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My husband, Kenton Turner, president of the Turner MC, kicked open my bedroom door with a condescending smirk. He demanded I get dressed for a massive club celebration. It was the day he officially announced his mistress, Britt, as his "second Old Lady," claiming she had earned her colors and deserved to share my patch. In my past life, I swallowed my pride and accepted the public humiliation just to keep the peace. But my quiet submission only fueled their relentless greed. Kenton secretly embezzled my family's two-million-dollar legacy trust, using our blood money to pay off his mistress's massive underground debts. When my brother Dayne tried to seek justice from the Church elders, Kenton's enforcers set a trap that left him paralyzed and bleeding out in a brutal ambush. In the end, they left me to die on the cold asphalt, my ribs crushed under the high-displacement tires of a heavy motorcycle. Until my dying breath, I couldn't understand how the man who claimed I was nothing without him could systematically starve my family, all while secretly raising a three-year-old bastard child with the woman who stole my life. Opening my eyes again, the phantom agony of the crash faded, replaced by the deafening roar of the clubhouse bar downstairs. I was back on the exact day my life was systematically torn apart. This time, I wouldn't shed a single tear. I grabbed my custom titanium wrench and my family's financial ledgers. I was going to crash his party, sever this marriage, and let the rival Iron Crown MC help me burn his entire charter to the ground.
Contents
Reborn To Ruin My Cheating Biker Husband Chapter 1
Kamilah POV:
Pain woke me. My ribs throbbed as if tires had crushed them. I blinked at a ceiling.
The Turner Clubhouse. My husband's club. Home.
I was back.
Back on the exact day my life had been torn apart. The day Kenton would announce Britt Schwartz as his second Old Lady. The same day my brother Dayne would ride to the Interstate Arbitration Church and die there because of Turner's betrayal.
This time, I had to stop it. I had to reach the Rodgers family garage before Dayne left.
The bedroom door kicked open. Kenton walked in, wearing his leather Cut, the Turner MC patches stretched over his broad chest.
"Get up, Kamilah," he said, smirking down at me. "Get dressed. It's a big day for the club."
I stared up at the man who had starved my family, stole our legacy, and left me to die on the asphalt in my past life.
A cold, visceral nausea twisted in my heart, but I forced every muscle in my face into hard stillness.
"A big day," I said, my voice razor-sharp. "You mean the day you officially announce your side piece as your second Old Lady?"
His smirk vanished. He reached for my shoulder. "Stop acting like a jealous child. This is for the territory. Britt earned her colors."
I slipped past his reach with a fluid twist of my torso, pivoted on my heel, and swung my palm across his jaw with every ounce of my weight.
The crack of the slap echoed through the small room like a gunshot.
Kenton's head snapped sideways.
He staggered back two steps, his hand flying to his rapidly reddening cheek, his eyes wide with absolute disbelief.
"Did you just hit me?" Kenton snarled, his voice rising in pitch. "Have you lost your damn mind? Without me and my club, you are nothing in this county!"
I stepped into his space. "Take your filthy hands off me, Kenton. And never touch me again."
He glared at me, chest heaving, then kicked the bed frame. "Get downstairs in ten minutes. Don't embarrass me in front of the charter."
He slammed the door behind him.
I did not waste a single second.
I threw off the sheets, went straight to the closet, and yanked out my worn black leather riding jacket.
I pulled open the bottom drawer, reaching all the way into the hollowed-out wooden backing to grab my custom titanium mini motorcycle wrench.
The freezing metal pressed against my palm, grounding the fire in my blood.
I slipped the wrench into the concealed sheath inside my right riding boot and pulled the zipper up.
I swung the bedroom door open and stepped into the dimly lit hallway.
The smell of stale beer and sweat grew thicker as I walked toward the back exit.
Under the flickering ceiling lamp, a woman leaned against the wall, blocking the narrow stairs.
She is Kenton's mistress, Britt Schwartz.
Britt Schwartz wore skin-tight red-and-black leathers, holding a glass of amber whiskey in her left hand.
The row of silver barbells along her left ear caught the dim light as she tilted her head back with a triumphant grin.
"Look who finally decided to come out of hiding," Britt sneered, her voice loud enough to carry down to the bar. "Ready to accept your new reality, little housewife?"
I stopped two feet away. "Enjoy your stolen spotlight while you can, Britt. Soon you won't have teeth left to cry with."
Her sneer froze. Before she could answer, I drove my shoulder into hers and knocked her against the wall. Whiskey splashed over her jacket. I kept walking.
I did not look back as I pushed open the heavy emergency exit and stepped into the biting night air.
I got on my black Harley and started the engine. I leaned low into the sharp curves of the industrial backroads, taking the path toward the old Rodgers family garage.
Five minutes later, I slid the bike sideways in front of the rusted roll-up door. Dayne was on the concrete apron, trying to hoist his paralyzed lower body onto a customized trike. The jagged bullet scars across both kneecaps showed beneath his cut-off jeans.
"Dayne!" I shouted. I dropped the kickstand, ran to him, and yanked the ignition key out of the trike's console.
He snapped his head toward me, his dark grey eyes burning with rage. "Kamilah? What the hell are you doing here? Give me back the key!"
I clenched the key until it bruised my palm. "I'm not letting you ride to the Interstate Arbitration Church to throw your life away."
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