates through me and my fingers curl tighter against the seat.
And then suddenly, the bike jerks hard, the back tire lifting just enough to throw me forward.
A gasp escapes me as I slam straight into Ripper’s back.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs,My hands fly to him instinctively, gripping whatever I can to keep from falling.
“Oh shit… I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to…” My words tumble out, rushed and breathless.
My heart is out of control now.
Fast.
Wild, and unsteady.
I freeze there, pressed against him, my mind scrambling to catch up.
Heat rushes to my face, Embarrassed…Panic and Something else.
I try to pull back, but his hand closes over mine firmly.
Before I can react, he draws both my wrists together, pressing my hands more securely around him.
The contact sends a sharp, electric jolt through me.
“Hold on tight,” he says, his voice low and rough, close enough that I feel it as much as I hear it.
“Or you’re going to fall.”
My fingers tighten instinctively, betraying me.
I can feel my pulse everywhere,my palms, my throat, my chest—pounding against him.