BD

{y/n} was supposed to treat the bleeding stranger and finish her shift. Instead, he disappears, leaves behind a mysterious phone, and brings the Black Vultures MC straight to her hospital. Enter Rhett “Riot” Mercer: six-foot-four, tattooed, filthy-mouthed, obnoxiously confident and entirely too entertained by the tiny nurse who keeps telling him to fuck off. Riot only wants three things: the phone, answers…and preferably {y/n} in his bed. Then someone starts watching her. Suddenly {y/n} is living inside a motorcycle clubhouse full of criminals who behave more like an unsupervised group chat with access to weapons, and Riot is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. He calls it protection. His brothers call it obsession. {y/n} calls him an arsehole. And Riot? He just wants to know why the fuck she’s still laughing at Knox’s joke.