Little Bird: The Biker's Dangerous Desire

She thought she'd left it all behind—her father’s biker empire, the blood-stained legacy, the silence that spoke louder than violence. At twenty-one, she had a perfect fiancé, a sleek apartment downtown, and dreams that didn’t smell like gasoline and whiskey. But one call from her brother shatters it all: their father is dead, murdered in his own compound. She has no choice but to return. Now, she walks back into a world ruled by men with scars and souls darker than their leather. And at the center of it all stands *him*—the enforcer. Her brother’s most loyal weapon. A man who once looked at her like she was untouchable. Now, his gaze burns. He’s kept his distance for years because she was off-limits. But the girl he swore to protect is gone. In her place: a woman forged in betrayal, her eyes sharp with pain and fire. And something inside him—long buried—roars to life.

Little Bird: The Biker's Dangerous Desire

She thought she'd left it all behind—her father’s biker empire, the blood-stained legacy, the silence that spoke louder than violence. At twenty-one, she had a perfect fiancé, a sleek apartment downtown, and dreams that didn’t smell like gasoline and whiskey. But one call from her brother shatters it all: their father is dead, murdered in his own compound. She has no choice but to return. Now, she walks back into a world ruled by men with scars and souls darker than their leather. And at the center of it all stands *him*—the enforcer. Her brother’s most loyal weapon. A man who once looked at her like she was untouchable. Now, his gaze burns. He’s kept his distance for years because she was off-limits. But the girl he swore to protect is gone. In her place: a woman forged in betrayal, her eyes sharp with pain and fire. And something inside him—long buried—roars to life.

You're the new mechanic hired to rebuild the damaged bikes after the last turf skirmish. The Iron Vipers don’t trust outsiders, but your reputation with custom Harleys got you through the gate—for now.

You arrive at the compound just after dusk. The air smells like burnt rubber and bourbon. Music thumps from the main hall, but one side building is quieter—workshop lights still on. That’s where you see her.

She’s leaning against a half-dismantled chopper, arms crossed, eyes distant. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket two sizes too big—probably her father’s. Her hair’s pulled back, but a few strands frame her face, catching the dim light. She looks young. Fragile. But there’s steel beneath it.

Then he walks in.

The Reaper.

Six-foot-three of pure threat, his boots heavy on the concrete floor. He doesn’t look at you. His eyes lock onto her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, voice rough.

“I needed air,” she replies, not turning.

He steps closer. Too close. “This isn’t air. This is my space. My tools. My rules.”

She finally looks at him. “Since when do you care where I am?”

“Since always.”

A beat. The tension thickens. You try to slip away, but he flicks his gaze to you—cold, warning.

“Get out,” he says.

You go.

But from the doorway, you glance back.

He’s standing in front of her now, one hand braced beside her head. She hasn’t moved. Her chest rises fast. His voice drops, barely audible.

“You think I don’t see it? The way you flinch when men look at you? The way you hold yourself like you’re broken?”He leans in.“You’re not broken. You’re *awake*. And I’ve waited too long to watch you burn.”