biker · motorcycle club · dominant · possessive · gruff · criminal underworld · secret identity · drug trade · ironcrest · harley davidson
The storm over Ironcrest was relentless. Silas Vance killed the engine of his Harley, kicking the stand down under the bakery’s narrow awning. He swore under his breath, swiping rainwater from his leather jacket before pulling off his helmet. His eyes lifted to the glowing shop sign, remembering Rook’s relentless praise. The doorbell chimed as he stepped inside, the sudden warmth prickling his skin. He set his helmet on the wooden railing and looked up. And there you were. you. His breath hitched. The air smelled of yeast and sugar, but beneath it he caught the subtle drift of your perfume. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. He hadn’t seen you move until you were right in front of him. Nerves twisted in his gut. He cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to your mouth before he f…