Three Alpha Bikers Wants An Open Marriage

Riley’s POV

I took one slow step back, the silver dagger still warm from his blood in my grip. My pulse hammered in my ears, but my hands didn’t shake.

I glanced down at the heavy blacksmith hammer resting on the metal table beside the wall—probably left there from whatever reinforcements Cane had been making to these cells. The thing looked brutal. Perfect.

"You know what?" I said, voice low and steady as I set the dagger down and picked up the hammer instead. It was heavier than I expected, solid iron, cool against my palm. "I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to kill you, Ethan."

His bloody lips twitched into that same arrogant half-smile, even with his shoulder still leaking. "No? Finally remembering you love me, Ri—"

"I’m going to make you a walking dead man."

The smile faltered.

He watched me approach, eyes narrowing as I tested the weight of the hammer in both hands. The silver chains around his chest and throat glowed faintly under the flickering lights.

"And how exactly do you intend to do that?" he asked, trying to sound bored. But I caught the slight strain in his voice.

I stopped right in front of him, tilting my head as I stared down at the man I once thought I’d spend my life with. Funny how love could curdle into something this ugly.

"You once abused me with that thing between your legs," I said calmly, tapping the hammer against my thigh. "So I’m going to take it away from you."

The color drained from Ethan’s face so fast it was almost comical.

He started thrashing instantly, chains rattling violently against the chair. "Don’t you fucking dare! Riley—don’t you dare! I’ll kill you, I swear to God I’ll—"

"There he is," I cut in with a sharp, humorless laugh. "Showing your true colors now, huh? I thought you were confessing your love to me moments ago like a fucking psycho?"

I lifted the hammer.

Ethan’s eyes widened. "Riley—wait—Riley!"

The first swing landed hard across his right thigh with a sickening crack. The sound echoed off the stone walls like thunder. Ethan screamed—raw now, nothing like the controlled man who was saying sweet lines earlier. His body jerked so violently the chair scraped backward, and he hyperventilated, chest heaving as spit and blood flew from his mouth.

I didn’t flinch.

"You don’t know me anymore, Ethan," I said, stepping closer, voice soft but edged with steel. "I’m your reckoning."

I swung again, this time across his left thigh. The impact was louder, wetter. Ethan howled, the chair tipped sideways, and he crashed to the floor with a heavy thud, still chained to it. Blood soaked through his prison pants immediately, dark and spreading fast.

I stepped over his writhing body, planted my boot on his chest, and pressed down just enough to make him wheeze.

"I would have the guards remove that filthy thing between your legs," I told him, looking straight into his pain-filled eyes. "I wouldn’t stain my hands on something so disgusting. And that’s for killing my baby. Or have you forgotten?"

His face twisted—rage, agony, something almost like grief flashing across it for half a second.

"You deserve more than death," I whispered. "You deserve to live knowing you’ll never touch another woman again. Never force yourself on anyone. Never pretend you’re a man."

I kicked him once in the ribs for good measure—hard enough to hear another satisfying crack—then dropped the hammer beside his head with a loud clang.

"Clean this up when you’re done," I called toward the door without looking back.

The two guards outside straightened immediately as I stepped out. Their expressions were carefully blank, but I saw the flicker of approval in their eyes.

"Finish it," I ordered quietly. "Make sure he survives. Barely."

"Yes, Luna," one of them answered without hesitation.

I walked down the long corridor, the metallic smell of blood still clinging to my skin. My hands were sticky with it. When I reached the stairs leading up, the heavy door opened before I got there.

Cane and Caden were waiting at the top.

Cane’s jaw was tight, eyes scanning me like he was checking for injuries. Caden looked calmer on the surface, but I knew that stillness—he was pissed. And worried.

Without a word, Cane handed me a stack of clean, warm linens. I took them gratefully, wiping the blood from my hands and forearms. The fabric came away stained dark red.

"You okay?" Caden asked, voice low.

I met his eyes. "I’m better than I’ve been in a long time."

Cane stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear with surprising gentleness. "You didn’t have to do that alone."

"I did," I said simply. "This one was mine."

They didn’t argue. Instead, they fell into step beside me as we walked back toward the main chambers. Everywhere was quieter now, the earlier chaos in the courtyard having died down into tense conversations and uneasy glances. I could feel the weight of the pack’s eyes even when they weren’t looking directly at me.

We reached the private wing in silence. The moment the heavy door to our chambers clicked shut behind us, something in my chest loosened just a fraction.

I turned to face them both—my mates, my beasts, my anchors. Cane’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, Caden leaning against the wall with that sharp, watchful gaze. The marks on my shoulders and throat still tingled faintly where they’d claimed me.

I took a slow breath.

"I’m going to release Wendy."

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