The Biker's Dark Obsession

Chapter 2 – Winter Ride

THE RUMBLE of the motorcycle vibrated through Jeremiah Veyne like a second heartbeat, steady and insistent. He straddled the black machine as if it were an extension of his body, leather creaking beneath him in rhythm with the growl of the engine.

Snow drifted in slow, lazy flakes, catching the glow of streetlamps and the twinkle of Christmas lights in shop windows, painting the streets in white and gold. Lily stood there, arms folded, fire sparking in her eyes, her pride bleeding into the icy street for anyone foolish enough to notice.

“Get on,” he said, voice low, sharp—not a question, not a request.

Her fists clenched at her sides, chin tilted like she’d rather die than obey. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Jeremiah tilted his head, catching her in the shadows. She was stubborn, reckless, raw from what Robert Hale had just done to her. “You’re bleeding pride all over the street, Lily. That’s an invitation to vultures. You don’t want to go back to Hale, do you?”

Her jaw tightened at the name. “H-How did you know?”

Jeremiah smirked. “From the blonde woman’s IG story—” He raised a palm before she could react. “Just saw it at a random girl’s phone screen. I don’t follow w****s, Lily. They’re Hale’s types.”

Robert Hale—coward, snake, predator. He would have paid for what he did if Jeremiah had had another thirty seconds in that penthouse. Her voice was sharp, piercing the night air.

“Don’t you dare say his name.”

A dark, almost cruel smile flickered across Jeremiah’s face before he buried it. “Then get on.”

She hated him. He could see it in the flare of her nostrils, the rigid tilt of her shoulders, the way her gaze shot daggers. But the streets were not kind to defiance. Drunks stumbled too close, shadowed alleyways held predators. He wasn’t about to let her become prey tonight. She would understand that soon.

“You’re not dragging me back there,” she hissed, even as she swung her leg over the bike.

Her defiance made him snap. The throttle died beneath his hands as he dismounted in one smooth motion. Before she could react, he caught her wrist, tugging her forward. She stumbled into him, chest pressing against the hard plane of his body.

The impact sent heat curling through both of them, though she didn’t notice the way his pulse reacted. Her eyes widened, shock flashing across her face. She felt it—the undeniable presence of him. Her breath hitched, her body stiffened instinctively.

Not a chance, he thought. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, feeling the way her warmth pressed against his winter‑cooled jacket. He murmured, low and rough, “Too late, princess. Now you’ve got a problem.”

Her cheeks burned beneath the night sky. Lips parted, but no words came. He inhaled, taking in the sharp scent of wine, humiliation, and the winter air clinging to her hair.

“Stop blushing like that,” he said, voice low, meant for her ears alone. “You’ll make me think you like what you feel.”

“Y-you’re… disgusting,” she whispered, but the sound was fragile, fractured.

A dark chuckle rumbled from him, blending with the growl of the idle engine. He tilted his head, letting his breath ghost along her neck, cold and teasing. “Disgusting? Maybe. But your heart’s racing, Lily. Fast enough I could hear it over the engine.”

Her hands pressed weakly against his chest, more out of habit than real strength. He held her there, feeling the subtle tremors of her body, the shiver that had nothing to do with the winter cold.

He tilted her chin up with one gloved hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Tell me to stop,” he challenged. “Lie to me, say you don’t want me, say you don’t need me more than he ever did.”

Her pupils dilated, lips trembling. It almost undid him, seeing her that way—vulnerable, resistant, yet somehow drawn to the danger he represented.

Instead, he kissed her temple. Cruel restraint, a reminder of boundaries he didn’t intend to cross… not yet. “Not tonight,” he rasped. He released her just enough to guide her back toward the bike. “But soon, you’ll beg me to finish what Hale could never start.”

Her body shivered. Not from the cold. He knew it.

She finally eased onto the back of the bike, settling awkwardly, knees brushing the seat. Her arms circled his torso hesitantly, trembling, and he felt the faint press of her warmth against him. The winter wind whipped around them, cold, biting, scattering snow into the street like sparks from a fire.

The engine roared to life, vibrations crawling through the frame, up into her, into him. She gasped softly, clutching tighter as he gunned the throttle. They shot forward into the night, streetlights blurring, snowflakes stinging skin, and the smell of winter mixing with gasoline, leather, and something uniquely Lily.

He could feel her heartbeat against his back, quickening, steadying, pulsing in rhythm with his own. Memories from years ago came unbidden—sixteen-year-old Lily, defiant and dangerous, hiding glances in corridors she thought he hadn’t noticed. She had always been trouble, and tonight proved it.

“Loosen your grip, princess,” he shouted over the wind.

Her nails dug into his jacket. “Call me that again and I’ll throw myself off this thing.”

He laughed, low and rough, letting the sound carry over the roar of the motorcycle. The thrill of her proximity, of her challenge, fed the darker part of him.

“You always did like danger,” he said, voice nearly drowned in the wind.

“I didn’t like you,” she snapped, but the words were thin, defensive, and not enough.

The bike carved through the streets like a predator, the snow crunching beneath the tires. Every turn sent her body pressing closer, every lean revealing how easily she could betray herself to him, and every gasp, every quick breath, reminded him of what he had always wanted.

Finally, the gravel of Brook territory ground beneath their tires. The gates rose slowly, black iron biting into the night, frost sparkling along the edges like jagged teeth. Home. Hell. Sanctuary and prison all in one.

Lily shoved at his back as the bike slowed. “I told you—I’m not coming back here.”

He swung off, boots crunching gravel, and faced her. Voice low, unwavering, steel beneath the winter air. “You don’t get a choice tonight.”

Her legs trembled beneath her, heels sinking into the ground. “You don’t get to decide for me anymore. You never did.”

Jeremiah’s shadow swallowed him whole, but his eyes burned—not with Hale’s cruelty, not with petty vengeance. Weight. Power. Control she had refused to see before.

“You think Hale would’ve let you walk away?” His voice cut sharp as knives. “You think betrayal doesn’t come with consequences in this city? I kept you alive tonight, Lily. Don’t spit on it.”

Her lips parted, ready to strike back with words of fury, but the gates creaked wide, and the air shifted.

Ronan Brook stood there, carved fury in his face, black fire burning in his eyes. First on her, then on him.

“Well,” Ronan drawled, voice like gravel dragged over stone. “Look what the devil dragged back.”

Jeremiah’s jaw tightened. Lily’s grip on his jacket remained firm. She didn’t trust him, she didn’t like him, and yet she was here—alive, stubborn, and defiant. The mix of hate and desire between them was a storm he had no intention of calming tonight.

Brook territory had a new player now, one she would learn to fear, love, and hate in equal measure.

And winter’s shadow stretched long over them, twenty days before Christmas Eve.