Dirty Ride(Wind Dragons Motorcycle Club)(13)

“What happened?” he asks, scanning my apartment as if to check for signs of disaster.

“I got a message today,” I tell him, shifting on my feet. “I don’t know what to do. I always try to solve my problems by myself, but—”

“But now you have me to solve your problems,” he says, cutting me off and lifting my chin in his hand. “It’s not an imposition. I’d be fuckin’ pissed if you had some shit going down that I didn’t know anything about.”

“I know, I just didn’t want you to have to deal with it,” I admit, biting the inside of my lip.

“Am I fucking you?” he asks, eyes narrowed and jaw tight.

“What?”

“Am I fucking you? Am I here at your place every other night?” he says, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

“Yes,” I admit hesitantly, making his grip on my chin tighten.

“Are you mine?” he asks, leaning his face closer to mine, as if daring me to disagree.

“Yes, I am,” I say with more conviction this time. “I’m yours.”

“Yes, you are,” he says, his eyes softening. “You’re mine, and so are your problems. Whatever it is, I can handle it. Now tell me.”

I show him the text.

When he looks at me, waiting for an explanation, I say, “My ex. He’s the reason I moved away, because he won’t leave me alone. He tries to follow me wherever I go, makes threats, and does anything he can to make my life harder.”

How much do I divulge here? If I tell him everything, could my baggage scare even Ardan away?

“And now he’s found you here?” Ardan asks, a menacing look flashing on his face.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say in a small voice.

“Darlin’, you have nothing to worry about,” he soothes, pulling me against his body and kissing the top of my head. “Give me his name, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this for me,” I say against his chest. “I can’t ask you to.”

“You’re not asking—I’m offering,” he says simply. “I’m not going to let this fucker mess with you. You’re not alone anymore, Valentina, and he can’t do this. You have me standing in front of you now, protecting you from anything that tries to hurt you. Think of me as your own human bulletproof vest.”

I slap his arm. “That’s not even funny.”

I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “C’mon, it’s kind of funny.”

“What will you do?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quickly. “Worry about how pissed I am that you didn’t tell me any of this sooner. What if he got to you when I could have protected you? Not a very smart move you made.”

“I just didn’t want my problems to become yours,” I say softly, sighing heavily. “I knew you’d do this, and now I’m going to feel guilty if anything happens.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Oh, and Ardan . . .” I say, grimacing at what I’m about to say.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“My ex . . .”

“Yeah?” he says, sounding impatient. “Tell me.”

“He’s a cop.”



Darren has been a police officer since he was twenty-one, just like his now-retired father. It’s the reason he gets away with so much, and I couldn’t exactly report things to his cop buddies, who would have his back, not mine. His position provides him with connections all over the country, and access to information. He waited this long to make his move, which makes me feel like he’s playing with me. I just want to be left alone, but that doesn’t look like it’s in the cards for me.

After I told Ardan about Darren, he left and told me he would be back soon, reminding me to lock up the apartment. When he returns about an hour later, he comes with a packed bag, leaving it by the entrance.

“Until this is sorted, I’m moving in,” he announces, crossing his arms over his chest, legs shoulder-width apart, as if waiting for me to object.

“Okay,” is all I say, raising my eyebrow and smiling.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He chuckles and closes the space between us, muttering something about being the luckiest brother in the club. I grab on to the bottom of his leather cut and pull him even closer.

“So you’re going to move in and protect me, hmmm?”

He licks his bottom lip. “I’m going to do a lot more than that, darlin’. I’m going to talk to the club tomorrow and come up with a plan. Either way, you’re safe. You don’t need to worry about your ex—dirty cop or not, we have our ways of handling things.”

I purse my lips. “I know I’m not meant to ask questions about the club, but how are you going to handle this? I don’t want you or any of the Wind Dragons to end up in jail because I have terrible taste in men.”

“Hey,” he mock growls. “Not all the men you choose are bad.”

“I didn’t choose you—you chose me,” I point out, trying to dig myself out of the hole I put myself in.

He smirks at that and starts to drag me to the room. “Fuck yeah I did. Don’t think you’re going to distract me from your little comment, though.” He pauses. “Although I wouldn’t exactly say I’m good.”

“You’re good to me,” I say, placing my palm on his chest. “I go by how people treat me, and you’ve treated me like a princess.” I pause. “Except in the bedroom, but then, who wants that?”

“Compared to my competition, I’m fuckin’ Prince Charming,” he jokes, then lowers his gaze to my mouth. “Speaking of the bedroom. We should head there. Now.”

“You think so?” I ask coyly, batting my eyelashes at him. “I think if you want me in the bedroom,” I say, taking two steps back, “you’re going to have to catch me first.”

I bolt into the kitchen, and all I can hear is his amused chuckle filling my apartment. I hide in the pantry, but then realize how much of a stupid move that is: it’s not like we’re playing hide-and-seek here. I hear him enter the kitchen and I try to make my breathing as soft as possible, hoping he’ll think I ran through the kitchen and down the hallway into the bedroom. However, when I hear him hum the tune to a Justin Bieber song under his breath, I can’t help it—I lose it laughing. I push open the door and stare at him, holding my stomach as I continue to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, looking confused.

“What song were you just humming?” I ask, on the verge of more laughter.

“I don’t know, something I heard on the radio today. Why?” he asks, standing there, looking badass in his all-black getup, cut, biker boots, scarred neck, and . . . singing Justin Bieber.

Just the thought sends me into another fit of laughter.

Biker badass likes Justin Bieber.

I run to my bedroom, and he stalks behind me.

I can’t wait to tell that story to his brothers, whenever I finally do get to meet them. He picks me up and throws me onto the bed, then lands on top of me. “What’s so fuckin’ hilarious, Valentina? Let me in on the joke.”

“Nothing,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s a good song, is all. Very good taste you have. I’m just surprised you know it.”