The Biker's Dark Obsession

Chapter 5 – Lines in the Sand

THE STORM came in Ronan’s voice.

“You think I don’t see it?” His words struck like a whip, venom slicing through the thick air of the kitchen. “The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. Don’t lie to me, Lily.”

She froze midway across the room, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. Her older brother stood before the door, blocking the exit like the warden of her cage. His chest rose and fell with fury, tattoos flexing with every breath, the steel in his eyes pinning her harder than chains ever could.

“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen—” she began.

“Don’t play me,” he snapped, cutting her off. “Jeremiah is my best friend. My brother-in-arms. My blade in the dark. And you, you are my only sister—” His jaw locked, nostrils flaring. “He will not touch you.”

The way he said it—like she was tainted for even thinking it—ignited something ugly inside her. Heat burned up her throat, fury clashing with shame.

“You don’t own me, Ronan.”

“I do until I say otherwise,” he growled. Eyes sharp as razors, body taut with barely contained violence. “I’m not warning you again. If you so much as breathe wrong in his direction—he pays. Not you. Him. You want his blood on your hands? Because that’s how it happens.”

The room fell silent, save for her heartbeat hammering in her chest. His threat sliced through her, deliberate, precise, and she hated him for knowing exactly where to strike.

“You’re a monster,” she whispered, voice cracking.

His mouth twisted. “I’m a brother.”

Then he shoved past her, the door slamming behind him so hard the walls rattled. Lily remained frozen, chest heaving, hands gripping the counter until her knuckles burned. Off-limits. The words clawed at her. Jeremiah wasn’t just dangerous because of what he was—he was forbidden because Ronan had drawn a line she wasn’t allowed to cross. And she hated herself for wanting him all the more.

The following days were worse than any punishment Ronan could devise. Jeremiah moved with surgical precision—present when necessary, but never lingering. His tone was clipped, professional, eyes carefully avoiding hers beyond a fleeting second.

It was as though he’d built a wall overnight and locked her out completely.

The silence was a knife. Even when he stood in the same room, it was suffocating. She wanted him to scold her, to slip like he had before when he touched her waist and left fire in its wake. But this nothingness? It was unbearable. Every glance became a battle. Every brush of air between them a war she couldn’t win. Her body betrayed her, thrumming alive in his orbit, desperate for a scrap of attention—even if it was cruel.

By the fourth day, she broke.

She found him in the garage, bent over a workbench, oil staining his forearms, sweat slicking damply beneath the strip of light from a single bulb. His shirt clung to his shoulders, knuckles bruised from a fight she hadn’t been told about. He didn’t look up.

“Go back inside,” he said flatly, dismissive.

She ignored him, stepping deeper into the scent of metal and leather, into his world of machines and scars. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

His jaw tightened, eyes still fixed on the steel in his hands. “I’m busy.”

“Bullshit.” Her voice cracked under the weight of days unsaid. “You can’t even look at me.”

Finally, he turned. When his gaze locked on hers, the air shifted—sharp, electric.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” His voice was low, dangerous, sliding along her spine.

“Yes,” she shot back, though her heart raced. “I’m standing here. Talking to you. Because I’m tired of being treated like some child who doesn’t know what she wants.”

His lips curved into something between a snarl and a smile. Before she could react, he slammed his hands onto the workbench, caging her with his body. The wood dug into her lower back as he loomed, heat suffocating, breath grazing her face.

“You’re playing with fire,” he growled, eyes searing. “And fire doesn’t care if it burns you alive.”

Her pulse thundered. She should have stepped back, shoved him away. Instead, she lifted her chin, defiant even as her body trembled.

“Maybe I like fire,” she whispered.

The words hung, reckless and raw.

His hand slammed harder onto the wood beside her, vibration running through her spine. The other hovered near her waist, not touching, but close enough to make her ache.

“Don’t test me,” he warned, voice rough and ragged. “Because if I take what you’re offering, there’s no going back. Not for me. Not for you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied.

His eyes narrowed, dark and hungry. “You should be.”

For one suspended moment, the world shrank to the heat between them. Chest to chest, breaths tangled, lips nearly brushing.

Then his mouth claimed hers, hard and desperate, as though he had been waiting as long as she had. Warm, intoxicating, addictive, she whimpered against him. His hands seized the chance to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against hers with precise hunger, sparks racing down her spine.

Her back hit the wall, trapped under him. He pressed in, hips grinding just enough to make her feel him—thick, straining, undeniable. Friction jolted through her, dangerous and dizzying.

“God, Lily,” he groaned, voice raw. His hand slid up her side, gripping her waist, thumb stroking the curve of her ribs before tracing higher. Her breath hitched. His palm closed over her, firm and greedy. She gasped, arching into him despite herself.

Heat coiled low, sharp and dizzying. She fisted his jacket, pulling him closer, desperate for more. His tongue tangled with hers again, kiss messy, teeth and need, dragging moans from her throat she couldn’t hold back.

He broke away, trailing lips down her jaw, stubble scraping deliciously across her skin. His mouth found her neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks she would bear later.

“Say stop,” he rasped, hips pressing closer, breath hot. “One word, Lily, and I let you go.”

But the word wouldn’t come. Nails dug into his shoulders, legs parted just enough for him to press closer. His growl vibrated against her throat, feral and intoxicating.

Hand leaving her breast only to slide lower, gripping her hip, rocking against her, he stoked the fire higher. Seam of her jeans ached with every grind. Her body betrayed her completely—moaning, writhing, matching his rhythm, desperate for friction, for heat.

“f**k,” he hissed, lips crashing back onto hers. Hand slipped beneath her shirt, skin-to-skin, palm searing across her stomach, inch by inch claiming more.

She should have stopped him, pushed him away. But when his thumb brushed just under her bra, she arched into him, a broken sound tearing from her throat.

“Yeah,” he muttered, breathless, dark. “Don’t fight it, Lily. You want this as much as I do.”

And God help her—she did. Every nerve screamed for him, for the forbidden edge they were crossing.

Then the universe intervened.

The c***k of gunfire split the night.

Jeremiah’s head snapped toward the sound, muscles taut. Shouts echoed, engines roaring through the compound gates. He cursed, stepping back, the wall between them snapping shut. Hand dropped, heat with it. Pistol in hand.

“Stay here,” he barked, moving toward the chaos.

“Like hell I will—”

“Lily!” His voice cut steel. She froze.

The last thing she saw before he disappeared was the molten fire in his eyes, fury and something else—something she couldn’t name.

Outside, the compound erupted into war.