Claiming the Two Biker Brothers in Thirty Days

Jane

Jane’s brain short-circuited. Gave up on her.

Because standing right in front of her was a man who looked like he had been sculpted out of marble and bad intentions, wearing nothing but a strip of terry cloth that was practically holding on for dear life.

Ryder Wolfe. The twin.

She blinked once, twice, desperately trying to force her eyes to stay glued to his face instead of wandering down to his abs or the swirl of ink covering his arm. Seriously, what was with this family and having absurdly unfair genetics? Did their parents make a deal with the devil or something?

“Well?” Ryder’s voice scraped against the room, deep and rough like gravel under tires. He didn’t look flustered at all. In fact, he looked mildly annoyed that her existence was interrupting his post-shower routine. “You going to answer me, or are you just going to stand there catching flies with your mouth?”

She snapped her jaw shut so fast her teeth clacked together. Heat flared up her neck, hot enough to fry an egg.

“I am not a groupie,” she spat out, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to sound way more confident than she felt while standing in someone else’s bedroom in sweatpants and shoes. “I’m here because your brother invited me.”

Ryder tilted his head, his eyes narrowing into slits of skepticism. “Marcus invited you. Right into my private quarters. Onto my bed.”

“No!” She scrambled back a step, gesturing wildly toward the door. “The driver! The driver told me to come up here!”

“The driver.” He repeated the words slowly, as if he were talking to a toddler who just claimed the dog ate their homework. He took another step forward, unbothered by the fact that he was basically naked. “You expect me to believe Arthur told you to walk into my bedroom and take a nap in my sheets?”

“He said the room with the blue accent wall!” she cried out, pointing an accusing finger at the wall behind his bed. Only now, looking at it with functioning eyesight, did she realize the horrifying truth. The glow coming from beneath the door hadn’t been an accent wall. It was a monitor on a desk that was currently running a screensaver with a clock. The walls of the room were gray. Pitch dark. Not even remotely blue.

Oh, sweet lord. Kill her now. Just open up the floorboards and let her plummet straight into the basement.

“That’s… that’s a screen,” she whispered, her voice squeaking a little at the end.

“Brilliant observation,” Ryder mocked, crossing his arms over his bare chest. The movement made his biceps flex in a way that should honestly be considered a public hazard. “So let me get this straight. You wandered up the stairs, ignored half a dozen empty guest rooms, zeroed in on my door, kicked off your shoes, and made yourself comfortable. And it has nothing to do with Marcus being downstairs?”

“I didn’t know it was your room!” She felt her temper flaring, pushing aside the mortification. Who did this guy think he was? “Why would I want to sleep in your bed? I don’t even know who you are!”

“Everyone knows who we are,” he said coldly. The arrogance rolling off him was different from Marcus’s. Where Marcus was flashy, grinning, and loved soaking up the spotlight like a golden retriever with an ego, Ryder was icy. Like a razor blade wrapped in leather. “And girls like you always have a story. First it’s an accident, then it’s an autograph, and suddenly you’re ‘accidentally’ waking up in our wing of the house looking for exclusive content.”

“Girls like me?” She bristled, stepping closer despite the screaming voice in her head telling her to back away from the scary, half-naked mechanic. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re not subtle,” he shot back, his eyes flicking down her t-shirt and sweatpants with total dismissal. “You think you’re the first overzealous fan who found an excuse to get inside? Slipping on Marcus’s soda, making a scene at the track, getting your face plastered everywhere for clout… and now you’re here. In my room. Snooping.”

Her jaw dropped. The sheer audacity of this man. She had a concussion! She had bruises on her hip from falling down concrete stairs! And he thought she orchestrated the most humiliating moment of her entire twenty-two years of life just to get close to his brother?

“I was not snooping!” she practically shrieked. “I had a concussion! I fell because your reckless idiot of a brother decided to walk into me! I didn’t ask for any of this! I don’t want his money, I don’t want his fame, and I definitely don’t want to be in the same zip code as your giant, inflated egos!”

Ryder didn’t flinch. He just leaned back slightly against his desk, unimpressed by her outburst. “Cute speech. But you’re still standing in my bedroom.”

“Because you’re cornering me, you psycho!”

“Ryder, what the fuck is going on in here?”

The loud, familiar voice cut through the tension like a switchblade.

She whipped around toward the open doorway. Marcus was standing in the threshold, still dressed in his jacket, keys dangling from his index finger. His hair was a messy halo around his head, but the easygoing, playful smirk he usually wore was nowhere to be found.

His eyes took in the scene in half a second flat—her, flushed red and breathing heavily, standing two feet away from his twin brother, who was dripping wet in a towel.

Marcus’s jaw tightened until a muscle ticked beneath the skin. The temperature in the room plummeted by about twenty degrees.

“Get away from her,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a low, territorial growl that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

“Tell that to your little pet,” Ryder countered smoothly, not looking bothered in the slightest. “She’s the one who broke into my room.”

“I told Arthur to put her in the guest suite at the end of the hall,” Marcus said, taking three long strides into the room and immediately stepping directly between Ryder and her. His shoulders blocked her view of his brother. He glanced down at her, his eyes softening just a fraction as he scanned her face. “You okay, Jane?”

Hearing him use her name so naturally felt weirdly disarming, especially after the verbal beatdown she’d just endured.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms even tighter. “Your brother just happens to think I’m an undercover stalker.”

Marcus turned his head slightly, glaring sideways at his twin. “She’s my guest, Ryder. Back off.”

“Your guest?” Ryder let out a short, humorless laugh. He stood up straight, abandoning his casual lean against the desk. “Since when do you invite random charity cases from the track to stay at the house? Have you lost your mind? Lorraine is already looking for any excuse to stir up shit, and you bring a stranger through the front door?”

At the mention of the name Lorraine, Marcus’s expression darkened even further, a shadow of irritation flickering across his features before he smoothed it away.

“What I do in my house is none of your business,” Marcus snapped. “She got hurt because of me. She’s staying here until she recovers. End of story.”

Ryder didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he slowly shifted his gaze past Marcus’s shoulder, locking his eyes directly onto hers.

The cold dismissal from moments ago was gone. In its place was something else. Something dark and calculating. He looked at her not like an annoying pest to be swatted away, but like a complex puzzle he hadn’t anticipated—a threat he suddenly needed to analyze. His eyes traced the outline of her face, lingering on her mouth, before meeting her gaze with an intensity that sent an uncomfortable jolt straight down to her stomach.

It felt like he was peeling back layers, trying to figure out what game she was playing.

If only he knew. The irony was almost hilarious. She wasn’t here to be Marcus’s adoring fan. She was here to ruin him. But standing under Ryder’s stare, the thirty-day bet felt a hundred times more dangerous than it had twenty minutes ago.

“Come on,” Marcus murmured, his hand gently settling against the small of her back.

The heat of his palm seared right through her shirt, sending a tiny shock through her skin. He guided her firmly toward the doorway, physically shielding her from his brother’s line of sight. “Arthur put your bag in the right room. Let’s get you out of here before my brother gives you an infection with his terrible personality.”

She didn’t protest. She practically tripped over her own feet hurrying out of that room.

As they crossed the threshold into the hallway, she heard Ryder move behind them. A low murmur drifted through the air, so rough she almost missed it.

“Good luck, sweetheart.”

She hesitated for a split second, a chill rippling down her spine. She glanced back over her shoulder just as Marcus started pulling the door shut.

Ryder was standing in the center of the room, water still dripping from the ends of his hair, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes remained pinned on her, unblinking, watching her retreat with cold certainty.

He didn’t just think she was a liar.

He had already decided she was a problem. And by the calculating look in his eyes, he was fully intending to solve it himself.