Bullet
Archer Sullivan hadn’t planned to play hero tonight. He’d been saved from a particularly aggravating board meeting by the guys suggestion of an evening ride. His Ducati Panigale the only therapy he needed after four hours of watching entitled investors question his vision for Sullivan Security Solutions. The company he’d built from nothing into a billion-dollar enterprise—yet they still treated him like he was seeking their approval rather than the other way around.
The vibration of the powerful machine between his legs and the friendly banter with his closest friends over the in-helmet speakers had just begun to loosen the knot of tension in his shoulders when he’d spotted them—the woman with fire in her eyes and the asshole who clearly couldn’t take rejection. Something in her stance, the defiant tilt of her chin despite her obvious distress, had caught his attention even from half a block away, and when the man grabbed her, he knew he couldn’t leave it at that.
Now, with her hand delicately resting on his offered arm, Archer was hyperaware of every detail about her. The faint scent of vanilla and something floral—jasmine, maybe. The slight tremble in her fingers that she was trying desperately to control. The way she held herself with dignity even as her world had clearly just imploded.
“My car’s just up here,” she said, her voice steadier than he expected. “I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m Morgan.”
“Bullet,” he replied automatically, using the name only his closest associates knew him by. The name he used while riding.
The name Archer Sullivan belonged to boardrooms and business journals. Bullet belonged to the freedom of the open road and the brotherhood of riders who didn’t care about quarterly projections or hostile takeovers.
She raised an eyebrow. “Bullet? That’s... different.”
“Nickname,” he said through the helmet. “Had it for a long time.” He hadn’t meant to give heranythingpersonal. But somehow, she already had more than most.
They reached a sensible blue sedan, and he watched as she fumbled with her keys. The oversized bag she carried on her shoulder looked heavy enough to qualify as a weapon.
“This is me,” she said, turning to face him. Her eyes were remarkable—amber with flecks of gold, intelligent, and steady. Most people were unsettled by the all-black gear, the silent approach, the deliberate anonymity of his helmet. She wasn’t. She was cautious, yes—but composed. Grounded.
Interesting.
“Will you be alright getting home?” The modulator in his helmet made his voice sound deeper, more mechanical than it actually was. Another layer of protection between Bullet and Archer Sullivan, CEO.
“I’ll be fine.” She straightened her shoulders. “He’s not worth my tears, let alone my fear.”
Archer felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.Tough. He liked that.
“What you did back there took courage,” he said, maintaining a respectful distance. “Most people would have walked away without confronting him.”
“Most people probably didn’t waste nine months of their life on him, only to find out he was a lying, cheating bastard.” Her smile was bitter but somehow still beautiful. “Thank you again for stepping in. I could have handled it, but... it was nice not to have to.”
“I believe you could have.” And he meant it. There was steel in this woman that her ex clearly hadn’t recognized or appreciated.
Morgan unlocked her car and opened the door, creating a barrier between them. Wise on the dark street with a stranger she didn’t know, even if he’d never hurt a woman. She couldn’t be sure of that.
“Will you be okay? Do you have someone to call?” The words surprised him as they left his mouth. Since when did he concern himself with the emotional wellbeing of strangers? Why was he even still standing here?
She hesitated, unaware of his internal debate, “My friend, Tessa—actually, she’s the whole reason I found out at all. I’ll check in with her once I’m home.”
Home. The word triggered something in Archer’s tactical mind. “Does he have a key to your place?”
The flash of alarm in her eyes told him she hadn’t thought of that.
“Yes,” she admitted. “But I have a chain lock, so he can’t get past that if I’m home.”
Archer frowned behind his visor. Not even close to good enough.
“You should change your locks,” he advised. “Men like that... they don’t always take rejection well.”
“I’ll handle it,” she said, a slight edge to her voice that suggested she didn’t appreciate being told what to do, even if the advice was sound.
He respected that. Too many people in his life were afraid to push back against him.
“I believe you will.” He took a step back. “Drive safe, Morgan.”
She slid into the driver’s seat but paused before closing the door. “I don’t suppose you have a card or something? In case I need a knight in shining leather again?”
