The Biker Alpha's Secret Baby

Aliyah’s POV

The moment I woke up, I wished I hadn’t.

A splitting headache tore through my skull like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. My mouth tasted like ash, my tongue dry, and my limbs too heavy to move. It felt like my head was about to fall off my neck, and my brain was trying to claw its way out.

Where... am I?

I blinked. The sheets felt too smooth to be mine. The scent of cinnamon and pine hung in the air, rich and masculine. This wasn’t home.

I turned my head—slowly, painfully—and that’s when I noticed the bed beside me wasn’t empty.

A man.

He was facing the other way, but I could see the broad shoulders beneath the sheet, muscles shifting as he breathed. A wave of panic clenched my chest. I clutched the bedsheet to cover my nakedness and sat up slowly.

Then it hit me. Flashes. Sounds. Movement. Moans.

*Flashback Last night*

His lips on my neck. His fingers digging into my waist. My name falling from his mouth like a promise. The way his eyes had stared into mine as if he could read every broken part of me and still wanted all of it.

"You taste so fucking good..." He groaned right into my ears as his tongue delves deeper into my wet pussy. I moaned and this made me throw my head back. I saw different stars and he didn't stop. I came right into his mouth and like a water-deprived man, he took in all of it. The way his tongue flickered around my taut, pink nipples.

"Fuck" I moaned.

Even though I didn't see his face, I saw how long, huge and veiny his cock slipped right into my red, swollen pussy. How I rode him to ecstacy, how he moaned and groaned right into my ears. My fingers trailing down his biceps.

I shut my eyes tightly. No, no, no. This can't be real.

As I blinked through my haze, the man shifted and turned toward me. The sunlight spilling through the curtains fell on his face—and everything in me went still.

The room around me turned cold.

Ice.

It felt like everything froze.

I could see him clearly now. The man from the bar.

Asher Moretti.

His jawline was sharp and covered with stubble that looked like it had been sculpted by divine hands. His hair was dark and tousled, like a sin I couldn’t resist. A thick tattoo crawled from the base of his neck and disappeared under his bare chest—trailing over skin that looked like it was carved from marble.

He wore a leather jacket, half-slipped from his shoulders, revealing more ink and that undeniable aura of danger. A biker.

I swallowed hard.

"Asher Moretti..." I breathed without meaning to.

He tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My brain short-circuited.

Asher Moretti. The same man who owned M Spring Boots, the most feared biker club in the region. The very club Cohen belonged to.

Oh God.

Was it all a setup? Was Asher part of the prank too?

Did he know who I was?

Did he see the pictures? Was he laughing inside at the foolish girl who gave her heart away and got her body sold as a joke?

I felt bile crawl up my throat.

He furrowed his brows, shifting to sit up. “Did I do something wrong? You’ve been quiet since you woke up—are you hurt?”

I looked at him again. His voice wasn’t cruel. He sounded... genuinely concerned. But that didn’t matter.

I couldn’t trust any of them. Not after what Cohen did. Not after my body became public entertainment for a pack of wolves with dirty eyes and uglier hearts.

I sprang from the bed like it was on fire, yanking my clothes together. I could barely breathe.

I need to get out of here. Now.

I couldn’t let him find out who I was. I couldn’t let him see the shame stitched across my skin. I couldn’t be the girl whose nude pictures went viral—and ended up in the same bed with another member of that same cursed club.

I didn’t answer his questions. I didn’t meet his eyes. I didn’t even look back as I ran out of the hotel room, heart pounding in my chest.

To him, I must’ve looked insane. Dumb, even. But I didn’t care.

I needed to escape.

Out of breath and blinded by tears, I stumbled down the sidewalk, not caring where I was going until—

"Pumpkin?"

I stopped.

That voice.

I turned sharply and there he was—Papa.

His arms opened instantly, and I ran into them without a second thought.

“Aliyah,” he whispered, pulling me tight against his chest. “What happened?”

But I couldn’t say a word. I buried my face in his shirt and let the tears fall silently.

I couldn’t tell him. I wouldn’t let him see me broken like this.

Not yet.

---

Later that night, I sat on my bed, the dim light of the screen bathing my face in blue. My iPad sat on my lap, and my fingers hovered over the screen. But I didn’t scroll.

I couldn’t.

The images were already seared into my mind.

My nude photos. Posted. Shared. Mocked.

I stared at myself. My body. My vulnerability. My soul—naked for the world to chew up and spit out.

Tears streamed silently down my cheeks.

The door creaked open.

“Aliyah?” Papa’s voice was soft as he stepped inside, his eyes immediately catching the glow of the screen and the tears on my face. He didn’t say anything. He just sat beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s okay to cry,” he said. “But don’t stay there too long.”

I tried to speak. Nothing came out.

He glanced at the iPad, then back at me.

“I know it hurts. But life won’t wait for you to stop hurting before it moves on. You’ve got two choices: break apart, or rebuild.”

“I’m not strong like you, Papa.”

He chuckled gently. “Then get stronger. Become who you were always meant to be.”

“I can’t step into that world. I can’t race. Not now. Not with this shame hanging over me.”

“Aliyah,” he said, standing. “You’re a loser only if you give up your life because of one downfall. Remember this—where there’s a will, there’s always a way.”

He kissed my forehead and left me alone in the room, his words echoing louder than any scream I could let out.

Where there’s a will...

I curled into myself, hugging my knees as fresh tears came again.

But this time, something shifted. Something small. Quiet. Fierce.

No more letting them break me.

No more hiding.

I’ll join the racing club. Not as the President’s daughter.

But as a racer.