The Biker King Hidden Enemy

Sierra POV

The first mistake I made was thinking the Black Vipers would never notice me, while second was believing that I could walk into their world, steal the truth about my father's death, and walk back out before anyone realized I had been there.

I should have known better, men like Roman Cross didn't build an empire by overlooking small things.

They noticed everything, from broken lock on a toolbox to missing cigarette, a stranger who knew too much about motorcycles and most especially a woman who asked questions when she had no business asking.

I tightened the black gloves around my fingers staring at the motorcycle beneath the garage lights.

The engine was stripped open, exposing a mess of wires and metal.

"You're going to ruin it."

I froze. The  voice came from behind, I took a  turn slowly.

A man stood near the garage entrance, wiping grease from his hands with a red cloth. He was broad-shouldered, covered in tattoos, and wearing the black leather vest that marked him as a Black Viper.

His eyes moved from me to the motorcycle then back to me.

"I was told to check the ignition."

"You were?”, He threw the cloth onto a workbench. “Not dismantle half the bike."

I gave him a bored look… “Then whoever told me to check the ignition should have told me what part of it they wanted checked."

His mouth twitched. "You've got an answer for everything, don't you?"

"Only when people ask stupid questions."

He stared at me for a moment then laughed and that was dangerous.

Not because he was amused but because I could hear footsteps approaching behind him.

Several pairs.

The laughter disappeared from his face immediately. Every  man in the garage straightened, tools  stopped moving, engines  went quiet.

"He's here”, someone whispered.

I didn't have to ask who…

Roman Cross.

The president of the Black Vipers, the man I'd spent three years blaming for my father's death.

I had imagined this moment dozens of times, and sometimes I imagined putting a gun against his head, forcing him to confess why my father had begged him for help the night before he died.

The room simply changed around him the moment he walked in looking like  a Greek god. He didn't need an announcement nor did he need to raise his voice.

He wore a black T-shirt beneath his leather vest, dark jeans and heavy boots. His hair was slightly damp, as if he'd just come in from the rain.

He wasn't the loudest man in the room but was the one everyone else instinctively made space for.

His gaze moved across the garage, one mechanic nodded while another stepped aside.

Then his have landed on me, not my face…but my hands then the toolbox beside me.

My heartbeat raced instinctively while I tried to keep my expression blank.

"Who's she?"

The tattooed man beside me answered.

"Sierra, our new mechanic."

Roman's gaze returned to mine…"New?, for how long?”.

"Three weeks.” I said barely able to breathe.

"Three weeks," he repeated walking closer.

I refused to step back but that  was harder than it should have been.

Up close, Roman was even more intimidating. But fear was useless because it wouldn’t bring my father back or answer the questions surrounding his death. I wasn’t going to let that stop me now.

He stopped in front of the motorcycle. “What were you doing?"

"Checking the ignition."

A few men shifted uncomfortably but Roman didn't react.

Instead, he crouched beside the bike.

His fingers moved over the exposed wiring.

"You disconnected the fuel relay."

I shrugged. “It was damaged."

“No." His voice was deep and commanding.

"You wanted to see what was underneath it."

My stomach tightened, the spanner in my hand dropped to the ground as a strange shock crept over me.

He stood.”What were you looking for?"

"Nothing."

"Wrong answer."

I smiled. “Then ask a better question."

One of the men actually muttered something under his breath.

I expected anger, Instead I saw something much worse…

Interest.

He gazed locked with mine studying me, like he was trying  to figure out where I fit.

I had spent weeks building my new identity.

Sierra Vale.

A twenty-six year old mechanic with no close family or serious relationships and definitely no criminal history.

Just a regular woman who had worked in three garages before coming to the Black Vipers.

Every detail had been carefully constructed, but there was one thing I couldn't change.

My father's blood running  through my veins.

Roman Cross had known him and that was why I was here.

Three years ago, my father had been found dead beside an abandoned highway. The police called it a robbery gone wrong while the Black Vipers called it unfortunate.

But I called it murder…

Because two days before his death, my father had left me a message. seven

words.

“If Roman Cross finds you, don't trust him.

I had never forgotten them.”

Roman suddenly reached toward me.

I stiffened, his fingers stopped inches from my wrist.

"There." His voice was low.

I looked down, a  tiny black smear of grease covered the inside of my wrist.

He wasn't touching me but was looking at something beneath the grease…A faint scar.

My father's motorcycle had caused it when I was seventeen.

Roman stared at it for half a second too long.

Then his expression changed, not much but enough.

"Where did you get that?"

I pulled my hand away. “ Working on bikes." I said looking away.

"That's not what I asked."

"I didn't realize you were interviewing me."

"I am now." his voice had hardened.

I forced a laugh, “you  have a strange way of welcoming new employees."

"Who recommended you?"

"Your previous employer did." I said.

"Name."

"Frank Dallow."

Roman's eyes narrowed…”He's dead."

“What?! Frank is dead!.”

Roman watched my face with out a word, that was when I realized my mistake.

"You didn't know," he said.

I said nothing.

"Interesting."he said staring at me like a prey.

I turned toward the toolbox. “I've got work to finish."

Roman caught my wrist firmly, “Let go." I yanked my hand.

He  looked toward the far side of the garage “Everyone out."

The garage became painfully quiet as the men left one after the other.

My heart raced, realizing I am finally I was finally alone with the man I'd spent years planning to destroy.

Roman walked toward the office overlooking the garage. “Come with me."

"I'm working."

He glanced over his shoulder. “Come with me!."

Something about the way he sounded made my skin prickle.

"You were investigating my motorcycle."

I swallowed. “I told you—"

"I know what you told me." He cut me off.

He opened the office door.

"I want to know what you didn't tell me."

The office was small but heavily secured…a desk, two monitors, a huge photograph of motorcycles,  club events hanged across it walls and one locked steel cabinet.

My eyes lingered on it for less than a second.

"You don't trust your own employees?" I asked turning toward him.

"I don't trust anyone who lies to me." He walked toward the desk.

"You've been inside the garage after closing."

My face remained calm…”Sometimes I work late."

"You've opened three restricted cabinets."

"I was looking for parts."

"You asked about my father's old workshop."

I went still instantly, how the hell did he find out?.

He leaned against the desk. “Why?"

I couldn't answer, but simply forced myself to smile. "I'm curious."

"You're lying."

"Maybe you're just bad at asking questions." I said.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then  he reached beneath the desk and pulled out a small brown envelope.

My heart jerked hard, I recognized the handwriting immediately. It was father's handwriting.

"You know what that is."

I couldn't breathe. "Where did you get it?"

The question escaped before I could stop it.

Roman's expression changed, not  in surprise but confirmation.

He pushed the envelope toward me. "That's what I've been trying to figure out."

My fingers hovered above it. “What is inside?"

"Your real name isn't Sierra Vale."

I froze instantly. “I—m my—“

“You don’t need to deny it,” he says picking up  up the envelope.

His thumb ran over the faded writing, then looked directly into my eyes.

"Your name is Sierra Mercer."

My eyes widened instantly, that was my father's surname. A name no one  inside this club should known.

Roman's voice dropped. “And your father didn't die three years ago…he was murdered and I know who ordered it."

I stared at him in disbelief, everything felt like a joke.

For three years, I'd believed Roman Cross was the man responsible for my fathers death.

Now he was telling me he knew the killer.

And the terrifying part wasn't that he knew.

It was the realization that if Roman wasn't lying... it means I had spent three years hunting the wrong man.