Henry Max - Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) -

UNREQUITED Copyright © 2016 Max Henry Published by Max Henry All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author ’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author ’s work. Published: February 2016, by Max Henry [email protected] Edited by: Lauren McKellar Cover Image: Valentina Giola Cover Model: NeroArgento Cover Design: Sara Eirew Formatted by: Max Effect

ALSO BY MAX FALLEN ACES MC SERIES Unrequited COMING SOON Unbreakable Existential Tormented Redundant BUTCHER BOYS SERIES Devil You Know Devil on Your Back Devil May Care Devil in the Detail Devil Smoke BANJAXED SERIES Pistol Loaded Recoil OTHERWORLD DESIRES (Paranormal) Battle to Become Methods for Mayhem

Sometimes I wonder if love is worth fighting for, then I think of you and I’m ready for war. - Unknown

PROLOGUE They say if you love something let it go, and if it’s yours, it will come back. But what if that which you love tries to come back, yet it can’t because it’s trapped? What are you supposed to do then? You fight for it, that’s what.

ONE King Another day, another screwed up job completed for the club. I wrap my hand over the spreading crimson on my left shirtsleeve and do what I can to staunch the flow of blood from the gash in my forearm. In all honesty, I’m lucky a nick from a stray bullet is all I walked away with. Gunfire rained over us like mid-summer rain as we bolted to our bikes. A simple drop-off, a whispered message in the right ear—it all sounded so easy at our early morning briefing, but from the moment we walked into that abandoned warehouse my gut never fully settled. The job was due to head south from the getgo; that much was obvious. We weren’t supposed to walk out alive. Thing is, I’m not sure how it was the Blood Eagles MC knew we’d be there. The information had to have stemmed from inside our club walls. A tinny bell rattles as my fellow prospect, Callum, shoves the door to the corner market open. He’s probably the closest thing to a best friend I’ve got, and after what went down just now, the only brother I trust. The shopkeeper lifts a set of world-weary eyes from his paper and roves the length of the two of us. His grimace says it all: that he’d rather not deal with our type—tattooed, leather-clad, and marked as prospects for an MC—but we’re paying customers, and my guess is that he doesn’t see too many of those, given the dusty stock on the first shelf we pass. The steady chink of the buckles on my boots echoes off the stocked aisles, mirrored by the heavy thud of Callum’s feet as he wanders ahead of me. The pain in my arm isn’t anything too severe, but the nick from the bullet caused enough damage to make the sting annoying all the same. I glance down and lift the side of my hand to check the injury out. A tear in the plaid of my work shirt is the only sign there was contact made . . . aside from the large red stain spreading across the white squares in the fabric, that is. “This do?” Callum lifts a box of fabric Band-Aid patches from the shelf and holds it over his turned shoulder so I can see. “Yeah. It’ll do.” I really only need something to stop the flow of blood long enough for it to go hard. We’re on the outskirts of Kansas City, six hours from home, and three hours into our ride. We should have made the one hour trip back to our southern brothers at Fort Worth after the shit went down, but I managed to convince Callum we’d ride through, that my arm would stop bleeding after a while. One night with those southern boys is more than enough for me; I can’t be fucked with another night of next to no sleep thanks to their habit of partying until dawn. Call me old before my time, but I like how laid back our chapter is—I like my sleep at night. Stupid bull-headed me thought I’d be able to hold off any sort of first-aid until we arrived back at our own clubhouse, and push through. The streaks of red down my fuel tank say otherwise. Callum turns for the counter, hesitates, and then swivels at the waist to reach out and grab himself a bottle of Coca-Cola to go with our impromptu purchase. My eyes fall to the floor briefly, and I cringe at the drops of blood that drop with a heavy splat to the linoleum beside my boot. The blood has soaked my shirt to the point where it now runs in a rivulet down my arm, snaking over my thumb, before it dives from the point of my index finger. I ball my hand into a fist and try to redirect the stream long enough to stop the drip. My head swims, and I snag a packet of Milk Duds to give myself

a needed sugar-boost. The entire ride here from the drop-off my mind’s gone crazy trying to work out who would rat us out like that. Protocol says I take this to our sergeant at arms, Beefy, to handle. But what if he’s in on it? Do I go straight to Prez instead? You get sat down with the charter when you sign up as a prospect and made to memorize it. I could recite to you every fucking point on that document, but fuck me, there wasn’t shit all in there about what to do when you suspect a snake in the grass. The bell over the door sings out again, and placing my addition on the counter, I move my gaze from where Callum exchanges cash with the shop owner to the source of the noise. The minute I lock eyes with the raven-haired beauty, I know my day couldn’t have gone better. Everything happens for a reason, and apparently, being shot and needing to stop off for supplies happened so I’d cross paths with this woman. She moves her gaze between Callum and myself; her slender fingers tighten over the handles of her canvas shopping bag, and purse, which she has slung in the crook of her elbow. Everything about her is elegant, although the fire in her eyes speaks of a woman who knows how to hold her own. She’s a classic beauty, her feminine curves showcased in a light summer dress that cinches tight at the waist, flaring in the skirt, and wrapping about her neck in a halter. It’s an old style done new, and she fucking rocks it. “Eyes front, soldier,” Callum teases. I glance away to find him beside me with the top off his Coke already. He takes a long pull, his eyes on the Hispanic woman in the summer dress as well. Lowering the bottle, he swallows the drink down and lets out a low whistle through his teeth. “Pretty.” The woman’s moved on, busying herself with her shopping. Yet the way her hand moves aimlessly along the row before she finally plucks something for her bag, it tells me she’s not really focused on the task at hand. Callum moves for the exit, ushering me along with a tip of his head. “Come on.” I follow numbly, and steal a glance back at the woman as she rounds the end of the first aisle to face our way. Her eyes lift over the top shelf and meet mine as I come close to walking into the doorframe. I’m too focused on her and not on what I’m doing. Great first impression, King. At the sound of Callum’s laughter, I reluctantly look away and exit into the midday sunshine, shaking my head at my own idiocy. The leather creaks as I make myself comfortable on the seat of my bobber to rip open the BandAid box and pull out a wide strip of gauze. I place it between my lips to free up my hands. Blood drips onto the leg of my jeans, blending in with the dirt and grease that stains the dark denim while I roll my shirtsleeve carefully back. My vision swims, the loss of blood on an empty stomach stealing my focus, and I squint a few times to work through it. The nick isn’t much more than a couple of inches long, but it’s deep. The angle it clipped me tore a decent line straight through the meaty part of my forearm. I twist my arm over to wipe it clear on my jeans before I awkwardly tear the backing off the Band-Aid and situate it over the worst of the injury. The tacky edge lifts with the blood that flows fresh, so I add another three strips and end up with some mashed up lump of sticky gauze covering the better part of my forearm. The whole time, my thoughts are on her. The woman was nothing short of a stunner. Large eyes, high cheekbones, a pointed jaw, and the supplest flesh I’ve ever itched to feel under my rough fingers. To walk away without at least learning her name seems like a fucking crime. “You hungry?” I ask Callum. He stands beside his Fat Boy, looking my way as he takes another pull of his drink. His eyebrows bob as though to say ‘Do you need to ask?’ He drops the bottle from his mouth and frowns. “I thought

I just bought you a candy bar or something.” “Yeah, I need more,” I lie. A bakery three doors to the right of the grocer is the closest place to eat. It’ll do. At this moment, a pet store could be the only thing in sight and I’d still make an excuse to head in. Wiping as much of the blood off my arm as I can, I dismount and head towards the bakery, looking in the windows while I pass the grocer. The dark-haired beauty holds a box of something before her, frowning at whatever it is she’s reading on the side. Movement in the reflection on the glass catches my eye and I refocus to find Callum behind me, grinning like a fucking idiot. “You’re not hungry, are you?” “Not for food,” I reply, fixing my attention back to her as she moves towards the counter. “Jesus,” Callum mutters. “Don’t fuckin’ tease me like that. I thought you were goin’ to feed me.” “You’ll keep until we get back.” He stands in silence beside me as we both eye her unload the handful of items she’s collected onto the counter. “You’ve got to fuckin’ man up, brother.” Callum jams both hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels as he grins my way. “Just mill around until she leaves and ask her to hang out.” I raise an eyebrow at the idiot. Ask her to hang out? “Do you even remember what we’re on our way home from?” I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m pretty sure Prez will be looking for details after that fucking ambush. “We ain’t got time to be ‘hanging' out.’” “Then tell her to come for a ride. She can waste time with the other women while we debrief, and then party’s on, buddy.” Too fuckin’ right the ‘party’s on.’ Does he remember who we are? We’re prospects for the largestgrowing MC chapter in Nebraska and its surrounding states. And what’s rule number one for a prospect when it comes to women? Don’t take her back to the club unless you’re happy to share her around. “I’ve got more respect for a woman than what ‘hanging’ out’ would mean, man.” Just ask her to hang out. Pshh. “Well fuck, whatever,” Callum says, throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t bring her back then. But I’m tellin’ you now, if she ain’t so hot on bein' around the club property, then she ain’t going to be none to hot on hangin’ around with the likes of us at all.” He points toward the window behind me. “You better make up your mind; she’s on her way out.” Fuck. When all hell broke loose back at the warehouse, I kept my cool. As the bullet tore through my flesh, I never flinched. Even when I realized how badly I was bleeding, I didn’t blanche. But five words from my closest friend, and I’m sweating buckets. What the fuck do I say? I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve had three girlfriends in my time. Only one of those stuck around long enough to have us classed as being in a proper ‘relationship’. I’m the shy guy when it comes to women, the one who blends into the background while his friends put their best moves forward. Relationships, interactions with people—they confuse me. I bury myself in work, apply myself religiously to a project, and I fucking excel. The loner aspect to the outlaw lifestyle is what made me sign up to prospect for the Aces in the first place, because I’m exactly that—a loner. I’m an introvert. I like my own company—it doesn’t complain, confuse me, or expect things I can’t deliver. Don’t get me wrong, I like the feel of a woman, the softness only the feminine touch can offer, but fuck . . . they scare the living shit out of me most of the time. Still, I’d be a fool to let her slip away because of some boyish fear of the unknown. Suck it up, King. Callum nods toward the entrance to the store, but there was no need to—the bell over the door does a fine job on its own of tolling my fate. He clears his throat as the soft patter of her shoes

recedes behind me. “You going to go get that?” My nostrils flare, and I fight back the bitter laugh that wants to escape. “I guess I should.” He smirks. Fucker. “She turned right.” I spin on the spot. Shit. She’s gone from sight, just as he said. A part of me wants to call it quits, to take the easy road out and walk away. As it is, I’m not short of options when we get back to the clubhouse; Apex keeps a good stock of girls on hand for the boys. I don’t need her. But I want her. “Come on, sad sack. We should probably go and get you fuckin’ stitched anyway.” Callum makes a move to get on his bike and leave, but my protest stops him in his tracks. “No. Give me five.” I hold up my hand to indicate he should wait where he is and spin around to go after her. Vibrations jolt through my body with each fall of my boots as I take off at a jog to catch up to the woman. Reaching the intersection in the road, I hook right and come close to bowling her over in my haste. She yelps, moving back to avoid a collision, and catches her heel on an uneven patch of concrete at the base of the shop wall. “I’m sorry.” I raise my hands with palms toward her as though she’s some spooked horse who needs placating. “I didn’t mean to—” “I was in the way,” she cuts in. “Don’t apologize.” Her voice is deep, throaty, and sexy as hell with that slight lilt of an accent. I take a step back and look her over, noticing now that her shopping bag and purse are between her feet, and she has a compact clasped in one hand, lipstick in the other. “Are you waiting for someone?” I ask, glancing each way up the street. Be just my luck she has a boyfriend on his way to pick her up. “No, I wasn’t,” she replies with a snap of the compact. Uncertain of how to behave while she bags her makeup, I jam my hands in my armpits, being sure to cross my injured arm on top, and widen my stance. I should say something. Be handy if I had conversational skills, for a start. “Were you on your way somewhere?” she asks as she straightens up. “You looked like you were in a hurry.” Her tone is clipped and terse. Heat flames my neck and ears. Why did I think I could do this? “Uh, yeah. I . . .” Just say it. “I was trying to catch up to you.” Her throat bobs. “Oh?” Words. They’re just words. But they’re also some enigma that I can’t solve, a problem wedged in my throat. Seconds pass like hours. Her wide eyes prompt me to say something; a flush creeps into her cheeks. But my embarrassment triples with each imaginary tick of the clock. I’ve fucked it up. Why bother trying now? “I thought you dropped something, but I’m just . . . I guess I was . . .” Her face falls, softening the longer I take to try and spit it out. The lie is so damn transparent, the reasoning pathetic. Why do I find it so hard to talk to women, but I can ride a bike and handle a gun as second nature? I make a hasty retreat back around the corner, dying from embarrassment, and come smack up against Callum. He shunts a heavy hand into my shoulder and demands under his breath, “Get back ’round there, you fuckin' pussy.” “I can’t,” I whisper, fighting my spinning head from the shunt. “I fucked up what I was going to say.” “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He leans close, getting right in my face. “She’s just a girl.” “Exactly.” I cast a cautious glance behind me and check she’s not there, listening. “I can’t talk to women. I choke.”

“Why?” He pulls his head back, confusion written across his face. All I can do is shrug. Why indeed? “Piece of advice, brother,” Callum whispers, looking behind me briefly. “She’s human too. Treat her like one, and ignore the fact she’s got the opposite bits to you. Makes things a lot fuckin’ simpler.” He gives me a shove to the chest and sends me stumbling back past the edge of the building. Fighting the terror at what I’ll discover, I turn my head to the left and find her in exactly the same spot. She smiles. It fucking slays me. “What happened to your arm?” She gestures at my reddish-tan Band-Aids. “Accident.” “Is it okay?” She steps around her shopping and moves toward where I’m rooted to the sidewalk. I lean back and check the other way to find Callum making himself scarce. “It should be good now.” Her warm brown eyes meet mine as she stops before me. Long fingers rest lightly on my arm just above the wound. My flesh tingles at the contact. “I’m staying with somebody not far from here if you’d like me to clean it properly. I’d just . . . I’d have to sneak you around the back.” I frown and check her hand for a wedding ring. Nope. “It’s complicated,” she explains. “The person I’m staying with, they . . . well, he’d get annoyed if I brought anyone back, let alone somebody like you.” Right. I glance down at my leather, denim, steel-toed riding boots, and general rough appearance. She has a point. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll sort it out when we get home.” Her hand drops away, and I fight the urge to reach out and take it in mine. “Of course you will.” Her gaze is scathing as it runs the length of me. “I don’t know why I offered. It's not like I'm your type anyway.” "I don't really have a 'type.'" I ran after her, for fuck’s sake. How much more obvious can I make it that I'm interested? “You shouldn’t make assumptions about people like that, anyway.” “I didn't think it was an assumption, more an observation." “Well you got it wrong.” She stares at me a moment, jaw set hard and clearly lost for words. I consider walking away and leaving this train wreck of a conversation behind when she ducks her head, shaking it. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough morning.” “You and me both, babe.” Her face lifts, and she matches my smile with her own. “Probably you more than me, right?” I shrug. “Probably.” She chuckles quietly, the soft sound dying off to an awkward silence. We hold each other ’s gaze for a beat; the rich flecks in her brown eyes appear to shine in the sunlight. With a short, humorless laugh, she turns away to collect her bags. I panic. She can’t leave yet. Not when I’ve put this much damn effort into approaching a woman, for a change. “You seein’ anyone?” I spit the words out before they have time to stick in my throat. “Right now? Only you.” The woman winks, rendering me useless. “I’m here for a little while. Perhaps we’ll be lucky enough to meet again when you’re not hurt and needing to go home?” If only. “I’m not from around these parts.” Her face blanks, and I madly file through my thoughts to find something that’ll make her feel better. “But then again, neither are you, right?” She did say she was staying with someone. She shakes her head, a section of hair falling into her face with the movement. “Not here specifically, but where I live is a short drive south, just outside the city limit.” Her long fingers sweep the lock behind her ear as her gaze drops to the pavement. South. And I’m north—way north. We’ve got fuck all chance of meeting again; I have no idea

when I’ll next have reason to stop in Kansas City. Life always has a way of fucking with me. The tired look slides from her face, and her freshly painted lips curl up into a well-practiced smile as she sucks in a breath and squares her shoulders. She’s clearly a pro at hiding her real feelings, a top-level illusionist. “Until we meet again . . .” “King.” She tips her head to the side and narrows her eyes, acknowledging my road name. “It was nice to meet you today, King.” She holds out her hand for me to shake. “Elena.” “Elena,” I echo, and lift her fingers to my lips instead. Her eyes spark as I lay a gentle kiss on her knuckles, fire racing through me as I do, and let go. The simple reaction is enough to justify the incessant drumming of my heart. She places a heel behind her, taking cautious steps backward and stoops to collect her bags. “Your club.” She gestures to my prospect patch with her chin. “What’s their name?” I glance down at the side panel of my cut as I answer; the club name is small and hard to read on the stitched bar. All the more reason I can’t wait to prove I’m worthy of the center patch. “Fallen Aces.” “I haven’t heard of them before.” She frowns. “Where are you based?” I turn part-way around, thumbing over my shoulder at the bottom rocker without taking my eyes off her. “Lincoln.” “Lincoln.” Her gaze falls to the large lettering. “I’ll be sure to look you up if I’m ever your way.” She smiles, but the regret is clear in her eyes. She knows as well as I do that our chances of crossing paths again is next to none. Still, there’s a slim chance. And I’m fucking holding on to it with both hands.

TWO Elena He’s the most rugged and yet gorgeous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. The minute I walked in the corner store and saw him, I knew I’d do something bad. And I have . . . really bad. Reaching into my purse, I feel out the bottom with my fingers until I find what I’m looking for. King’s gone from sight; the roar of the motorcycles as they start is deafening even where I stand. My chest vibrates with each twist of the throttle, the rumble of the engines waning as they leave. I glance around and then down at my hand as I slide the simple engagement ring back on. I shouldn’t have taken it off, but a piece of me wanted to know if I was capable of drawing the attention of a man like him. So brutal. So rough. A shock of dirty blond hair fell over his right eye, his beard covering his chin, yet showcasing full lips. Tattoos adorned every inch of his exposed flesh, and heavy silver rings circled several of his fingers. His clothes were dirty and torn in places, but he wore them like a second skin. The grease marks, the tears in the denim, even the blood on his sleeve—it all added to his character. But his eyes—they were what captured me first. Bright green and piercing; an unusual color. His gaze was hard, but almost questioning. As though he wasn’t sure of who he was. Those eyes had followed me throughout the store, making me feel naked under his scrutiny. I want to be naked under him. What am I saying? I’m promised to somebody else. The single diamond stares back at me accusingly as I wiggle it in the sunlight. So what if my marriage is falling apart before I’ve signed the papers? It’s the principle of it. I snatch up my shopping and head toward Papa’s house. I’ve been given a reprieve to care for him since he’s had another relapse, and instead of making him lunch like I’m supposed to be, I’m flirting with men I have no right toying with. But how could I not try? There was something about him that I still feel a need to explore. There was something past the obvious physical attraction. He saw me. Not the angry me that’s permanently on defense, but the real me. He has no idea who I am—who my fiancé is. My heart sinks the further I walk toward the house. My life is mapped for me now. I gave away my right to choose who owned my heart when I gave in to the demands of a man who could make all my problems disappear with a single wave of his bank card. A moment of weakness, and of desperation. I fell for a man who looked like a silver fox but was the big bad wolf. Looping both bags over my right arm, I flick the catch on the mailbox when I arrive at the gate, and check inside. Nothing. There hasn’t been anything other than an electricity bill in all the times I’ve looked after Papa. It’s a perfect example of his life: lonely, and void. The front door opens easily, and I kick it shut again with my foot as I pass through, shifting the bags to my hands. “I’m back, Papa.” The low hum of the talkback radio show drifts through from the small kitchen at the back of the house.

“About time. I’m starving.” The rattle in his chest is audible in his words. I ignore him and leave him to play cards at the dining table in his dressing gown. He frightened me as a child; Papa used to be a large man, overbearing and intimidating. But now when I look at him all I see is a pathetic shell of a person who never achieved a single thing he set out to do. He’s an embarrassment, to himself, and for me. When I was a child, I’d tell people my father was dead. It seemed so much simpler than explaining the truth. Sometimes I wish he had been. To be honest, I still do. I wish he’d give in to his cancer and leave this world already. But at the same time I need him to stay; he’s my excuse to get away. He’s my break back into something mundane and normal. Does that make me a bad daughter? Definitely. But when he’s never been useful for anything over the years except heartache and disappointment, the least he can give me before he dies is a reprieve from what’s to come. “What do you have for us?” he asks, eyeing a card in his hand over the bridge of his nose. “Apples, some cheese, and meat for a sandwich. Oh, and fresh bread.” His top lip curls as I pull the items I’ve just named out of the canvas bag and lay them on the counter. He’s never been one for fruit, but as long as I’m preparing the meals, he gets fed how I like. He’s hardly going to be pleasant to be around if I let him survive on his preferred diet of beer and nuts. Although it would help him pass a little quicker. I don’t love Papa. I’ve never been able to. Dinner when he still lived with us was spent crammed at our small two-seater table while we watched news reports of the men my father looked up to on the small TV that was shared with our neighbors—men like Pablo Escobar. We’d have the TV one week so Papa could dream of what the spoils of a drug trade that size would buy him, and our neighbors would have the TV the next so they could watch Wheel of Fortune and practice their English. It was life in simpler times. Before I realized my father had tried to barter Mama in place of a lost shipment, and that was why she’d kicked him out. He packed his bags, gave Mama a kiss on the cheek, and walked out to the waiting taxi. Mama later said he went so willingly because he believed he could do better without us. He stepped through our front door, a smile on his face, and flew over here to America to seek his fortune and fame as the next big-time drug smuggler. Papa wanted to follow in his father-in-law’s footsteps and then continue the path onto something bigger and brighter. But he messed it all up when he became addicted to the very thing he was trying to sell. And now here he is, fluid in the bottom of his lungs, dying of terminal cancer. He never looked at me as he left that day, so unconcerned with how I felt watching him go that he didn’t give thought to say a single thing to his only child. So when he sent a message to say he’d planned to fly me to America it came as a surprise. The message was plain, saying he wanted to give me better options for college. I arrived on a cloudy day three and a half years ago to find the old lady from next door waiting to pick me up at the airport, and a father who had given up trying to shower himself. I haven’t set foot on a campus yet. My dreams of higher education are about as lively as the houseplants Papa let die and crumble into piles of brown leaves on the floor. I could have returned to Mama, but with what? I came to America on my estranged father ’s promise of a better future and without a single dollar in my pocket. Plane tickets cost money—cash I don’t have. I cried a lot those first months, never having felt such a sense of entrapment and hopelessness, even when Mama and I had to give up our family home after Papa left and move to the smaller, run down part of town. Even then I could find the silver lining in setting up a new home in a one-bedroom hovel with Mama. But now, my clouds are all dark and heavy with

rain. Moving Papa’s cushions, I help him change seats so that he can eat his lunch without the need to pack away his cards. His breathing is a harsh rasp as he tries to suck life into his ailing body. His face displays how tired he really is. I don’t get any thanks as he starts with the bread—I never do. Two months after I arrived, I walked the streets of town every day until my feet throbbed and the blisters wept where they’d burst. I asked at every store and business to see if they were hiring, and if they’d pay cash. Nobody wanted to risk the trouble my visa would cause if I were discovered working illegally. What Papa got from his insurance and benefits was barely enough to feed the two of us, let alone keep the power on. There was only so many times I could sit at the table and share a can of soup with him, just to hear my stomach growl in hunger afterward. I came home and told him what I’d done. He laughed at my sore feet. Needless to say I learnt how to be pretty damn savvy with what little money we had. Never once has he thanked me or shown any appreciation for the fact I’ve kept him fed, warm, and housed. Never once. “I need my toenails trimmed,” he says around a mouthful of bread. “You can do it after you shower me.” Hands braced on the lip of the counter, I stare out the kitchen window at the overgrown grass and weed-filled garden. “Did you hear me? I said I need—” “I heard you, Papa.” The same day he laughed at my misfortune, I decided to set aside five dollars as saving each week with the full intention of leaving Papa and returning to Cuba. I managed to keep it up for six months before the bills got so behind that I was forced to use what I’d saved to keep the power on. The phone got cut off, which is how I discovered the payphone at the library. Because of Papa’s bad history they wouldn’t reconnect us—I had no other way to keep in touch with Mama. I may be only able to afford five minutes a week before my credit runs out, but those five minutes are my sanity—my time to recharge and reconnect with my reason to keep working and earn my way out of here. “You need to clean the toilet as well,” he announces, spraying crumbs over the table. “I had to go while you were out and you know how my aim is these days.” I cringe, turning away to fix my own lunch before I completely lose my appetite. Living with Papa is hell, but a hell I’m becoming accustomed to. My savings struggles, and there may be barely a three figure sum in the account, but knowing that the balance is born from my hard work and determination gives me hope that with a little persistence I could achieve more. Maybe instead of returning to Mama, I could bring her here? The idea thrills and excites me, my imagination running wild conjuring up visions of Mama and I sitting in the afternoon sun with an iced tea. “Carlos dropped by.” Papa smacks his lips together and grimaces at the cut apple. I hesitate with the knife over the bread I was buttering whilst daydreaming. “What did he want?” “Oh, I don’t know,” Papa sasses. “Perhaps to see how his fiancé is doing?” To check up on me more like. One dark day, right after a storm, he arrived—the man I’m promised to marry. Carlos Redmond. I stood in shock at the front window, watching as he got out of his blacked-out vehicle and walked up the path with a bodyguard. I’d quickly dashed across the house with the stack of sheets I’d been folding, and jammed them in the cupboard, keen to make a good impression for our guest. I had no idea who he was, just that he was somebody who demanded respect. The man stood proud. The man oozed success. And he spelt a way out of the gradual grind I’d found myself stuck in. Maybe he could hire me for

better work? Maybe he had connections I could make use of? All I ask for is to earn more than minimum wage and make the worm on my bank statements climb instead of dive. Hardly unreasonable. Carlos had smiled when I answered the door, and for the first time in months, I’d smiled too. I remember thinking he was handsome. His suit was a pale gray that accented his silvery salt-andpepper hair perfectly, and he carried himself with a smooth finesse I’d never seen before in a man. His hand had lingered a little too long on mine after he introduced himself. And I liked it—I liked the attention. Papa had moved from his seat at the table and, using the furniture as a guide, walked across to shake Carlos’s hand. That was how I knew just how important the man is. Papa never gets up for anybody. Not even the home health lady who comes every Thursday. I’d started seeing Carlos soon after our introduction. He came by the house a week later, and the look on my father ’s face when Carlos explained he was there to take me out, and not visit Papa, chilled me. My father was proud. Still, Carlos was a gift for a woman such as me, struggling to keep her head above water. He had wealth that he wasn’t afraid to shower me with, and for the price of my morality, I could use him to better my cause. Six months living the lie and dating Carlos, or six years struggling to save a penny living with Papa, if he even lasts that long? I know what I’d prefer. “He said he wouldn’t visit,” I tell Papa, angrily swiping at the bread. The knife tears holes, enraging me further. “He should give me my space.” “You’re promised to marry him, girl. You better learn to live without that ‘space’. You will keep that man happy, Elena. It’s your duty.” “Is that so?” I slap the ruined bread onto a plate. The holes make it useless as a sandwich. I’ll just have to eat it as is. No way I’m wasting it at over two dollars a loaf. My first dates with Carlos were spent mostly sharing dinners I could only dream of affording— meals a lot more extravagant than bread and butter. He promised me my heart’s desires, and like the stupid girl I am, I believed him. I’m not sure if it was lust, or awe, but either way I know I never once thought I loved him. I needed him, and he came at a time when I was most vulnerable. All the signs of his true character were there, right in front of me, but I chose to ignore them and believe the lie he’d presented to me. I chose to believe he loved me, even after such a short time. Men like Carlos don’t get where they are through kindness and compassion, though, so why would he be any different with me? In all reality I’m simply another acquisition. I should have said no when he proposed, I should have run then and there. But when family is at stake, people tend to do extraordinary things they never would have normally considered. Things like marrying a drug lord to secure enough money to care for their ageing mother.

THREE King My arm went numb somewhere around Hanover. To say the rest of the ride was a task would be putting it lightly. I back my bike in to the pre-allocated space and cut the engine. Callum dismounts and walks over as I prod the flesh around my wound, trying to work out where the feeling starts and stops. “You need to take this shit straight to the table.” He slams the heel of his boot down on the concrete floor of the garage, scowling at a stone that’s caught in the tread of his sole. “One step ahead of you.” I wipe my bloody fingers on my jeans and dismount. “I messaged Beefy while you were jerking one off in the restrooms at that fuel station.” He chuckles, giving me a light punch to my good arm. “Come on. Like you ain’t goin’ to tonight.” He rolls his eyes back, his hand pumping furiously at the crotch of his jeans as his voice rises, taking the piss. “Ugh, she’s so hot,” he whines. “I’m such a pussy who can’t talk to girls.” I scowl at the asshole. “Fuck up. I did fuckin’ talk to her, didn’t I?” And ever since I’ve been trying to come up with a legitimate reason to return to Kansas City this next week to see her. “Come on.” He opens the door that connects the garage to the common room and steps aside to let me pass. “Looks like you messaged Gloria, too.” He tips his chin toward the bar as we cross the floor. Gloria sits at the end, first-aid kit laid out and at the ready beside a bottle of Jameson. Good girl. She’s old lady to one of our lifers, and having been a candy striper for five years as a young woman, she’s our most qualified in-house ‘nurse’. Anything Gloria doesn’t know, she looks up on YouTube and Google. The woman’s a fast learner, and she does her job pretty well. Neat stitches, small scars. “You ready?” she asks as we approach, setting aside her shandy. “As ever.” I give her a wink and take a seat beside her kit. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” She reaches out and takes my damp sleeve in hand, rolling it up my arm carefully. The fabric gets tight the farther she goes, making it hard for her to keep it out of the way. “You fond of this shirt?” I shake my head. “Twenty more like it, minus the blood.” She chuckles. “Good.” I track her movements as she produces a pair of scissors from her kit and slices up the length of the sleeve, opening the fabric out to expose my blood-covered Band-Aids. She carefully peels the mess off, dropping them with a dull slap onto the counter, and reveals the inflamed area beneath. “Itchy, I bet.” “A little.” Our president, Apex, walks in the room from out the back. The dying sun frames him as he stops beside our makeshift station. “Thought I heard your voice.” “Beefy told you what happened?” I turn my attention to the graying man, trying to block out the fact Gloria wields a pair of long tweezers that are about to find their way into my arm. He nods. “Already got the brothers in there.” He gestures to our meeting room over the far side from where we are. “They’ve okayed for you two to be present to tell us the fuckin’ story.” Apex thumps his closed fist on the bar, making the girl who’s squatted down filling the fridge jump. I clench my jaw as Gloria strikes a particularly sore spot. She makes a satisfied grunt and pulls out a piece of debris. “Now for the fun part.”

I take hold of the bottle of Jameson and down a good quarter of the fiery contents. “Get at it.” “You catch sight of who it was?” Apex asks, as Gloria threads a curved needle. “Blood Eagles.” I eye the pointed tip as she takes a hold of my forearm with her free hand and pinches the flesh together. “They were way out of their territory.” “You don’t fuckin’ say.” Prez scowls down at his tumbler of scotch, freshly served by the timidlooking blonde working the bar area. “Only one reason they’d be that far south.” “To get dibs on our contract?” “Exactly.” Two months ago, our southern VP, Hooch, rode in with bloodshot eyes and the name of a man who could drag our club out of debt. Carlos Redmond—drug lord with one of the largest distribution networks this side of the Mexican border. The same day Hooch arrived, the contract was taken to the table. Rumor was it passed without contest. Not surprising, really—I don’t think I’m the only one who doesn’t enjoy picking splinters out of my feet from the broken floorboards in the common room, or having to battle the draught that screams through the crack in the wall when I’m taking a leak. Gloria’s needle punctures the skin, and I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth. “Sorry, love.” She gives me an apologetic smile as I reach for the bottle. “Didn’t realize you’d have to dig so fuckin’ far down with that thing.” She taps the good flesh above the wound. “Honey, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but with how deep the wound is, and how long you’ve left it, it’s going to hurt.” Fuck it. “Come and join us when you’re done there.” Apex tosses the majority of his drink down in one go and steps away from the bar. “We’ll get this underway—figure out what we’re gonna do.” Knock heads together and take numbers until somebody squeals is what we’ll do. “Sure thing.” I wrap my lips around the glass of the whiskey bottle and tip it back as Gloria puts another two holes in my flesh. I’m no closer to working out who our rat could be than I was when we left Fort Worth. Nor am I any closer to working out how I’m supposed to let on that we have a rat without maybe giving it away to the guy. How can we uncover who it is and why they’ve done it without raising suspicion? Do we seek war on the Blood Eagles for what they’ve done? What kind of complications would that bring to us as a club, and also to the fact we’ve been able to do our work for Carlos completely under the radar so far? All questions I thought about the first three hours into the ride home. The last six hours of the ride, though? Raven black hair, full rose-tinted lips, and the sway of her shapely hips as she wandered the aisles, plagued my mind. I’ve been bitten by a bug, and with the way these thoughts have invaded my head and made a fine host out of me, it’s safe to say the fuckin’ thing is a parasitic one.



FOUR Elena “Ready to come home yet?” I jump out of my skin as I step out into the dying afternoon sun. I’ve just finished putting Papa to bed and didn’t hear him arrive. “It’s not my home yet, Carlos.” He eyes the running gear I have on. “Neither is this squalid dwelling you pass off as livable.” I grasp the bridge of my nose between forefinger and thumb. One, two, three . . . calm your shit, Elena. “You know the deal,” I say with a sigh. “I care for Papa while he needs me, and then you come and pick me up.” “I miss my plaything.” He snakes a finger out to flick the wires of my earbuds. “I am not your toy.” Carlos moves aside with an amused smirk as I march past him and give his bodyguard an overly fake smile. “Sully.” “Ma’am.” Carlos tracks me down the path, cutting me off as I turn onto the sidewalk. “You aren’t the one in control here.” “I know that,” I snap. “Give me room to breathe, please. I promise I’ll be back at your house as soon as Papa’s well enough.” Or dies. I wrinkle my nose at him before giving one last jab. “You must have another plaything or two on speed dial?” My illusions about this man were shattered a few days before I came to check on Papa. I’d found what I thought was the perfect dress to wear to a gala he’d mentioned, and I had run downstairs to get final approval on how much I wanted to spend on it. I’d found him cleaning the dining table with the hired help, her skirt up around her hips. Carlos smirks at my snide comment and pulls me to him with his hand around the back of my neck. “You know I do.” Why does that hurt so much? “So fucking call them.” Darkness turns his usually blue irises a stormy navy. He’s such a strange mix of his heritage: a Colombian mother and an American father. I whimper as he wrenches my head forward and up. His brutal kiss bruises my closed lips. He pushes his teeth against my mouth, biting to persuade me to give him access. I do when I taste blood. His tongue is bitter—the same stale taste as the cigars that he likes to smoke every day. I close my eyes and open them again with a start. What the hell? Carlos still assaults me, staking his claim as I shut my eyes again and yet again, see another man’s face. Green eyes. King. “You can’t expect to play this game of hard to get forever, Elena,” Carlos warns, as he lets me go with a flick of his wrist. I press the back of my hand to my lips while I put space between us, glancing over Carlos’s shoulder to find Sully staring blankly at the road. No help whatsoever. I hop twice on my heel and spin as I break into a run, plugging my earbuds in on the move. My thumb traces the buttons on the side of my iPod—one of the luxuries he bought to impress me—to blast the music in my ears.

I need distraction. I need escape. Carlos’s black Escalade passes as I turn the first corner I come to. It rolls ominously down the long street until the vehicle’s merely a toy car on the horizon. My legs pump, the music loud enough to drown out any noise except for the echo of my breaths inside my head. I turn left and then right, trying to lose myself as the tears break over my cheeks, getting pushed away by the air that rushes past my face. I need to call it off with him. Mama will understand if I tell her I need to stay in America a bit longer. I can do this on my own—I can raise what I need to get back to Cuba without his help. I need to get out from under is control before it’s too late. But therein lies my problem. With men like Carlos, you can never truly get away.

FIVE King two days later We’re going to war. The Blood Eagles take on our territory didn’t go down well at the table. Callum and I managed to relay what had happened without giving away our suspicions of a rat inside our walls. A forewarned rat is a prepared rat, and I’d like this asshole to get what’s coming his way when he least expects it. Our VP, Twig, passes me a full bottle as he joins me at one of the tables dotted over the common room. It’s a usual Friday night with the brothers who work nine-to-five during the week filtering in for their weekly wind-down. “You all good?” He stares at the busty redhead who dances on the table between us. “Yeah, I think so.” It shook me up some at the start, but the more time passes, the more I forget how badly things could have turned out if that bullet had hit me somewhere other than my arm. “You think we’ll pull this off?” “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ asking.” He pulls a twenty out and stands to hook it in the dancer ’s underwear. She’s barely covered in a lacy thong and no bra. I should watch her dance—damn near every man in the room watches her dance. But my interest in the opposite sex hasn’t been the same since that stop-off in Kansas City. Watching one of the property girls do her thing used to be some kind of guilty pleasure, but now . . . nothing feels right about it. I busy myself and fidget with notches and dents on the table top, picking at an old knife mark with my nail. “The Eagles have prepped for this. Probably since before they decided they’d ambush us the other day,” I point out. “I’m wonderin’ if we’re goin’ in blind—if we need to take more time to prepare.” Twig nods and screws his lips up in thought. “Apex wants to start out small—a few idle threats to see if they’ll back off.” I nod, knowing what he refers to: Molotov cocktails in the right door, taking one of their officers for a beat down and a shake up—the usual things that pass on the message we’re not going to lie down like dogs. The woman climbs down off the table, teetering over to one of the older brothers after he beckons her. Thank fuck for that. Twig leans forward and slides his elbow into the now empty space. “You sure you’re feelin’ okay?” “Never better. Why?” I take a nervous gulp of my beer and do what I can to jam all thoughts of Elena to the back of my mind. The man’s like a fucking clairvoyant—it seriously creeps me out some days. “You haven’t paid any mind to that dark-haired thing just there who’s been givin’ you the eye.” I look to my left, where he points with a tattooed finger. “Abbey?” “That her name?” he teases. He knows full well who she is. Abbey’s some street kid Apex put a roof over a few years back. Quiet, barely speaks a word, but a fucking hard worker around the place. Earns her keep and then some. And no way near legal. “Are you fuckin’ kidding with me?” I look back and find him laughing his ass off. Oh yeah, it’s a big joke. “She’s all of twelve, man.” “Yeah, and you’re so fuckin’ wound up about something else that you didn’t even pick I was

messin’ with ya.” Wound up doesn’t even start to cover it. I ache so bad that sitting has become a task. “Fuck you, asshole.” I chuckle and push off my stool. “I’m headin’ out to find something that won’t land me in fuckin’ jail.” He nods, accepting my half-truth easily, and dismisses me when his woman walks in with their two girls. I stand in place for a moment and watch Twig as he picks up his daughters, hoisting them on to his hips before he leans over to give his old lady a kiss. Yeah, I’m jealous. So what if I’m young? I grew up watching my parents act the same. Married thirty-five years and they still behave like high-school honeymooners after all that time. I want that, the love eternal with a good woman who’ll stand by my side no matter what. Twig’s old lady has supported him through some pretty questionable times. From what I heard, he did a short stint inside, but who was there the day he walked out? His woman. I give Abbey a smile as I turn and head for the garage. Poor kid gets a bad rap around the place; she doesn’t deserve half the stick the guys give her. She stares at me with wide eyes as I pass, wound as tight as a two-dollar watch. Fuck knows what happened to her, but the damn kid’s like a stray fucking cat—all suspicious and ready to strike when you least expect it. I step over to my bobber and pat down my jeans, doing the obligatory check before I leave. I’ve got no idea how I’m going to find Elena, but I’ve got a fair bit of time before I need to be back here. I guess when I break it down I start with what I know first, which is she shops at the store Callum and I visited. Start there, and work my way out. I throw my leg over the bike and rub both hands over my face. What am I doing? I’m riding out on the chance I’m going to find a woman I met and spoke to once. Why? What the hell is it about her that’s invaded my every lone thought? I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and groan. I wish I had the answer. I wish I knew what it was that’s got me convinced I’ll regret this forever if I get off and walk back inside. The Harley growls to life after I punch the ignition switch and, with a few gentle twists of the throttle, she clears her throat ready for the road. I idle out to the gate and sit with my feet on the gravel, arms folded as gate rolls open. The trip south is ludicrous, it’s crazy, but I have to try. I have to know if fate will let me have her.

SIX Elena six days later Papa’s getting worse. The home-care nurse pulled me aside during her visit on Thursday and told me to make preparations. “His lung capacity is falling fast,” she’d said. “It might be a good time to check that everything is in place.” Everything what? He doesn’t have a funeral plan. He only had health-care because it was drilled into him from Mama that he needed to look after himself so he could see me grow up. I guess somewhere along the way he decided he’d seen enough. My running shoes hit the pavement in even strides. Something good came out of my angry run from Carlos the other day—I found a riverside track I never knew existed. Trees line the concrete path that’s cracked and risen in places where the roots push through, and the water is only a few feet to my left. The setting is peaceful, serene, and exactly what I need. I’ve run this loop every night since, enjoying the time to clear my mind. I file through the issues that hang over me when I wake each morning as I run, sorting them by what’s most urgent, what I can change. What I can’t. Carlos hasn’t been in contact since our spat. I should be relieved; it’s exactly what I wanted. But silence is unnerving. I’ve got no idea what he’s doing when he’s quiet. I’ve got no idea what I’ve done by getting offside with the man. My punishment will come—he doesn’t take to disrespect lightly. I just wish I knew what it would be . . . I pass the point I normally turn off and reach the end of the track where it connects back onto the street when I first spot him. The path climbs up for a few yards, rising until it comes to a set of steps that lead out to a row of cafés on the outskirts of the shopping precinct. And there, seated at an outdoor table, looking every part the hipster, except for his leather cut, is King. I slow to a walk and quiet my approach while I climb the steps and pocket my earbuds. His head is down, and he stares into his coffee cup as though it contains the answers to whatever he’s thinking about. I’ve never felt the urge to just touch someone so badly. My fingers itch to know how his beard would feel as I traced the line of his jaw, or the tautness of his shoulders as my palms skimmed the rise and fall of his muscles. At least I don’t wear my ring when I exercise—yay for small victories. My fingers run nervously over the bare flesh as I step up on to the street level. The road comes to a dead end; the line of cafés start straight ahead, and the river lies to my left. He has no idea I’m there as I approach from behind, spotting his bike backed in against the guttering. “Doesn’t really look like your scene,” I remark as I drop on to the seat opposite him. He looks up, his eyes wide at first, and then his lips spread into a slow smile. “Found you.” “I believe I found you,” I correct, snatching up a sugar pack to ease my nerves. “How long have you been sitting here?” He swipes the screen of his phone, which sits on the table, and hums. “About three hours.” “Must be a good café.” I look indoors at the cabinets filled with savories and cakes.

“Good for why I picked it.” He spins the phone on the table, the corners knocking the glass ashtray beside it every so often. “And why did you pick it?” My throat tightens, my heart beating with an aching intensity. The sugar pack weaves through my fingers at breakneck speed. “Exactly this.” He chuckles quietly to himself, smiling down at the phone as he brings it to a stop under his palm. “I wanted to see you again, and well, here you are.” I drop the sugar, staring wide-eyed at him. He’s been here for hours, waiting, watching, and hoping to see me again. What if I’d still run the same route as I used to? How long would he have waited before he gave up? “It’s been close to a week since I saw you at the store,” I point out. Not that anyone’s counting. “I know.” “And you’ve been here since—” “Couple of days after,” he interrupts. Wow. “How long did you plan to keep coming back?” “Until either I saw you walk into the store again”—he motions to the corner shop we’d met at down the end of the street—“or until they put a restraining order out on me for bein’ a public nuisance.” His lips curl up at the corners, his eyes bright with his humor. King’s been here, days on end, just to chance seeing me. I can’t even comprehend it. He’d do that . . . because of me? “I thought you were from Lincoln?” “I am.” And he rode six hours to do it. “How’s your arm?” I reach out to take his left hand, turning it over so his arm does, too. A reddened line with small black stitches shows. “It was bad. You lied.” “Nothin’ a bit of needlework didn’t fix.” He prods the scarring, making me wince as I withdraw my hand, rubbing away the tingling sensation left in the wake of our touch. “So . . .” I fuss with the sugar pack, stuffing it back in the numbered holder that’s in the center of the table. “What should we talk about?” He picks up the half-drunk cup of coffee and swirls the contents. “I guess you could tell me how your week’s been?” I smile and drop my head. “You don’t want to know.” “Yeah, I do.” I look up, expecting a teasing smile, but instead I find genuine interest. He sits with his arms braced either side of his coffee while he waits on an answer. “My papa,” I explain. “He’s not well. I live with him and look after him.” “I thought you were staying with friends?” Damn it. “That’s not exactly what I said . . .” “Still . . .” “I guess I just didn’t want to have to talk to you about him at the time. I don’t know.” I run a hand over my hair in frustration and finish by pulling my ponytail through a semi-closed fist. “Our relationship isn’t the best; I resent being there most of the time.” I avoid his gaze and stare down at the table instead. He’s bound to make all sorts of assumptions about how heartless I must be to say such a thing. I’ve just admitted I’d rather be anywhere than taking care of Papa—well, almost anywhere. “What’s wrong with him?” King takes a sip of the coffee and then runs his tongue along his top lip to catch the droplets in his moustache. He doesn’t care about what I said. I breathe a little easier. “Cancer.” He eyes my hand as I spin the sugar holder around to read the special that’s advertised on the back. King studies me for a moment, his fingers twitching on the tabletop. “You don’t seem very

affected by any of it.” He snatches up his pack of cigarettes and lifts his eyebrows as if to ask if I mind. I shake my head. “He’s not a nice man. He doesn’t deserve to have anyone care that he’s dying.” I look around the café at the other patrons while a strange silence falls between us. “Anyway. I’d rather not talk about him. Tell me how your week was.” “Busy.” He lights the cigarette between his lips and then swirls the coffee again, studying it as it coats the walls of his mug. “Can’t really tell you much more than that.” “Tell me about yourself then,” I say, eager to know as much as I can. He smirks, squinting down at the cup as the liquid settles to the bottom. “What would you like to know first?” “Why did you join a motorcycle club?” He grins, cigarette poised between his lips. “Straight for the hard-hitters, huh?” Normally I’d balk at the habit, but on him, it seems almost natural that he would smoke. “Straight to the one I’m most curious about,” I reply. King downs the last of his drink and pushes the mug to the side of the table. “I joined because I felt like I belonged.” “Simple.” “It’s the truth of it.” “You like it?” He holds my gaze again and smiles. “I’m wearin’ the colors, ain’t I?” I grin, ducking my head. Touché. He’s so easy to talk to—so relaxed. Such a contrast from how my days are normally spent. “How long you been in America?” he asks as a waitress comes to collect his cup. “Almost four years.” He holds a hand up to the girl to indicate she should wait. “You like anythin’?” “No, I’m fine.” I look up to the girl and smile. “Thank you.” She returns to the kitchen with the dirty dish, leaving King to pick up where he left off. “You came here for your father?” “Yes and no. He didn’t tell me he was sick at the time.” I catch King’s eye and give him a sad smile. “I probably wouldn’t have come if I’d known, and I think he knew that.” “No?” His eyebrows peak. “Why did you come then, if you say you don’t get along?” “He said he’d help me go to a good college.” I fidget with the earbuds hanging at my front. “I don’t think that’ll happen now, though.” “What would you have studied?” “Hadn’t decided yet. What would you have done if not the club?” He traps my hand under his, pulling it away from my chest and placing it on the table. The connection scorches. “Probably what I did before the club.” “Which was?” My throat tightens. Did he feel that too? “Carpenter ’s apprentice. I had a year to go before I was certified in the trade.” He stubs his smoke out in the ashtray. “You gave your job up to join the club?” King shakes his head. “I could have kept doing it; a lot of the members work normal jobs.” He sighs and shrugs. “I just wasn’t feelin’ it any more—thought my time would be better invested in club business.” We carry on swapping basics on ourselves, ending an afternoon where we started out as strangers as friends. I want that more than anything with him—friendship—but I want to know we have the chance to take things further, too. Each time he reveals something about himself, the more my

assumptions about him are validated. He’s kind, giving, and seems to always think of others before himself. He tells me about his family, about the tragedy that tore it apart when he was young, but of the strength of his parents and how he looks up to them. He’s more than leather, skulls, and tattoos. He’s fascinating. I order a milkshake and sip on it while King recounts some of his favorite classic movies. His features light up when he describes a particular scene, his hands moving in grand gestures with the soft chink of the metal on his cuffs as he does. I try to suck the last of the milkshake through my straw, but every time I do it makes a horrible gurgle. After half a dozen attempts, King’s lost where he was at in his story and looks at me while he chuckles. “You okay there?” I finish the drink with one loud pull and smile. “I’m sorry. I was trying so hard not to interrupt you. You looked so passionate about . . .” I’ve forgotten the name of the movie, after all that. “Platoon.” “Right.” We both laugh. “I’m enjoying this,” King says. “I haven’t sat down and just talked with anyone in ages.” “It has been nice,” I agree. Too nice. “But . . . I better get going.” The sun isn’t as bright as it was when I sat down, slowly slipping behind the houses across the river. “Papa will need his dinner made soon.” “How about I see you again next Friday?” King asks. “If you’re keen, that is.” “I’m keen.” “What’s your number?” He reaches for his phone, sliding it before him. “I could message you when—” “I don’t have a phone.” He stares. “What?” “I don’t have a phone,” I repeat. “Too expensive for how often I use it.” “Really?” He leans back in his seat and throws an elbow over the back. “Really.” “What about Facebook? Instagram?” I shake my head. “Twitter?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Nope.” “Are you serious?” King leans forward again, both elbows resting on the table. “Do you not have anybody who you keep in touch with? Any friends in Cuba you want to keep track of?” “Not really. I call Mama once a week or so, but that’s it.” “How?” he asks. “I mean, if you don’t have a phone.” I point over my shoulder at the corner store. “They sell international phone cards. I buy one when I can afford it and walk down to the public phone at the library.” King gawks. Clearly I’m some freak of nature in today’s tech-addicted world. Everything I’ve said is the truth though; there isn’t anybody I want to keep in touch with other than Mama. “How do I contact you then, about next week?” “You don’t. We just meet again at the same time.” “And if you can’t make it?” His gaze narrows on me. He has a point. Lincoln’s a long ride for him just to discover I don’t show. “Give me your number. I can call you from the payphone.” He looks around and pats down his pockets. “Hold up.” King pushes out of his seat and dashes

inside the café. He returns a short time later with one of their loyalty cards, and passes it over. “My number.” “I’ll ring you the night before if I know I can’t make it.” I smile as he holds out his hand to help me up. “Done deal.” He gives me a tug that sends me crashing into his hard body. Cheeky. I place my hands on his shoulders to brace myself and try to back away when his hands on my hips hold me firmly in place. “You’re a pretty woman, Elena.” He reaches up to sweep my bangs out of my face. “Real pretty.” My cheeks are on fire. It’s going to happen, I can feel it. “You’re not so hard on the eyes yourself.” He devours me with his gaze and leans a little closer. “Take it you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you then?” I shake my head as a smile plays on my lips. “Not at all.” He slips a hand to the side of my neck and guides my head as he leans in to close the space between us. His lips play mine, teasing and testing how far I’ll let him take this. I open my mouth to him, angling my head a little to let him in deeper as his free hand roams the curve of my back. I’m cocooned in him, safe and secure in his hold. His taste is bitter from the coffee, but the gentle sweep of his tongue across mine, the soft caress of his lips over mine before he widens his mouth again to take me harder . . . it’s everything I didn’t realize I was missing. I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing while he’s so close. King grumbles as I pull back. I’d lost myself in our moment and hadn’t given a single thought to the fact any one of these people around us may be on Carlos’s pay roll. “Can I meet up with you again?” I can’t bring myself to let him go yet, even though I know that would be the wise thing to do. “You name the place, babe, I’ll be there.” “Here then.” Our place. Somewhere that holds only the memory of King, myself, and a relationship that holds no hope of ever being more than friends—no matter how perfect that kiss was. King leans down to pull my bottom lip between his, letting it go to dot a small kiss on the point of my nose. “You better go.” More than he knows. Everything about this is wrong, but I’m selfish, too weak to call a spade a spade and walk away. I’m too smitten with King’s attention. “I’ll see you again next week.” I step away with my hand lingering on his chest. “Friday.” He throws a tip on the table, and gives me a pat on the ass to send me on my way. “Get goin’, baby, before I decide to come after you for more.”

SEVEN King five weeks later Elena and I meet the following Friday, and the one after, and then two more, simply because neither of us can get enough. And we talk. She’s careful not to let on much about her family, but aside from that, I learn every intricate detail about her: stories about her childhood friends, that she’d love to have a dog one day, right down to her preference of Coke over Pepsi. And every time, she leaves me with a scorching fucking kiss. But they’re more than just kisses— they’re a taste of what’s to come. Callum’s the only brother who knows I’m heading out to see a woman, but I’ve got him convinced I’ve managed to shack up with someone local. A lie I can live with. I get to keep Elena for myself without the pressure from the others to bring her in to ‘meet’ the guys, and without the ridicule that would surely follow when they found out how tame our meet-ups have been. But I like them like that. I like how easy she is to talk to, how she makes me laugh with her innocent questions about what life in an MC is like. I wish I could ask her more about where she comes from, about what it was like growing up in another country, but every time I try to steer the conversation in that direction she freezes up. Enough subtle questions over time and hopefully I’ll figure out why—what it is that she doesn’t want to tell me. Until then, I’m relatively content with what I get. Her. I get her. The clouds cover the sun while I wait on Elena to show up for our sixth get-together. But who’s counting, right? I light another smoke and take a pull on the stick as I think over what Twig told me last night. Our contacts intercepted another planned ambush during the week. A few of our lifers rode over to check out the drop-off point for the run an hour before our guys were due to arrive—our demolition crew, we call them. Came back with word of Blood Eagles waiting two miles down the road at a shopping center, lined up in the car park, nearly out of view. Fair to say, they pulled out of that exact run and reorganized the drop-off point with ten minutes to spare—close enough that whoever the rat was wouldn’t have time to relocate the Eagles. Twig tells me that the suspects are narrowed down to four members, but he won’t elaborate any further. I guess there’s every chance they think I’m one of them. My coffee’s half gone, and like clockwork, Elena jogs up those steps in her short fucking shorts and tight tank. She keeps a good body, but I honestly think I wouldn’t give a fuck if she didn’t. I like her for more than physical attraction. I like her mostly because when I’m with her it’s so easy to forget about the shit going down at the club. She makes it effortless to get lost in a daydream world where we’re just two lonely souls, looking for love. Makes the slap back to reality when I leave each time that much harder, too. “Hey!” Elena’s eager greeting breaks me from my thoughts. I stand and take her in my arms, holding her to me, despite the fact she’s tacky with sweat—I couldn’t care less. She’s beautiful, funny, and smart, and once a week I get to hold her and kiss her like nothing else matters. I’ll take her however I can get her. She meets my lips with a surprised hum. Until now we’ve only kissed when she’s left, but after this last week’s shit with the Blood Eagles, I’m in the mood for more of her special brand of distraction

than usual today. “That was unexpected,” she says, pressing her fingertips to her lips as she takes a seat. “Nice though.” She smiles and fidgets with a sugar pack—a habit I’ve noticed over all our Fridays together. “Yeah, it was nice.” Her rich cocoa eyes find mine. “Tell me about your week then. What’s new?” I wish I could share these things with her; it’d certainly alleviate the fucking burden. “Can’t, baby. Sorry.” “What now then?” She cocks an eyebrow at me. You can do it. “You tell me.” I gesture to her running shorts and fitted tank. “You had enough for one day?” I tried to do this last week, but choked. Just run with it. “Ugh.” Elena pulls the sticky material from her stomach. “Yes. Definitely had enough.” “Want to join me for a shower then?” My heart seizes, waiting on her reaction. Her eyes go wide. “What?” “Asked if you wanted to share a shower with me. Been ridin’ for hours before I was sittin’ here.” It’s hardly the best pick-up line, but it’s got to be streaks ahead of ‘Want to go back to a motel and fuck?’ I was aiming for funny, hoping she’d laugh . . . and then agree. Not working so well, though. “Are you staying somewhere?” she asks. I normally ride home after our catch-ups, getting in around midnight. “Thought it might be a nice change. Any recommendations?” She giggles and hides her face in her arms. “What?” Her chuckle is contagious; I’m about to laugh, even though I have no idea what about. Certainly beats the sick feeling I had in my throat a minute ago. “I can’t believe I sat down and you asked me to get naked with you.” I smirk. “So? Worked, didn’t it?” She peers out from under her lashes when I duck my head to meet her eyes. “Didn’t it?” “Yes.” Elena laughs, shaking her head. “Do not ask me why.” She twists in her seat to point west. “There’s a motel two blocks over that way. Hear they have a pool.” “Fancy a ride, then?” She grins and nods. “You don’t normally do this kind of thing, do you?” Elena stands to indicate she’s ready to go. I down the last of my coffee, adjust myself under the table, and shake my head as I join her. “Nope. I’m not very good at talkin’ to women I like.” Elena feigns shock, placing a hand to her chest. “Do you mean . . . that you don’t like me?” Fuck, I love how she makes me laugh. I take her by the hand and lead us across the road. “Complete opposite, actually.” Looking down at our hands as we walk to my bike, I admit, “I think I like you a little too much.” Yeah, I don’t miss that sharp intake of breath. My heart still hasn’t slowed since I asked her to join me. I take my fill of Elena, of the way she stands with one knee slightly bent, popping that curvy ass of hers. “You can use my helmet.” I lift the open-facer up and go to place it on her head when she grabs me by the wrists. “It’s not that far, honestly.” “Baby,” I say, frowning at her relaxed attitude. “I ain’t damaging any of this.” She stills as I reach out and drag my left thumb across her lips. “Okay.” Her answer is a breathless whisper. “But first.” I take a step back to avoid the flying elbows as she adjusts her ponytail so it sits at the nape of her

neck. Her eyes never leave mine. “Better?” I ask, when she drops her arms. “Better.” I pop the helmet on and then get her situated on the seat before I climb on. My bike doesn’t have any space for a pillion, so the tank it is for me. She pats my shoulder as I settle my nuts against the unrelenting metal. “I can walk. Honestly, it’s not far.” I tap the side of my nose. She doesn’t know it yet, but I saw a place on the way into town that had separate units, all with their own private courtyards. If I’m going to take this lady somewhere, it’s going to have more than an ounce of class, not just the row on row of small units stacked on top of one another I think she means. She settles her hands around my middle as I turn the key and push start. The bike comes to life beneath us. I can’t help it. I look over my shoulder and grin. I know how bad that sprung seat vibrates. She grins back, and then laughs when I twist the throttle to give her a bit more of a buzz. “Tuck your legs over mine.” I point to the pipes and then slide my hand around her calf to demonstrate what I mean. Jesus. Wrong move, old boy. Lifting her lower right leg and wrapping her foot on my shin, I let go and take a breath. She doesn’t move, leaving her other foot hanging, and I glance back to find her watching me as I try to get my shit together. Her left heel hits my shin with a bang. “Ready.” I kick the stand up and after checking the traffic, give a twist of the wrist to get us going. Her thighs clamp down over mine, and her hands grip my abs painfully tight. Guess it’s her first ride, then. It’s the best ride I’ve had since building the beast. It seems as though she’s only just settled when I spot the driveway of the cabins I’d sighted earlier. Elena’s hands rest lightly on my sides, and she leans into every corner as if she’s an old pro. We cruise to a stop outside the office and I kill the engine. She doesn’t move. “You’re okay to get off,” I reassure her. She sighs first, slowly dragging her hands away and over the tops of my thighs—dangerously close to my convoy cock. Turns out the tank vibrates just as bad as the seat when you’re pressed up against it. I dismount and readjust myself with my back to her while she fiddles with the helmet and straps and eventually gets them undone. Ten minutes later, and a hundred dollars less in my back pocket, I open the door to our cabin. “M’lady?” She chuckles and walks past where I stand with my left arm outstretched, right tucked at the small of my back. The door slams shut with a kick of my boot, and before I can even come up with a halfdecent line to give her, she takes the floor. Her shoes come off first, toe to heel as she walks. The tight-as-fuck tank goes next, landing on the foot of the bed. I’m in awe, watching her brazenly undress on her way to the shower. The sports bra narrowly misses collecting my head as she hurls it over her shoulder, rounding the corner to the bathroom with a cheeky smirk. I kick my boots off—both of them landing on opposite sides of the room—and shirk my cut, placing it carefully over the back of the chair. My hands are still on my belt when her running shorts hit the wall opposite the bathroom door. “You coming, or what?” I’ve never undressed so fast in my life.

The water ’s running when I do my best to act casual as I round the doorway. But damn, when I’m confronted with her lithe body, I fucking lose all reasoning. Her nostrils flare as she drinks me in—all of me. “The water should be warm now.” Elena steps in the shower and leaves the door to the cubicle open. I follow. Fuck, I’d follow this woman anywhere—I know it already. The water drags her hair down over her back as she lets it cascade over her face and neck. “Oh, that’s good.” Yep, it sure is. I’m naked, in the shower with one sexy-as-hell woman, and I think I’m already in love with her. My hands look enormous on her slim waist, my rough skin contrasting against her smooth, almond flesh. I stroke my thumbs in the small of her back and she arches, pressing her butt against my cock. Game on. Sliding my arm around her waist, I cup my right hand to her left breast, pulling her up against me and out of the water. She gasps, and wraps her arm around my hip to grab hold of my butt. “You want me to clean you,” I whisper in her ear, “or make you dirty first?” “Filthy dirty.” This woman—she never stops taking me by surprise. Keeping my right arm wrapped tightly around her, I move my left hand down to the junction of her thighs and slip my hand over the wet skin to the swollen folds of her pussy. Heaven. Her feet slide over the tile floor, widening her stance so I’ve got better access. I run my index and middle finger in slow strokes either side of her pussy, bracing my thumb against her clit to make her buck. She drops her head against my shoulder, and sighs. I taste the exposed flesh of her neck, running my teeth in a graze that starts at the point of her collarbone and ends below her ear. “Fuck yes,” she whispers, her hand on my butt squeezing. I take her lobe between my teeth and bite gently, giving it a little tug before I let go, all while my fingers continue their slow exploration of her. “Why did you say yes?” I ask, nipping at the line of her jaw. “Why did you come looking for me?” Well played. I spin her in my hold and back her up against the side wall of the shower, out of the way of the water spray. She’s dripping wet, and even more beautiful than I could have thought. The woman could turn up to our dates in a paper fucking bag and she’d have a hard time keeping my hands off her. Her lips meet mine in a frenzy, our heads tilting to deepen the kiss. Elena lifts a leg to my side, and I take it, hoisting the other as well, and pin her against the wall by my hips. Her hands tangle in my hair, damp from the spray, and tug. Oh, hell yes. I lean back and look her in the eye. “Harder.” She obeys, and yanks on my hair painfully hard to pull my head back to hers. Her tongue slides across my lips, coaxing me to let her in. She didn’t have to ask. I open and slant my mouth to taste her again, fascinated by the mix of mint and spice on her breath. “Be rough with me too,” she says, skimming her mouth over my cheekbone to dot kisses on my temple. “I like it.” I hoist her higher and wrap my hand underneath her to skim the slick folds of her pussy. She sighs, closing her eyes as I dip a finger inside. God, I wish that were my fucking tongue instead. Her hands move from my shoulders to the back of my head and to my shoulders again, massaging the muscles. “You ready?” She nods, and leans her head forward to nip my bottom lip. “So ready.”

Lining myself with her entrance, I slowly let her slide back down the wall as I tilt my hips. She stretches around me, accommodating my size with the kind of moan that makes my cock twitch. She feels too good; the moment’s too surreal. I drop my forehead to her shoulder and still. “Okay?” she asks quietly, the pattering of the water the only sound other than my short breaths. “Yeah, I’m good.” I rock my hips as I pull my head back and lay a kiss on her full lips. “Felt too good for a bit there.” How did I get to this point with her? How the hell did I find the fucking voice to ask her? And why the fuck did she say yes? The woman’s gorgeous, way out of my league. She wriggles about, coaxing me to move again, bottom lip pinched between her teeth. I ease into the rhythm and rock my hips toward her, shunting her body up the tiles with each stroke. Moans fall from her lips as she nears climax, my speed increasing with every whispered word that follows. “Yes, King. Yes.” My road name. It’s never felt so right. “Say it again.” She drops her head forward, her eyes blazing as they settle on mine. “Fuck me, King.” And I do. I fuck her like it’s the first, last, and only time. She grapples at my shoulders, and her hands slide into my hair, yanking the lengths hard enough to pull my head to the side. I growl and grit my teeth as I hammer her, punishing this woman for being so damn beautiful. Her pussy clenches around me, and I move my hands to her breasts to take her nipples between my forefinger and thumb, and pinch. She explodes over me and screams out as I feel my own release take hold, my legs weakening. I fill her, jerking uncontrollably as the climax wreaks havoc with my limbs. The relief, the satisfaction—it’s ten times more than I could have imagined. My knees buckle, and I lower us to the floor before I drop her. Elena slumps against the tiles and smiles up at me, stroking her palm over the side of my beard. “Now I’ll let you clean me.”

EIGHT Elena I don’t want to let him go. He washed me in the shower with the tiny complimentary circle of soap. Let’s just say it was funny watching him try and control the teeny bar in his huge hands and curse every time it slipped out of his grasp. And then I dried him—hands down the most erotic moment of my life. His gaze followed me as I ran the fluffy white towel down each arm, tracing the bumps and hollows of his muscular frame, and taking my time as I passed over the now pinkish line on his left forearm. My hand slipped from the towel as I ran it over his chest and the feel of my palm against his rigid stomach awoke a desire inside of me that hadn’t even been present while we had sex in the shower. I barely had time to dry his legs before he’d hoisted me into his arms and taken me to bed. It was perfect the first time, heaven the second. Every touch was made with care, and the way he looked at me while inside of me—he was amazed. But by what? How could a man I count myself lucky to have caught the attention of be amazed by me? “You really are in good shape,” I remark, propped on my side underneath the sheets beside him. We’ve been lying here, naked, just sharing random facts about ourselves, talking about anything and everything except the elephant in the room—Carlos. He still doesn’t know. King rolls on the bed to face me, and smirks. “Thank you.” I swat his arm and laugh. “No need to get cocky about it.” “I’m not,” he protests. “You paid me a compliment. I said thank you.” I frown and fidget with the sheet between my hands. “And you’re fuckin’ beautiful, too,” he teases, knocking me over as he tackles me to my back. “I shouldn’t have to say it; you should just know it like I do.” King’s bottle green eyes roam over my face, neck, and chest. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” “Thank you too, I guess.” I smile to try and hide my embarrassment. He shakes his head and chuckles, placing the softest of kisses to my forehead. “You gonna tell me where you live so I can come visit once you’re finished bein’ in town with your dad?” And there it is—the moment my bubble bursts with a fizzle. “I can’t.” “Why not?” I lift my hand between us, and he frowns. “I don’t get it.” Tapping my ring finger, I point out the slight tan line, barely visible unless you looked for it. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” He backs off me and rests on his heels at my feet. “You’re married?” “Not yet.” A panic sets in at the hurt that crosses his face. His brow furrows and those usually bright green eyes become hooded and dark. “Why would you lie?” he whispers. “You could have said no.” He throws his hands up in the air, and drops them to his thighs with a slap. “Why all the coffee dates? Why all this time together?” I sit up and the sheet falls free of my naked body. I don’t care. “I didn’t stop seeing you because I didn’t want to.” I reach for him, but he jerks away. Why didn’t I just tell him? Why did I choose to be selfish, and in turn hurt him? “The other guy?” he asks. “You love him?”

“No,” I blurt out. “God, no.” He stares at me a beat too long, seeming to search for something he can’t find. “Why marry him then?” “It’s complicated.” “But you’ve . . .” “Slept together?” I whisper. “Yeah.” He looks away, running a hand over his beard. “That.” “Not for a while. Not since before I met you.” King stays kneeling, staring off into nothing for a while. I fidget with the sheet and wrap myself into a kind of cocoon in a vain attempt at finding comfort. I’ve ruined things, but in reality, I should have ruined them sooner. I should have put my money where my mouth is and shown the man how much I care about him by pushing him away. In time he would have understood. In time he maybe could have forgiven me. “I should care,” he murmurs, breaking the silence. “I just fucked some other guy’s fiancé after flirting with her for weeks. You just fucked me when you’re engaged, for fuck’s sake. But you know what?” He turns his head back toward me and flashes a weak smile. “I don’t really give a shit.” We’re two wrongs that’ll never make a right. “This isn’t who I am,” I say, desperate to clear King’s mind of thoughts that I’d do the same thing to him. There’s no comparison. “I want to leave him, but he’s . . . difficult. You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.” King scoots closer, lying on his side, and wraps an arm around my legs to hug them to his chest while he props his head up with the other hand. “You probably know who he is.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Everybody seems to know who he is for one reason or another, and usually they’re not good.” King gives his head a little shake, lifting an eyebrow as though to coax me on. “Have you heard of Carlos Redmond?” His nostrils flare, and his lips press tightly together until they turn white. “Yeah, I know who he is.” He flops to his back and draws a hand down his face, gripping the lengths of his beard before he lets go. “Fuck, Elena.” “If I leave, he’ll punish me.” “I know.” He drops an arm over his face to hide his eyes. “Why did you get together with him to begin with?” “I thought he cared about me. I needed help, and I thought he’d be the one to give it.” I sigh, dropping my chin to my chest to examine the line on my finger. “I thought his money could make me happy.” “Happiness isn’t something you can buy.” “I know that,” I whisper. “I feel so stupid.” The familiar resentment at my foolish choices sparks up, threatening to burn us both. King drops his arm to rest his hand on my ankle. The fire dampens. “Guess that’s it for us then, huh?” “No,” I snap. Taking a deep breath to center myself, I calm my thumping heart. “I don’t want it to be.” “It’s complicated if you choose to stay with him, Elena. I can’t tell you why, but I can’t do that to my club.” “And if you weren’t part of a club?” I ask, bitterly. “What then?” He rolls toward me and strokes my face, tracing a line over my brow with his thumb. “I don’t know.” “I should get home.” I push him away and rise from the bed, searching out my running clothes.

King stays propped up on his elbow, a lazy smile on his lips as he tracks me around the room. How did my clothes get so damn spread out? “Look away or something, would you?” I snap. “You’re making me anxious watching me like that.” His grin weakens my defenses, but I refuse to let him know. “There’s no need to be shy anymore, baby. I think I know every inch of that body now.” I cock an eyebrow at him. “That so?” “That’s so.” His smile . . . My dire need to get out of here temporarily forgotten, I turn around and wiggle my ass at him. “Are you sure you know all of it?” His eyes flash. “Careful.” I squeal as he launches himself off the bed and tackles me to the mattress. King holds himself over me with his arms braced either side of my head. “You should smile more.” “You’re the only reason I have to.” He grumbles and dips his head to take my mouth in a slow and sensual kiss. My body relaxes, and my arms and legs instinctively wrap around his to pull him closer. I knew it when I saw him at that café, when I heard what he’d done for me, but didn’t realize fully what it was at the time. I love this man. I have for weeks. When he looks at me, it’s me he sees. I don’t get just the basic sexual reactions from him—I get more. We talk. He makes me laugh. He asks me how I feel. He cares about the little things. He never asks for more than I’m offering. And only then does he make my body react in ways I never knew possible. I like just being with him. When’s he near, I’m more complete. We connect in a way that makes me feel as if I’m never going to have a second chance at finding anything like it. I need to hold on to him. “I don’t really want to leave,” I whisper as I run my hands up and down his arms. “I know. I wish I didn’t have to either.” “How did things get so complicated?” Tears build and I look away, determined not to let the compassion in his eyes be my undoing. I’ve held it together this long; I can do it a bit longer. “Hey,” he soothes, tipping my chin back towards him. “I’m guessing you’ve just had one bad thing after another lately, is all. A run of bad, bad fuckin’ luck, if you will.” He places another soft kiss on my waiting lips. “Doesn’t mean this is as good as it’ll get though.” “No?” I search his eyes for the truth and find only conviction in the words he’s just spoken. “No.” His beard tickles my neck as he lays a kiss behind my ear. “It’s just a bump in the road, baby.” “Promise?” His chest vibrates as he grumbles, skimming his lips across my jaw to reach the other ear. “I promise.” He takes each of my hands gently, one after the other, and places them above my head to trap them in place with one of his. I turn and place a kiss to his arm as it flexes with his movement. He stretches out, scooting his head lower to kiss and tease each nipple, and then leaves a trail of soft kisses across my ribs, twisting himself to the side of my body as he does. His eyes settle on mine, his gaze firm as he kneels at my side. King’s hand still traps my wrists as he runs the pads of his fingers across the taut flesh of my stomach. It tickles a little, but mostly it’s a sensual promise of what’s to come. He works lower, eventually tracing the swollen flesh between my legs, never quite dipping inside. I squirm, eager for him to do more, but he continues to tease, and run his hands all over my body, stopping only to pinch a nipple or thumb my lips.

King carefully positions himself around and over me as he drives my body to the brink with a slow, sensual caress of every inch. He rolls me to my stomach, his lips skating the sensitive flesh behind my ear, dotting kisses on each of my shoulder blades and running a slow path down my spine as he kneels beside me. I try to touch him, but he continues to pin my hands to the bed, moving his mouth so it settles over one of my butt cheeks . . . and then he bites. Gentle, but firm enough to leave a sting. I’m lost to him, completely and utterly lost in his world. He has a way of shutting off the worries, the fears, and the regrets, and making my mind just focus on him . . . on us. I wriggle, desperate to get some sort of leverage to push him off, take control, and show him how he makes me feel. But he traps my legs under his knees and maneuvers my hands to the small of my back. “Stay still.” King moves carefully off me, using one knee to knock my legs apart. With his free hand, he palms the flesh of each thigh, dipping his fingers to tease the swollen flesh between my legs. “I could play for hours and never stop bein’ amazed by you.” He runs his fingertips back and forth through my growing wetness. I’m not ashamed. I’m not embarrassed. He drives me wild, and if my body is showing him that, then he deserves every ounce of pleasure he gets. I gasp as he slides his erection between my cheeks and rocks his hips back and forth. The heat of his chest and stomach envelop my back when he lets go of my hands, his breath tickling my ear. “I’m goin’ to fuck you hard enough that you don’t forget who you belong with, but first . . .” A rush of cool air replaces him as he moves away, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he moves. I look over my shoulder at him and sigh inside at the firm pull of his muscles as he positions himself beside the bed, facing me. Ohh, I know what he wants. I get on all fours and turn toward him, sticking my ass up in the air. He gives a low rumble of appreciation and places a large hand over my tailbone, curling his fingers down to my center. I shuffle a little closer to give him better reach to put his fingers inside me, and myself better leverage to take him all. I run my lips down the length of his cock, lying my tongue flat against the underside. King’s eyes shut, his jaw slack. Sucking and holding my breath, I pull back slowly, and flick my tongue against the sensitive head when I reach the tip without releasing him from my mouth. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Elena.” His eyes open and he knits his fingers painfully close to my scalp, tangling them in my hair. Hearing his pleasure, how turned on he is with my mouth on him, sends a rush of wet heat between my legs. His left hand continues to guide my head while the right skims the slick folds of my pussy, sinking inside my core in intervals. I push my hips back while taking his cock deep, tickling my gag reflex. He hisses as my throat closes around him and pinches the head of his erection. With my breath held, I do it again, only this time I control him better with my hand at the base of his shaft. My throat tightens around the head of his cock, and pressing up, I push the sensitive area hard against the ridge on the top of my mouth on the way out. King moans, his head dropping forward as his eyes close again. His index and middle finger pump my pussy, the friction of his palm rubbing over my tight bud surprisingly arousing. “Do it again,” he mutters. “Stick my cock right down your throat.” I shift a little, trying to coax more from his hand while still playing his cock with my tongue and throat. He gets the hint as I tilt my hips back to present my ass, and drags his wet fingers out of me to run them in long strokes over my tight hole. A shiver ripples my spine, and I groan around my mouthful sending vibrations through his erection and down to my hand.

“You like that, huh?” I writhe against his fingers in response, my gut tightening as the pleasure builds from such a simple touch. “Keep sucking, baby. Keep choking on my fuckin’ cock.” He leans forward a little, curling over my back and pushing himself deeper down my throat in the process. I angle my neck to accommodate, only half paying attention to what I’m doing. My head’s a mess of praise for the man as he plunges his fingers in my pussy to the hilt, curls them around, and lifts me closer to his body with his hold in me. It’s rough, to the point, and making me drip. My eyes water and I gag, but with a little wriggle I find the right angle to take his thick length to the back of my throat again without wanting to retch. He moves his hips in time with his fingers, and right when I think I can’t take any more, he pushes the pad of his thumb against my ass. Oh my God. King continues to press in time with his thrusts, nudging a little deeper on each stroke. My stomach clenches, my head too light. Nobody’s ever touched me there before, and the new sensation pushes me to overload. A strangled moan escapes my throat as my muscles clench and I come hard, my lips hesitating halfway down his cock. He thrusts his hips to keep the momentum as I pulse around his hand, choking out garbled words around his rigid length. King withdraws and steps back, licking his fingers as I pant and collapse to my shoulders on the mattress, my cheek pressed into the comforter. He’s not finished. Strong hands lift me upright to my knees. He hooks me behind the thighs and flips me on to my back as I groan, the only thing I have energy left for. He tugs me toward the side of the bed, bending his knees slightly to press the head of his cock against my entrance and, with one fluid thrust, sink himself deep. I automatically place my legs on either side of his hips, reaching down to feel where he connects with me. It’s erotic and distinctly intimate at the same time being able to feel his hard length slip in and out of my slick flesh. I glance up at him and find King watching, hands on my ankles to hold my legs apart. He lifts them up and places both of my feet over his right shoulder so my legs are together. I shift my hand out of the way and twist my torso to watch his body flex as he straightens his legs to lift my butt off the mattress. Every movement is magic, his body a sculpted canvas covered with such beautifully detailed designs. I let my eyes drift closed, my lips parting with a pleasured moan as each hard thrust of his cock hits me right in my G-spot. My shoulders skid over the bed, King tugging me back to him every few strokes to keep me close as he continues to drive deep. My whole body shivers in pleasure, white spots marring my vision as I cry out over the throaty growl he makes on each thrust of his hips. “Yes,” I groan. “Fuck me harder.” I taunt him, wanting him to ruin me. God, I think he already has. “Fuck that’s tight, baby. You’re gettin’ so fuckin’ tight.” His jaw is set hard, his brow furrowed with determination as he shunts me farther up the bed with each stroke. We fall apart as one, my cries drowned out by his roar as he stills and pulses inside of me, letting my legs fall at his sides. My cry of pleasure becomes laughter, and before long King’s collapsed on top of me and chuckles as well. “Are you going to be able to control that bike to take me home?” I tease. His legs shake between mine. He laughs and pushes up on one hand to pierce me with those amazing bottle green eyes. My stomach flutters when King then smirks, running his thumb over my lips. “You’re the perfect woman, you know that?” I shake my head and smile. “Oh, I don’t think so.” His hand grips my jaw and he places my face squarely to his. “You are, Elena. You’re perfect to me.” He dots a kiss to the tip of my nose. “You’re all I want.” His words should fill me with joy. I should be over the damn moon that he’s said I’m the one for

him. But all that fills my heart is the echoing ache of a yawning chasm. There’s a hole where my happiness should be, a void created by the future I’ve cheated myself of. He’s all I ever want, too. But my naïve choices have ruined that from being our reality. “You say you want me, but you can’t have me.” I mean it as a sad observation of our predicament, but as soon as the words fall from my lips I realize how bitchy it sounded. I go to take it back, explain what I meant, but the damage is done. King backs off me, his eyes hard, and tosses my clothes on the end of the bed. “I’ll let you clean up before we leave.” “I’m sorry,” I snatch up my tank to cover my nakedness. “It came out wrong.” “You can’t sugar-coat shit and say it ain’t shit, Elena.” He walks around the room to collect his clothes and tugs them on. “You can’t hide the ugly truth of all of this. We’re doomed to be nothing more than fuck-buddies, right?” I choose not to say anything back for fear of bursting into tears. He keeps his back to me as I take my shorts and underwear, and clutch them to me with the tank while I slip into the bathroom. As much as his words hurt, he’s right. I can ignore the truth all I like, but if I go ahead and marry Carlos to secure the ability to pay for Mama’s care, then anything King and I have is redundant. We could continue to meet up for a month of Sunday’s, but we’re still two people sneaking around for the sake of a few brief minutes of pleasure under the guise that one day it’ll be justified. Our meet-ups aren’t dates—we’re having an affair. Cut and dried. Black and white. I can lie to myself all I like, but the truth will always be that I’m selfishly holding on to King, holding him back from true happiness with someone else. Our ‘relationship’ is no more than a beautiful lie to mask the ugly truth of life with Carlos from here on. My heart picks him—I’d be a fool not to. We have a real connection and ease around each other . . . when we’re not fighting. But what good is my happiness when Mama would suffer because of it? I need to know that going forward I can provide for Mama and give her the retirement she deserves. I can do that with the lifestyle Carlos will give me . . . the money. You’re a sell-out, Elena. My skin crawls with the shame of my choice; I never thought I’d marry for money over love. But then again, I also thought I’d be in college by now earning a degree, which would get me the kind of job that could provide a substantial income from my own merits. King doesn’t say a thing when I emerge from the bathroom, dressed and barely holding it together. I gather up my iPod and earbuds and stand by the door while he pulls on his boots, flicking the crown-shaped buckles out of the way. He doesn’t speak to me the whole ride back to the café. The tension aches in my limbs as I hold on to the sides of his cut for stability. Each bump of my knuckles against his sides cause him to stiffen in front of me. I need to fix this, but to what end? We kiss and make up, it only puts a temporary bandage on a festering wound. Sooner or later we’ll be back at this exact same point, arguing over the exact same problem. I dismount once I realize he’s not going to turn the engine off. If only I had the right words to say to at least leave things amicable. Nobody has made me laugh so much. Nobody has ever made me feel so comfortable. I wish I knew how to convey how badly I still need that without coming off heartless and self-serving. Maybe I can’t find the words because there are none? Perhaps I haven’t thought enough about how this affects him? King glances up as I pass him the helmet. His eyes meet mine briefly before he looks across the road and loops the chinstrap over his bars. I need to think of something—fast. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and then clears his throat. “You know where I am if you change your mind.” It’s not a case of changing my mind—it’s a case of changing my circumstance. King has my heart, Carlos has what I need, and Mama has my devotion and loyalty. I’m being torn in different directions

at a crossroads, trying to give a little piece of myself to each without falling apart completely. The stress fractures are starting to show. King fidgets with the brake lever, looking as though he’s ready to leave. I ask him the question that still burns in my mind before I miss the opportunity. “What made you come all this way to find me that day?” He turns his face toward mine and frowns, pain clear in the slow close of his eyes as he pulls in a deep breath. “Because I thought you could’ve been mine.”

NINE King More than once, I’ve had the feeling that a person I’ve met at complete and utter random would end up changing my life. The first time was when I literally bumped into our road captain, Gunner, back when I was a green and underpaid carpenter ’s apprentice. A long day in the summer heat had left me parched, and all I’d been after was a cool beverage to wash the dust and dirt from my throat. What I got instead was a schooling on why, when I apologized for knocking into him, I shouldn’t have slapped his back . . . right on the patch. Ultimate disrespect. I know that now. Lucky for me, they’d had a good day out on a ride with the sister chapter from Cali. Instead of being dragged out to the dirt car park and given a physical reminder of how to respect my elders, I was invited to their table. Never looked back. I didn’t have a hard upbringing, and I’ve still got a healthy relationship with my parents, but sitting at that table and sharing stories that night . . . I’d never felt more a part of something greater than me. I became a prospect the very next week; I rocked up to the clubhouse with what’s now my bobber, bought from what I’d saved as an apprentice, and got voted in by all officers present. Twig was the one who said he’d take me on as my sponsor, and in front of a crowd of mostly drunk members, I was showered with bourbon and given my colors. The colors I wear with pride. The colors that mean I can’t be with Elena if I don’t want to bring the wrath of her fiancé down on innocent people. I’ve been told if I keep my nose out of trouble that I could be up for center patch before the year is out. Anything I do to ruin that chance is suicide. I’d be kicked out and never let back in. I’d be forced to scrounge for another club, and when they checked up on why I’d never earned my full colors with the Aces, I’d be laughed out of the front gates. I’ve got plans, ambition, and ideas. And once I’ve achieved them, then I can go about stirring shit to make Elena mine. That’s if she’ll still want me. I’ve been warned about this by the brothers; women come and go when they learn they can’t compete with the loyalty to the club. Because that’s what this all is when it comes down to it; I’m loyal to my club. If I were Joe-Average, I’d run my chances with her. But I’m not. I’m an Ace, and my respect for these people comes before my happiness. Charter rule number one: the club always comes first. I agreed to that when I lifted the leather that now sits on my back. Nothing’s changed. I sat on my bike at that café for a solid ten minutes after she left, watching the path she’d jogged down. Didn’t expect her to leave first. She took me by surprise, darting off over the road while I battled the need to switch off the bike and stay a while longer with her. Don’t know what I was thinking watching the path after she left—that she’d change her mind and come back to tell me she’d call it off with Carlos? Not likely. She’s engaged to Carlos motherfucking Redmond. How can I compete with that? The man’s got a reputation that precedes him wherever he goes. If she wants to see where things could end up with us, the ball’s in her court. I’ve said my piece, I’ve showed her what I have to offer—the rest is up to Elena.

The ride home to Lincoln was hell. Six hours of nothing but wind whistling past my ears, and troubled thoughts filling my head. I’d left the helmet off to try and distract myself with the feel of my hair whipping about and the burn of the wind on my cheeks. The plan failed. If anything the white noise amplified my unease. The closer I got to the compound, the quicker my inner musings turned from Elena to our current vermin problem. One conundrum to another. How many more times do we need to be shot at, or almost shot at, before they’re finally successful and one of us loses our life? How long is this vendetta between our clubs going to drag one before one side settles it for good? “You with us?” I roll my head to the side where I’m laid out on the back lawn and see Twig’s sideways boots approach. “Just tryin’ to clear my head, man.” “That shit from the other day still botherin’ you?” I nod as I sit up, and tuck my knees inside my elbows to squint up at him. “Among other things.” “Got something that might take your mind off it.” “Yeah?” He nods toward the clubhouse, indicating I should follow. “Got another run to do. Good pay, too.” “Doing what?” “Not a hundred yet.” He steps up onto the deck with me following behind. “Think it’s a basic courier run. Gunner ’s out checkin’ the route now.” “Who’s goin’?” “Apex, myself, and you.” He takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs, pulls out his cigarettes, and offers me one. I take it and bum a light off him as well. “Why me?” Two officers and a prospect? It’s kind of weird. Why not take a fully patched member with them? “It’s your last task before your patch is taken to council.” I can’t stop the smile that takes hold. At last there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. “Thought you’d be happy,” Twig says with a chuckle. “You’ve done good, King.” “Thanks, man.” I drop down to the steps of the deck and stretch my feet out across the back yard. One run and I get my center patch. I haven’t been this excited since my last Christmas at home. Twig waves his cigarette my way. “I mean it, King. You’re loyal as fuck to this club, and you show promise with your initiative. You’ve earned it.” So why does the victory feel so hollow? I’ve dreamt of hearing the words Twig’s just spoken for months on end. I live and breathe the life with the sole purpose of proving my worth. Sure, I’m over the fucking moon at what he’s told me, but something’s different now from when I started this journey. The once straight and easy road has become winding and pitted with holes. Our club, once clean and uncomplicated, is now crossing some serious moral lines with this work we’re doing for Carlos. Carlos. Yeah. There’s the problem, right there. I earn my center patch, I prove my worth doing work for a crazy fucking guy with a God complex, and in the process, that asshole steals the one thing I want as bad a that Fallen Aces emblem stitched onto my leather. Elena. I can’t win both ways. One has to come before the other, and either way I do it, I run the risk of losing both my patch and Elena entirely. All I can do is hope I’ve made the right decision in securing the backing of my brothers before I go rocking the apple cart with one of the most relentless and morally bankrupt drug lords. Otherwise there’s not going to be much point to pulling on my boots anymore.

TEN Elena three days later Papa died last night. How’s that for inconvenient? Now instead of finding a way to make things work with King, I’m going to be preoccupied with organizing a funeral. Not to mention this means I have to return there—to Carlos’s. I’m not ready yet. It feels as though I’m surrendering myself over to a prison sentence, doing time for one stupid mistake. I woke this morning and went in to Papa’s room first thing as usual, to check on him. Instead of the normal slew of insults I’d receive when I opened his curtains a crack, I got nothing. Not even the body-shaking coughs he’d start out each day with. I ran down to the library and called the Home Health nurse first, unsure on what I should do. I knew the day would come, but I’d never thought to ask anyone what happens when a person dies in his or her home—what steps I should follow. The nurse called the authorities, and before long an ominously silent ambulance had arrived to take his body away. I sat on the front step, pondering how bad it would look if I went for another run to process my thoughts while they carted his body out on a stretcher and transported him to the funeral home. It’s not that seeing him go was upsetting—I didn’t want the paramedics to wonder why I wasn’t upset, why there were no signs of tears. I didn’t want to be judged. I do a fine enough job of doing that to myself. The ambulance came and went. Nobody said a thing. The Home Health nurse arrived and asked me how I was. ‘Fine.’ It’s the answer I come out with before I’ve taken the time actually ask myself, how am I? I’m fine. What other answer would I have? Papa’s died, left me here alone, and all I want to do is weep with relief. What sort of daughter does that—wishes for her father to die so he’s less of a burden? This one does. She left soon after, the concern clear as day on her face that I hadn’t moved from the spot she found me in when she arrived. I don’t want to. The sun warming my body as I sit on the front step fills me with a deep sense of being alive. My heart is cold enough without any help from the rest of me. On one hand I’m a fraud, a charlatan—marrying a man I have no emotional connection to. On the other, I’m a woman who’s addicted to the euphoric sense of being whole that only comes from attachment to another ’s soul—King. I miss him already. I have to find a way to prove the strength of what I feel for him. A car door slams, and I look up to find Carlos making his way up the path. My living and working arrangements are temporary now that Papa’s gone, not something I could ever expect to last, and he knows that. “Hello, Elena.” Carlos comes to a stop before me, blocking the sun with his tall frame. “Dearest,” I snarl in return. “Home time.” I narrow my gaze on the asshole, wondering how hard I’d have to think to perform some pyrokinesis miracle and set him on fire. “What if I said no?” I ask, just wanting him to say it one

more time, why it is I can’t walk away and be with King. “Then I make sure you keep your mouth shut, and you know what that means, don’t you?” “I get a bullet wasted on me, and then you feed me to the pigs.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with my rote answer. It’s been drilled into me enough times since I saw him fucking the maid and threw his ring at him. Wish he’d told me that he came with a termination clause when we first went to dinner. “Besides,” he says, “your visa’s expired now that your father ’s gone. Time’s running out if you want to stay in America.” How does he find this stuff out so soon? I hadn’t told him, and he hasn’t been inside to know that Papa’s passed. Eyes and ears everywhere. A brief flash of panic sets a fire in my chest. What if he knows about King? What if he’s been tracking me these past weeks? “How do you know about Papa?” He chuckles and rubs his palm over the light dusting of stubble on his jaw. “Ask no questions, receive no lies.” My hands trace a line up and down my shins. His gaze is hard, and the tug of his lips on one side gives him a malicious quality. Aside from that, I find no trace of suspicion, of anger or betrayal. Nothing to indicate he knows what I’ve been up to. He has me between a rock and a hard place. If I keep refusing him and stay on my non-immigrant visa, I’d be deported within the month, and then what? I’d be back to living in a one-room hovel with Mama? I’m not ready to go back yet, and I get the feeling he’s figured that out. There’s so much promise for me if I can stay in America. I just need the time to work out how I’m going to get my visa changed without having to leave. “You can’t stay here any longer.” Carlos interrupts my thoughts, moving to the side so the sun returns. “Hurry up and get in the car. I’m bored with this.” “Why can’t I stay?” I shield the sun from my eyes with one hand. “I need to sort out Papa’s belongings, pack my things, and make sure all of his—” “Details.” “Kind of significant, don’t you think?” He presses the fingers of his left hand against the front of his thigh. “I’d say you have two, maybe three days before your friends at Border Security make a move.” He scowls down at me. “Don’t you think it’s best if you weren’t anywhere to be found?” Make a move? “What have you done?” “Placed a call. Given you extra motivation to come home.” He smiles. It’s a wolf’s smile—all teeth and promises of death. “I figured you’d be difficult.” He’d probably be quite attractive if it weren’t for the ill intentions written in the depths of his dark eyes. I glance over his shoulder at the roadside. The Escalade sits with its engine running, purring like the panther it is, waiting for instruction to stretch its legs and run . . . with me trapped inside. “Shall we?” He holds out a hand, gesturing down the narrow pathway. “No.” I speak the word, and yet, I don’t believe it. I can’t. I’d be foolish to think my protests would hold out against a man like this—a man who knows everything about me. “I don’t have all day to argue with you, Elena. I’ve got things to do when we get back.” He curls his fingers, beckoning me. “Like the hired help?” I can’t stop myself. My mouth’s always got the better of me. Mama said it would get me killed one day—I’m just pretty sure she was thinking on the streets of Cuba, not in America, when she said it. Carlos chuckles, then runs a hand along the forearm of his suit jacket and smooths it down. “You might be surprised to know that some days it’s easier to fuck somebody who can’t refuse

than spend half an hour arguing with you before you’ll uncross your legs.” His eyes lift to find mine. A repulsed shiver jolts my body. His irises darken in response. “I have something to show you.” “Like what?” I narrow my gaze on him, refusing to budge from the step. “Something that might make you want to plan your wedding sooner rather than later.” Your wedding. He’s absent in all of this; I’m just another business transaction. “You’ve already rubbed it in about my visa,” I grumble. “What else could there be?” “How’s Mama?” he asks, with a sly grin. “Spoken to her lately?” “This morning. Why?” I passed on the news about Papa briefly while I was at the payphone, promising to call her again when I was back at Carlos’s, with a landline that didn’t cost as much as my phone cards. Now I get the feeling I should have worn the cost and talked a little longer. “Heard she’s in a spot of bother.” He inspects the palm of his hand, pressing at the pads with his thumb. My heartbeat echoes in my ears. I’m not sure what I feel shame for more: that he’s made a fool of me by showing he knows more about my life than I do? Or that Mama never told me she was in trouble? “La Muerte,” he says. “They want her shop for business.” That’s nothing new. Mama has a small fruit shop near the waterfront; it’s where I worked most of my teenage years. The shop barely makes enough to cover expenses, but there isn’t anything else a woman in her sixties with the first signs of arthritis can do. The Colombian cartel has been pushing her for ‘space’ for years. They want to hide contraband in her cool room out back. But being the proud woman she is, and knowing how the cartels have ruined our life before, she refuses. “That isn’t anything I don’t already know,” I snap. “What are you hoping for here?” “So you know they stole her delivery from the farm suppliers last week and are holding it as blackmail.” Oh, Mama. Why didn’t she say? She won’t be able to afford to re-order, and even if she did, the assholes would probably take that too. He lifts an eyebrow at my blank stare. “Take it you didn’t, then?” I shake my head, looking to the ground between my feet. She needs to leave, to join me, right now. But I’m not in any position to pay for her flights, or to help her when I’m illegally in the country as it is. Carlos squats before me, pulling the legs of his dress pants up as he drops. “I’m going to make a guess here and say that right now, you wish you could take her away from the danger. Am I right?” “Yes,” I murmur. “It really is a sad story, though. Your mama is so destitute, and here’s her only daughter trying so hard to help, but you’ve been busy caring for your papa, and now that he’s passed, sending money back home would just give away that you’ve found a way to earn illegally.” He lifts my head with a finger to my chin. “Wouldn’t it?” Setting my jaw, I turn my head to the side, ignoring the smug grin playing on his lips. He’s tearing my defenses down using my empathy for Mama. Such an obvious tactic, and so tacky. My saliva feels about the consistency of the cheap glue my old school would make from a mixture of water and flour. I try to swallow it away, and end up creating more in the process. Fuck you. I want to scream it at him. I want to beat his head and chest with my fists. But all I can do under the stress of the moment is cry. Harden up, Elena. “Now, now.” He eyes me as though wanting to comfort me, to seal the deal on this fucking charade of concern he has going on, but something holds him back. Oh yeah, his cold, black heart. “I’m sure we could work something out.” “Why?” I croak. “Why would you do that for me?” There are a million women more beautiful,

less complicated. Why has he picked me to play with? “At first you were a conquest, a little weekend recreation, if you like. Couldn’t believe my luck when I came to check on your father ’s business and found you. Call me the sport hunter chasing the fox.” He waves his hand to indicate we should start walking toward the vehicle. I give in and follow cautiously, keeping out of arm’s reach. “But now? Well, I don’t give things away lightly once I’ve earned them.” He laughs bitterly. “You never earned me. You trapped me.” “Clever girl,” he says smugly, stopping before the car. “And now, you can either stay in the hole I have you in, or run and face being torn apart by the dogs. What will it be, little fox?” He has me—he’s hammered the final nail in my coffin. I knew the danger he was the moment I first opened the door to him, but he dazzled me with his charm and fooled me with his lies. And now I pay the price for being so naïve as to think it would end any differently. Sully gets out of the driver ’s seat and comes around to open our door. “After you.” Carlos gestures to the back seat. “My stuff . . .” I take a step toward the house, halted by Sully’s firm hand to my shoulder. “Sully will collect your belongings later,” Carlos explains, looking back at Papa’s house with his lip curled up in clear disgust. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to get them now?” I duck out of Sully’s hold and take a step toward the front door. Needles fire across my scalp as Carlos brings me to a stop by my ponytail. “No, it wouldn’t. If you live with me, are seen with me, then you’re not bringing half that cheap shit with you.” He lets go of my hair after a tug toward the car. “I tolerated it before, I’m putting my foot down now. It’s better if Sully just collects what’s necessary. Everything else can go.” “You can’t just ditch my things like that,” I protest while I rub my scalp. “I might not have much, but some of that has special meaning to me.” “Harden up,” Carlos sneers. “They’re just possessions. Everything’s replaceable.” I read the message between the lines, shown in the depths of his dark eyes as he stares at me. I’m a possession. I’m replaceable. He jerks his head toward the car, and I climb in, scooting across with a tight chest as he follows and shuts the door to seal us in. So this is my life now? Barters and trades, bribes and scams. As the Escalade pulls away and starts the journey to Carlos’s residence, I rest my head against the window and close my eyes, searching for a happy place. I’m treading water with this man, biding my time until inevitably exhaustion and the sheer size of the ocean I’m swimming in will overwhelm me. One way or another, on his terms or mine, I know I’ll never get out of this alive.

ELEVEN King Every man has his price. The words of my father swirl about my head like the warm mid-summer breeze that whips through my hair as we turn off the I-29 toward our drop-off point. Every man has his price: me, Carlos, who’s paying us to do this fucking run, and the guy that we received the package from two hours ago who smelt like three-day-old piss and vomit. The minute we rolled up to the guy’s shack, I knew something was off. Nobody in their right fucking mind would choose to live in such squalid conditions—not unless they were the kind of person who didn’t care about much at all in life, people included. He answered the door barefoot, wearing a stained gray tank and shredded black running shorts. His fingernails—Jesus—I still haven’t got my fucking appetite back. But it was the smell. When I was a kid, Dad found this owl that had died of natural causes, all curled up under one of the huge trees that bookended our front gate. He brought it home for us to look at—a rare chance to see a wild animal so closely—and it was my first experience with the smell of death. It’s not something you forget easily. And this guy’s shack . . . it reeked of death. I’ve never felt so compelled before to just turn around mid-conversation and leave. I drew a fucking sigh of relief when we finally did, both to be away from that creepy asshole, and because I could in fact breathe again without the odor of things rotting making me want to gag. Road markers welcome us to Kansas City, the ‘heart of America.’ No prizes for guessing whom my mind’s on. It’s been three days since I left her—the longest seventy-two fucking hours of my life. I don’t regret telling her the truth, that we couldn’t carry on what we started without causing trouble. I mean, I either let down her or the club, and for me, I made that choice back when I received the papers telling me I owned my first Harley. What I do regret is that I had to make the choice with Elena. We just click. Witty banter comes so naturally with her, and she gives as good as she gets. I feel like she was more than a one-night stand—she’d become a friend. Mixing those two together, lust, and camaraderie, has got me all kinds of fucked up. I glance across to Twig’s bike as a pick-up buzzes past us, heading in the opposite direction. Strapped to the sissy bar is the box the creeper gave us. Worn down edges are held together by two wide bands of tape that circumvent the whole cube. Whatever ’s inside holds a little weight to it, but it wasn’t too heavy when I strapped it on back at the death shack. Apex doesn’t even know what’s inside. Twig’s none to happy about it, and me? Well, I don’t get to ask. I move my gaze up formation to where Apex leads us, stretching first his right and then his left leg off the pedal to presumably regain feeling in his feet. Everything about this run is shared on a need-to-know basis, and being a prospect, there ain’t much need and a hell of a lot less knowing where I’m concerned. All I know is the job today is a simple in and out. Pick up and drop off. We take the goods from point A to point B without question and without interference. The work Carlos has given us is supposed to pull the club out of the red. It’s no secret between the brothers that the Fallen Aces are in financial trouble. Question is, how did the club get to the point of

there barely being enough in the kitty to rub two fucking coins together? First impressions—they’re what counts. I’ve been told a hundred times already that I need to keep my head down and speak only when spoken to. I’d question why I’m even here on a run with two officers, but I already know the answer to that. Center patch. I’m here to prove my grit, and show I’m worthy of the honor. I’m usually the quiet one, the guy who doesn’t like to cause unnecessary trouble. But I’m also that sneaky fucker who lurks in the shadows, seemingly as calm as a kitten but as dangerous as a fucking tiger. I might be an observer ninety per cent of the time, but I’m also fucking relentless when provoked. So here I am. Quietly observing. Waiting to be provoked. Our procession turns into a quiet suburban stretch off the main road, and we weave and wend through the streets. The steady growl of our engines ricochets off the clean, white walls of the wellkept homes around us. Our wheels roll on, and the manicured hedges of the yards soon give way to broken timber palings, and finally rusty chain link. The average re-sale value more than halves the deeper we go, the houses probably part of what was the original estate in these parts. Our procession slows, and with a tight wrist from Apex, we pull off to the side of the road one by one, backing our bikes against the curb, in order and evenly spaced. Appearances. Everything in life boils down to appearances. Without the deafening tones of the engines running in unison, barking dogs are clear as day, as is the distinct lack of any other sound. The street’s a ghost town. Smart fuckers are probably all inside, hiding behind nicotine-stained blinds, watching what we’re doing here. The creak of leather accompanies the three of us as we dismount, each man stretching his limbs out and groaning as joints pop and crack. We’re not here for a holiday, but after riding as long as we have today, we’re also in no hurry. Apex jams his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels as he takes in the broken-down house before us. “Fuckin’ disgustin’.” He turns his head to the left and spits, not exactly helping add to the place’s street appeal. I walk around my ride to Twig’s bike—a real nice Night Train—and unstrap the cargo as he pulls out a cigarette. My eyes roam the ripped off labels and tags on the box as I do, looking for some clue as to what it originally was. Why? No reason other than curiosity to know more about the people we deal with. I don’t get told much being a prospect, and I wouldn’t say the rule aggravates me, but I feel . . . vulnerable, I guess. When you’re ill informed, you’re ill prepared, and that’s not something that sits well with my nature. “Got your shit together yet, King?” I tuck the last strap into Twig’s saddlebag and hoist the box up. “Aye.” “What do you think is in it?” Twig asks, cigarette bobbing between his lips. He dips his head toward the waiting flame. “None of our business.” Apex takes the box from me. “Probably gear, something like it. The guy we’re doing this for is into class A shit, so who’d know what we’ve got in here exactly, or if it’s even pure.” “You met this guy?” Twig asks, one eye squinting against the smoke that curls up the side of his nose. Apex stares off down the street, clearly avoiding eye contact. “Nup.” “Can’t believe we agreed to transport something without knowing what it fuckin’ was,” Twig mumbles.

“You think I’m that fuckin’ reckless?” Apex prods Twig in the chest with his free hand. “Assurances are it wouldn’t harm us, so unless it’s a tickin’ bomb I couldn’t give a fuck what we’re carrying, only that we’re being paid to do it.” He looks across at me, that ever-present scowl firmly set in place. “King, you have the bikes.” I swear the guy would have a coronary if he smiled. Keeping my eyesight firmly on Apex as he wanders casually up the pathway of a dilapidated single-level dwelling, I hold my hand out toward Twig before he goes. He crosses my palm with his pack of cigarettes, following it quickly with the lighter. “Thought you were giving up?” “There’s a time and a place, and fuckin’ standing around with my finger up my ass while I watch the bikes isn’t it.” “Fair enough, brother.” He hangs about and waits for me to return the pack and lighter before joining Prez. The tobacco crackles as I take a long drag and squint against the setting sun. There are maybe six or seven more houses each side before the street opens out onto a four-lane highway. The area’s nothing like where I grew up amidst overgrown fields, broken down farm machinery, and a stone’s throw away from the nearby creek where I’d fish with a shitty homemade rod and reel. It might have been frugal, but it was real, and it was mine. Times like this, when I’m stuck in suburbia, I pine for it: the open spaces, the smell of rain on the horizon, and the hum of the tractor working the fields behind the house. But things change, and we’d all be fools if we ever thought there was a chance of staying lost in paradise forever. The resounding thud of Apex’s knuckles against the front door snap me from my reminiscing. Twig drops his cigarette butt and screws the toe of his boot into it as the front door opens. A middleaged woman, hair pulled back with grays evident at the edges, looks out at the hulk-ish men on her front stoop. I kind of expect her to slam the door and call the cops, both the kinds of things my mother would have done if she’d been faced with large, leather-clad bikers on her doorstep. But the woman’s face falls, and her head drops, her chin touching her chest as she braces herself with a hand on the doorframe. She was expecting us. A man soon joins her, just as devastated to see the three of us taking up their front yard. From where I stand, I can’t hear what’s being said, but the gestures Apex makes, and the sullen nods they respond with lets me know that it’s somber. That ill feeling of ice washing over my flesh makes an appearance. Something’s off here. The whole thing just seems too . . . pedestrian. Why would three of us have to deliver a couple of kilos of coke or the like? The math doesn’t add up. I watch on as Apex holds out the box to the couple to take and the woman looks at it quizzically, as though although she’d seen him holding it, she hadn’t clued it was for them. What were they expecting if not a delivery? The man takes it off Prez’s hands and places it down on the lip of the doorframe to try and open it. Apex turns to look at me and with a sweep of his hand, gestures I should join them. “Need your knife.” The silence of the street strikes me as I pull the blade from its sheath and offer it to the man. The dogs have quieted since we arrived, replaced by the rustle of the leaves in the trees. The unrelenting hot wind that’s been plaguing us all day picks up, and somewhere a sprinkler starts its subtle rat-tattat. I’d call it the soundtrack to suburban bliss, but I get the feeling the day’s going to end anything but peacefully. The tip of the blade pierces the tape, and the guy passes the knife back to me in order to pull at the

tabs with his fingers. I catch the pop of the cardboard as it breaks the last seal, right as I slip my blade back in its sheath. “Jesus!” the man yells, hands flying from the cardboard as though the material gave him an electric shock. “No. No, no, no . . .” Holy shit . . . Apex goes stiff to my left, muttering under his breath. He runs a heavily ringed hand over his beard and takes a large step backward as Twig moves forward to peer in the box. He turns rapidly away also, hands braced on the back of his neck. What the fuck have we got ourselves into? I kneel opposite the man who’s collapsed on his heels and covered his face with both hands. The scream that breaks from the woman when she finally steps forward isn’t anything I can describe; it’s not fucking human, that’s for sure, and tells so much more than words ever could. Blue fabric pools about her in my peripheral as she slides down the doorframe, her shoulder pulling against the wood while she howls. My interest never leaves the grotesque contents of our delivery. Reaching inside the beaten cardboard cube, I knit my fingers through the whitest blonde hair I’ve ever seen on a little girl—at least, what used to be a little girl. Her head is jammed against the side of the carton, her eyes staring blankly out over my shoulder. Nestled in the soft bedding of her long hair is the head of a younger boy. Fuck, he can’t be more than two years old—all chubby in the cheeks still, and apart from the bruising and hacked flesh where his head’s been sawn roughly from his body, flawless skin. What the fuck is Carlos playing at? The box goes flying, the contents strewn over these people’s entrance as the woman launches to her feet. I move rapidly out of the way as she growls and barges past my position, knocking Apex in the shoulder to run down the path at speed. Twig lunges for her but misses as she heads straight for our bikes. Fuck. An angry, frustrated roar rips from her throat as she shoots both palms out flat and shunts my bike over into Twig’s. “You assholes!” The machines tilt over with a creak and groan of metal on metal. I cringe. God, do I cringe. “Lady!” Twig yells, running toward her. “Hands off!” Apex reaches her first. He wraps his thick arms about her middle and hoists her clean off the ground. She kicks and thrashes in his hold, beating his arms with her fists, and connects her heel to his shins. He carries her back up the path to where her husband stands in the doorway, shocked, the heads of what I can only assume are their kids at his feet. “This is your fault, you spineless fucking asshole,” she screams at the guy, still wrestling against Apex’s hold. He drops her down before the front stoop, keeping her arms behind her back with one of his hands wrapped about her wrists, the other held up to Twig to tell him to put his gun away. “You said they wouldn’t hurt them.” Her voice is deep and strained with her grief. “You said it would be okay.” Her body goes limp and slumps against Apex’s legs as she begins to wail. “What could I do?” the guy asks, taking tentative steps toward her. “What could I have done different?” “All of this happened because of you.” Spittle flies from her lips with the force of the last word. “I fucking hate you!” Her vocal cords crack with the intensity of her words. He kneels down before her, Apex letting the woman’s arms go as her husband reaches out. She recoils and collides with Prez, moving around him to get away. “Don’t fucking touch me, you liar. You keep your filthy fucking hands off me.” Her palms flat on the path, she pushes off to run toward the children’s heads.

My stomach cramps as I watch the way she carefully picks them up and lays them side-by-side, muttering the whole time as tears stream her face. “Oh, my babies . . .” “Wendy . . .” The man stands and turns to her. “Listen to me, please.” His voice builds to a groan with each word. “I think we should probably go,” Twig murmurs to my right. Apex has already returned to his bike and sits astride it as he casually sucks on a cigarette. He stares off down the street as though nothing is going on, like these people aren’t falling apart before our eyes. I guess it’s his way of dealing? Twig steps toward the man and says something about us leaving, when the guy whirls around. He grips Twig by the wrist and bends around him to snatch the revolver from his waistband. “Oh, fuck no.” I pull my Glock out and train it on the guy’s head. I haven’t killed a man, but I’m picking now’s as good a time as any to start. Turns out I never had a thing to worry about. The man had no intention of hurting Twig, or the woman. The guy looks his wife square in the eye and utters a few final words, “I’m sorry for everything,” before turning the barrel on himself and blowing his head half off. Jesus. What the fuck kind of sideshow did we ride up to? Twig dives to the left to try and avoid the mess, but he may as well have been trying to avoid a downpour in the middle of the rainforest. He ends up with blood and brain matter across the side of his face and left shoulder. My heart’s going a hundred clicks a minute; seeing people get shot in the movies? It has nothing, nothing on real life. The guy’s wife screams where she’s sitting in the entrance to their house, her hands still on the top of her children’s heads. She just stares at her husband’s lifeless body, catatonic, and screams. “Come on!” Apex yells from where he’s dismounted amidst the chaos. “We’re fuckin’ out before this shit gets any crazier.” I re-holster my weapon and give the man’s body one last look. He’s sprawled half on the path, half on the lawn, advertising to anyone and everyone that shit most certainly ain’t right around here. What did these people do? What the fuck could a man do that means his children are killed and he feels guilty enough to commit suicide as a consequence? Twig gives me a pat on the shoulder after he retrieves his gun, and turns to head down toward the bikes. I watch him, lost in the gravity of the moment, trying to make sense of what I’ve just witnessed, while he picks up his ride and mine. Apex lifts an apologetic hand to the woman—not that she notices. She’s still screaming. The confusion on Twig’s face when I mount my bike is as palpable as my own. “What the fuck are we doing here?” I ask him before he fires his engine. “This isn’t what we do. This isn’t us.” “I wish I knew.” He lifts his gaze to Apex. “I really wish I could give you an answer there, brother. But I’m still tryin’ to work it out for myself.”

TWELVE King The clink of pool balls mingles with the chime of glass on glass as we step through the entrance to a roadhouse just outside the city. It’s busy, but not crowded, giving us options when it comes to a table far enough away from curious ears to talk. We were given instruction to meet Carlos here after the run, as long as it went successfully. I’m not really sure I call that successful. Twig sets us up against the back wall at a table that’s seen better days, and heads to the bathrooms to clean the remainder of the dried filth from his face and cut. He did his best in the parking lot to wipe the gore off with his T-shirt, before throwing it in the skip at the side of the building, but there’s only so much a man can do without a bit of water. Eyes are on us from all directions. Rough characters aren’t unusual in a place like this, hell, bikers probably aren’t, but what is out of place are our patches. Fallen Aces. We’re sitting in Devil’s Enforcers MC territory. “Nosy fuckers, ain’t they?” Apex grumbles beside me. He spins on his seat to give them his back and looks me square in the eye. “You holdin’ up after that?” “Yeah.” It’s the best answer I can give the guy. I think I am, but I’ve also never seen anything so macabre, so brutal. How long does shock take to set in? I’d like to think I’m not that soft, but fuck, that was some sick shit. Even sicker when I picture the asshole we received the box from. To think his face was the last one those kids got to see . . . it’s the kind of shit that can make a man seek blood, that’s for sure. Twig emerges from the men’s looking albeit wetter, a darn sight cleaner. He stops at the bar, and then returns to the table and places three bottles of beer before us. As though mirroring my previous thought, Apex turns to Twig and asks, “You rung ahead and let the Enforcers know we’d be passing through, right?” “You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He dishes out dog-eared cardboard coasters as if they’re playing cards. “Of course I did.” We slide the coasters under the drinks like the well-raised men we are. A shave might be few and far between for most of us, and after a few days on the road our jeans become what we call ‘slicks’ from all the dirt and grease embedded in the weave, but we aren’t mongrels. We still have manners. “Just checking.” Apex stares across the bar at a guy in a trucker cap whose gut is about as large as the keg of beer he probably consumes each day. “Not in the fuckin’ mood for any more shit today.” The three of us fidget with whatever we can lay our hands on as silence cloaks the table: coasters, bottle labels, even the hem of our sleeves. A thousand questions stream through my mind, but none of them will be voiced. Asking Apex what the fuck he was thinking accepting an unknown load would be the ultimate form of disrespect—I’m not going there, not when I’m dying to get my patch stitched on. “I’m headin’ to the men’s.” The others nod at my statement, and Twig makes room for me to get out from my seat against the wall. Posters on posters line the right-hand wall down to the bathrooms. Concerts, rallies, car shows, and the odd tattoo convention thrown in for variety. I duck left through the door that looks as though it’s had a boot through it on one of the more eventful nights, and do what I came in for before catching my hazy reflection on the way out. Hesitating, I back up a step and turn to face that jaded looking son-of-a-bitch.

My father ’s eyes stare back at me in a face hardened by years of working out in the fields with him as a kid after school. I’ve still got a fair run to go before I have the leather look he does, though. My mother ’s full lips are set in a grim line amidst my unkempt beard. I probably should have given it a trim yesterday, but yesterday I thought I’d be at the clubhouse today. The run was spontaneous, at least for me. I knew it was coming, not when. My eyes track the light blue ‘prospect’ tag that adorns the right panel of my cut. A mirroring rocker fills the lower back of my vest stating Lincoln as our location—the Aces’ mother chapter. But the center patch and top rocker will come when the officers decide, not before. As will the right to be made aware of runs in advance, and of the intentions behind them. I don’t know exactly how bad the club financials are, but it has to be near on critical if Prez is accepting unchecked runs. The guy we picked up from? Unknown to us. The people we dropped off to? Strangers. And the guy we’re doing it for? I wish he was. I splash water over my face in an effort to snap out of the daze I’ve been in since leaving that woman screaming in her doorway. What is she doing now? Did she call the cops? Did the neighbors? The water from the tap smells stale, coppery, and tastes much the same. Spitting out the drops that get caught in my mouth, I wipe a sleeve over my face, run a hand through my Mohawk to catch the stragglers, and head back out to the table to chase the shitty taste of council wine with a beer. I’ve gotta get what went down out of my head. Twig talks firmly to Apex, his shoulders hunched and one finger angrily tapping the screen of his phone as I approach. “He fuckin’ laughed when I told him their reaction. What the fuck is this guy’s deal? What the hell kind of background has he got?” “Ex-cop,” Apex fills us in as I take my seat. “He worked for the detective’s office in Kansas City for a while before retiring on medical grounds.” “Clinically insane?” Twig asks, one eyebrow raised. “Gunshot to the leg. Apparently blew out his knee and left him too fuckin’ slow for the fitness test.” Twig spins his coaster between his fingers, the beer idle on the tabletop. “How much did he pay us for this shit?” “Enough,” Apex barks. “He comin’ here?” Twig nods. “Said he’d be ten at the most, but he’ll be here.” “Good. I want to measure up the guy with my own two eyes, not on Judas’s advice.” Carlos is coming here. Jesus. My head goes crazy trying to work out the possibility of him bringing Elena. Is she still at her dad’s? Will he bring her to something like this if she’s not? Fuck me . . . “I ain’t never seen anything like it,” Twig muses, snapping me out of my daydream. “Hope we’re never going to carry anythin’ like it again,” I say. Apex leans to the side and pulls his billfold out. Tossing me a couple of notes, he tips his head toward the bar. “Go order us some wings or something, yeah?” Dismissal at its finest. I snatch up the cash and rise from my seat again. The crown-shaped buckles on my boots clink as I walk across the floor space, and I’m definitely not oblivious to the patrons watching me as I go. Two old-timers give me their backs as I approach the bar. No skin off my nose. I’d rather be ignored than assaulted, be it verbally or physically—I’ve had both. “What can I get you?” The barmaid glares at me from black-rimmed eyes, her fingers gripping the serving side of the counter with more than a little tenacity. Either she’s just had one hell of a customer, or this woman walks through life with a fuckin’ huge chip on her shoulder. She wears angry like it’s a comfortable sweater. “You have a menu?”

She reaches under the lip of the counter and produces a laminated sheet that’s seen better days. “We’re out of shrimp.” She has to be pushing sixty, and if her figure is anything to go by, I get the feeling she was a knockout in her day. “I’ll grab the wings and a basket of nachos.” She holds her hand out for the menu. “Actually, make that two nachos.” They’re one of the few things in life Twig removes the toothpick in his mouth that gave him his name for. “Table?” She tugs the menu from my grasp. I gesture with my thumb to where the others are. If a single look alone could bring down the wrath of hell, she would have incinerated those assholes where they sat. “You got a problem with us?” I ask, as I slap the notes on the counter. I don’t take to disrespect lightly. “I got a problem with everyone.” She snatches the bills from between us. Her bleached hair whips around in an arc as she turns heel and stalks over to the small window that connects the bar area to the kitchen and passes over the order. Looks like she’s taken her tip then. I coast my gaze over the walls while I wait. I could return to the table, but what for? Apex clearly doesn’t want my input, and to be honest, it’s fucking depressing, rehashing what we just saw. Nothing’s going to change the fact that there’s a woman out there who’s life just got shredded with one fucking box delivered by our hands. “King!” I turn away from the bar and lift my chin at Twig. “You ordered?” he asks. I nod. “Got any change for a round?” It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t really care if I do or not. It’s his subtle way of letting me know I shouldn’t return to the table dry. Pulling my wallet out of the breast pocket of my work shirt, I slap it down on the counter loud enough for our lovely barmaid to hear. She casts a sideways glance my way, and then shifts between her feet, fussing with a row of sauce bottles. Damn woman. I clear my throat, noticing the two old-timers have shifted slightly so they can watch the interaction. Bets are this woman does this to ’most everyone, and I’m now playing the leading role in some nightly spectacular. “Bit of service?” I state loudly. “I’ll have your damn order in a minute,” she barks. “Woman,” I say, frustrated by more shit on what seems to be shaping up for a day of it. “You trying to bankrupt this place?” The look she lances me with sends my balls scrambling back inside for refuge. Fuck me. I take a step back, fully intent on rounding to her side and giving her a lesson in customer service when a thick hand slams down on my shoulder. “You fuckin’ deaf, bitch?” Apex’s booming voice shakes me where I stand; I didn’t hear the asshole approach. “My boy here wants to get us another fuckin’ drink. You got a problem with serving our club?” That gets her attention. With an arch of her back, she straightens up and stalks towards us. Great. Nothing makes a man feel more inadequate than A, being ignored by a woman, and B, having his boss come through to sort things out for him. “Thanks, but I got this,” I say, holding a hand up before Apex. The barmaid reaches the spot opposite us.

“Don’t look like you do, King.” Apex places both palms on the bar and leans across so his face is mere inches from hers. “This round’s on you.” She laughs. Fucking full-on snorts in his face. She’s dead . . . “I ain’t kiddin’ around, woman.” I take a step back as Apex pushes off and lunges across the counter to take a hold of her by the front of her ridiculously tight tank top. Mutton dressed as lamb, much? Her eyes go as wide as saucers for a mere fraction of a second before that jaded, angry glower returns. The two old-timers to my left casually raise their drinks for another swig. “Take your fucking hands off me.” She grips Apex about the wrist and digs her nails in. “Come on, Prez,” I urge. “She’s no use if she can’t even get the drinks.” He spits in her face and then lets go, stalking back to the table with an angry finger pointed her way. “It’s on you, bitch. This round is free.” “Hey, I’m sorry about that.” I hold out a napkin off the counter for her to wipe her face with. “We’ve had a rough day.” To say the least. She rips the napkin so violently from my grasp that I’m left holding the corner. “Don’t.” “What? Apologize?” “Patronize me,” she snarls. “You’re young enough to be my fucking grandson.” “Hey.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m genuine. Don’t believe in violence towards women.” “Then why are you setting yourself up to be a part of a group who do?” She nods toward my ‘prospect’ badge. “Because there’s more to who they are than what people like you choose to see.” “People like me?” She shakes her head as she bins the napkin. “And who exactly are people like me?” The glass clangs loudly as she rips fresh bottles from the fridge. “People who have a ‘problem with everyone.’” She pushes the bottles towards me and then places both hands on the counter, hanging her head between her arms. A sigh causes her body to heave. “It’s been a long week, okay?” Her words are spoken to the floor between her feet, muffled by the bar ’s hum that’s slowly returned since the altercation. “You gotta treat each day as a fresh start.” I bundle the drinks up ready to go when she lifts her face up to meet my gaze. “Makes the day’s problems easier to deal with when you’re not still worrying about yesterday’s.” “Is that what you do?” “Try to.” And after what I’ve seen tonight, I’ll be trying a hell of a lot more. I leave her with a smile and return to the table, placing the drinks down before the brothers. The next five or so minutes go quickly, as do our drinks. Carlos better not keep us waiting too long. The three of us keep this pace up, we’ll be asking the barmaid if she knows of a motel in walking distance. Twig makes a remark about one of the brothers in the Cali chapter that has Apex chuckling. The alcohol must be doing its job, considering the mood we came in here with. “Am I missing out on all the fun?” The laughter stops on a dime, the atmosphere falling flat as we all turn our heads towards our newcomer. “Carlos, I take it?” Apex asks, narrowing his gaze on the man. The guy’s an easy six foot, and gray as Santa himself, but the tautness of his skin and light in his eyes shows his true age. A silver fox, the girls call men like him—young but gray before their time. So this is who she chose? “None other.” Carlos pulls a free seat out at the large table, smoothing his ice-white suit before he carefully perches himself on the wooden chair as though he’s running the risk of catching something

by even being here. He sits to my direct left, close enough that I can smell what I imagine is expensive cologne, given how perfectly trimmed and groomed the asshole is. I can’t say what I expected, but it sure as fuck wasn’t Miami Vice. “I got one question for you,” Apex says, leaning forward with both elbows on the table. He sits directly opposite Carlos, and they stare each other down across the four feet of timber between them. “Why did you pick us for your dirty work?” I look over Carlos’s shoulder to scan the bar. She wouldn’t be here, surely. Even if she had returned to his place, my guess is he wouldn’t bring Elena with him on ‘business.’ Doesn’t make sense to. Still, a man can hope. “I’m led to believe I have information that you’d like—names, places, that kind of thing,” Carlos answers Apex. “And since I’m not in the business of giving anything away for free, I’m going to use you every way I can in exchange.” Twig narrows his gaze on the guy. “Why was this never brought up before? Hooch told us our only sweetener was the ridiculous amount you’d put on the table.” “That would be because that was all I told Judas.” Judas. The president of our southern chapter and Hooch’s old man. “What’s your game?” Apex asks. “What you playin’ at?” “Answer me honestly—if I told you I had information before you did the run, you would have tried to blackmail it out of me instead, right?” Carlos pulls a bullet—of all fucking things—from his pocket and places it on the table before him. “I hope you’re not planning on giving me bad news, Apex? I don’t take lightly to a change of mind.” He spins the bullet between his fingers, staring at it with a cocky half-smile on his face. I’m itching to say something, to tell him he’s fucking with the wrong people, but I have no voice— not until I wear the same privilege on my back as two of the men at this table. It can’t be as simple as him offering a favor. He has to have an ulterior motive. Twig voices my thoughts for me. “You realize who you’re talkin’ to, cunt?” “Do you?” Carlos retorts. “Tell me, how good does it feel to know you’ll be freehold on your house next year?” A pin drop would be deafening in that moment. I take a second to look around the bar and realize half the patrons have left, and the others have moved to a safer distance from our position. Seems it’s not just us who feel the tension in the air. An enormous beefcake of a guy stands at the bar, one elbow on the counter while he watches us in his all-black suit. Bodyguard, I take it. Twig leans forward slowly, one arm braced on the table. His other moves to his hip where his revolver is holstered. “You threatenin’ me?” Twig’s clothes still have the odd stained remnant of the asshole back at the house over them—what he couldn’t wash off, I guess. To anybody else, he’d be downright menacing, but not this guy. Not Carlos. Instead, he picks at something on his bullet, unaffected. “It’s a real nice house, too. Bet it cost a pretty penny. Was all that money legitimate?” Twig whips his gun above the table, pointing it at Carlos’s head. A click sounds to our left, and fuck me if one of the old-timers doesn’t have a sight trained on Twig as well. Carlos, the sneaky fucker, had eyes on us from the start. “How about you go check where our food’s at?” Apex waves a hand to gain my attention, and effectively shuns me to the other side of the room like a child from the adults’ table at a dinner party. I hang about for a second, staring down the sharp-dressed asshole to my left. I might take orders from Prez, but it doesn’t mean Carlos can assume I’m always going to bitch out. The barmaid watches me with the now familiar frown on her face as I approach. “What the fuck is

that all about?” she hisses under her breath as I slide on to a stool. I eye the bodyguard at the other end. “Those nachos ready, love?” “Cook just ran his white ass out the back door the minute he saw old Salty Balls’ gun here.” She points to the old-timer who’s re-holstering now Twig’s withdrawn his weapon. “You know him?” She gestures with her chin to Carlos. “Nup.” Not personally. Not yet. I eye the prick as he casually moves the bullet in ninety-degree increments on the table while he talks. The bodyguard pushes off from the counter at speed, hustling toward the door. The commotion draws my attention as I swivel around on the stool. And there she is. Eyes wide like a fucking deer in the headlights, she stands inside the entrance to the roadhouse and looks around. Her gaze meets mine and fuck it all, it’s just me and her in this shithole. No one else. Until that fucking strongman wannabe cuts in between, standing in front of her. She exchanges a few terse words with him, and the movement draws Apex’s eye from the table. Carlos turns in his seat, resting an elbow on the back of it, and scowls at her. He looks like he wants to kill her. And with the way that has me itching, I could totally start my body count with him, too. “I told you to stay in the car,” he hollers. “I need the bathroom.” She holds her ground and glares back at him. Beautiful. Carlos sighs, as though her needs put him out. “Fine.” He waves a hand at the bodyguard. “Sort her out, Sully.” I’m glued to my fucking seat, paralyzed as she walks by with Sully following close behind. Those rich brown eyes find mine, although her head stays facing forward. She’s doing a better job than I am of remaining unaffected. Sully lets her go at the start to the hallway, points out the door she needs, and returns to his previous position. “Those nachos might be a while,” the barmaid cuts in. I turn to look at her over my shoulder. “Beans are burnt.” “Just take your time.” Because I’ve got other plans. Apex. Twig, and Carlos have resumed conversation; the three of them lean in over the table, keeping their heads close and the noise down. I check out the bodyguard and find him staring at some young thing’s ass as she bends over the pool table on the opposite side of the bar from where we are. Now or never. Slipping to my left, I walk toward the bathrooms, doing everything I can to relax my tense fucking muscles and come off as casual. The hallway is dim, thanks to two bulbs that need replacing. I position myself between them and find the shadows to wait. Moments later, she walks through the doorway with her head down and comes to a complete stop. Elena’s chin lifts slowly, her gaze dragging from my boots, all the way up my body to my eyes. “I didn’t know it was you.” I frown. What the hell is she on about? She can’t have forgotten me that quickly? “That he was meeting with.” She steps closer. Her slender hands hover over my chest before she slowly lays them down. Her touch burns in the most amazing way. I trap her wrists in my grasp and check to our left. Nobody in sight. She sighs as I place a kiss to her forehead. “What are you doing here? I ask. “Why aren’t you at your dad’s?” “Papa died.” She stares blankly at the neckline of my T-shirt. “I had no reason to stay there anymore.” “Shit, I’m sorry.” I know they weren’t close, but fuck, it was her dad.

“Don’t be.” She tips her face up, and smiles. “What’s important is I’m here now. We were on our way out to dinner, but he got the call from your guy.” “Twig.” She nods. Her brow furrows, and her gaze drifts to her shoulder as I fidget with the strap of her tank. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” I let the strap go at pat it in place. “Didn’t realize how hard it was to walk away from you until you were gone.” Her hands clench slightly, pressing into my skin. “Technically, I walked away from you.” “Are you always going to fuckin’ do that?” I ask with a hint of humor. “Do what?” “Correct me?” “As long as you need it.” She lifts her head and settles her sights on my face. “You look tired.” “Hell of a day.” Elena glances to her right, giving me a perfect profile. “They’ll see us. I better go.” “They’re busy.” “But Sully—” “Won’t find you if you’re not in the hallway.” I jerk my head toward the bar. “Anyone watchin’ the car?” She shakes her head. “Good. Go back out there. I’ll tell them I’m checkin’ the bikes.” “Will they believe it?” “It’s my job.” I wink at her and earn a smile. “Okay.” I let go of her wrists and she pats me on the chest with a small chuckle. “I’m nervous.” “Be crazy if you weren’t.” Checking the way’s clear again, I wrap a quick hand around the side of her neck and tilt her face up to mine with my thumb under her jaw. She makes a pained groan as I take her lips between my own, and scrunches up her face although she never tries to break away. “I’ve missed you,” she murmurs after I pull back to check she’s okay. “Missed you too, baby.” She touches her finger to my cheek and smiles. “Let’s do this, then.” Elena pushes up on her toes and gives me another chaste kiss. “See you in ten.” I pull her back to me and tease her lips with my tongue, coaxing her to open up and give me more of what I need, not that prissy-ass tease she gave just now. She steps back when I release her, fingers to her lips with a coy smile as she turns and walks away. I’m going to have to gamble that the meeting’s going to drag on long enough that I can leave time between our exits. I don’t want to draw suspicion by walking out straight after her. “King!” I groan at Apex’s bark when I emerge from the hallway. I thumb back toward the men’s and lift my brows as if to ask what else I was supposed to do. “Sorting the food out now, Prez.” The barmaid slides the waiting nacho baskets and a plate of wings along the counter. “Here you go, love.” I give her a small smile and grab them, balancing the plate on my arm while I tote all three items across the room to the table. Twig moves aside to give me room to put the food down. I round the table to take my seat again and complete the lie that this is where I’d most like to be right now. Carlos snags one of the wings, and then drops it twice as quick. “Sorry.” I give him my best smirk. “Did I forget to say they’re hot?” He picks one of the paper napkins up and rubs his fingers clean, all the while eyeballing me as

Twig snickers to our left. “Hope you didn’t burn your tongue.” The urge to push him is too strong. Seeing Elena again has fueled the hate I have for this man tenfold. Carlos eyes me with the same frustration you’d give an unwanted trick-or-treater at Halloween, and then smiles. It’s the type of tight-lipped grin that leaves a chill racing down my spine and me questioning what the fuck I started. “Same as your momma burnt her wrist bad enough cooking Thanksgiving dinner this year that she ended up at after-hours?” Fuckin’ know-it-all. “Just like that,” I mutter, pulling my heel back to reach for the knife that’s always in my boot. “I wouldn’t,” the silver fox warns, his side still turned to me. “Josef isn’t the only man I have in here.” He gestures over his shoulder to the old-timer who raised the gun earlier. Fuck. I’m going to have to watch everyone on my way out of here. I’m starting to get the hunch that the entire remaining clientele might be his. Carlos smirks, taunting me with his cockiness. My hand itches to feel the familiar grain of the knife’s wooden handle in my grasp. He wants to smile—I could make him fucking smile. Side to side, ear to ear. Apex flicks his gaze to me. The hard set of his brow conveys a clear warning to rein it in. “How about we get to the point of this meeting, Carlos?” “I thought we’d discussed that,” the asshole answers him. “I have information you need, you have resources that I have use for—it’s a fair exchange.” “Nothing about this is fair.” Apex snags a wing from the basket and sucks the meat clean off, waving the bones at Carlos as he speaks. “We didn’t deal in blood until today, and you fuckin’ knew that. Our club isn’t squeaky, but we kept it harmless.” “It still is. You carried that package for me; it has no repercussions on your ‘merry band of men.’” “Bullshit. It has every fuckin’ repercussion. You’re setting us up with a reputation I’m not comfortable with.” “Your problem, not mine.” “We aren’t dealin’ if that’s the kind of shit you want us doin’.” Apex flings the bones beside the basket and leans back, both hands gripping the edge of the table. “You want to walk away?” Carlos rolls the bullet still before him under his palm, his eyes glazed as he stares at the movement of his hand. “That’s exactly what we’ll do.” “Try it.” “Excuse me?” The air around us chills a few degrees as Carlos lets out a low chuckle. “I know everything about you assholes. You refuse to do this for me, I’ll pick apart your worlds, one family member at a time.” “Why the fuck do you need us so badly?” Twig asks. “What have we got that you don’t?” “Anonymity.” Apex snorts. “Are you kiddin’? You heard what went down last week with the Blood Eagles.” “I did.” He chuckles quietly to himself. “Even so, you’re still invisible.” The three of us stare at the guy like he’s crazy. Well . . . “You’re a common sight,” Carlos explains. “People see you come and go, and they knowingly turn a blind eye, forget they saw you. My men”—he slaps a palm to his chest—“wouldn’t get more than twenty miles before people started asking questions. We’re not commonplace, and we’re not familiar. You bikers can get around in plain daylight unnoticed. My men can’t.” “Your problem, not ours.” I echo his earlier remark.

Carlos drops his hand to the table and spins slowly in his seat to face me. “Is that so?” “That’s so.” Carlos’s nostrils flare as he stares me down. “Your Girl Guide badge here says ‘prospect’”—he points to my cut—“and yet you sit there like you’re fucking royalty, King.” He comes short of actually spitting my name. “Well then, given you’re sitting to my left, that would make you the fool, right?” The blow comes out of nowhere. Carlos raises his right arm, and before I know what’s coming, he backhands me across the jaw. My chair wobbles beneath me, a firm hand from Twig stuck squarely in my gut after he rights me is the only thing that holds me back from tackling this fucker to the ground. Apex pulls a gun on Carlos somewhere amidst the chaos, old Josef matching him. “Everybody calm the fuck down,” Apex roars. Carlos chuckles beside me. “Know your place, boy.” I resolve right there and then that one day, no matter how, my place will be above this asshole, looking down on him as he breathes his last. Apex tucks his weapon away, and scrubs a hand over his face. “Gettin’ back to business—what say we did agree to a set amount of runs? What is this information that you have? What do you think I’m going to be so damn keen for?” “Denver, 1997.” Apex’s eyes narrow at the time and place. He pinches his forefinger and thumb across his lips in contemplation as he processes the tease Carlos has delivered. “What would you be able to tell us about that?” I’ve heard about Denver, but it happened way before I even begun to hang around the club. The story goes that the Aces were promised safe passage through the Blood Eagles MC territory on a run back from our Californian chapter. Apex had jacked up with their president a one-night pass for the brothers—a night to stop, refuel, and rest up after a few drinks at the local. Problem was a brighteyed, trigger-happy prospect hadn’t got the memo—or so our club was told afterward. Keen to prove his grit, he blew a hole through two of our members before one of our own put him to ground. The Blood Eagles president wasn’t happy being denied the right to process and punish the kid as their club deemed fit, and ever since it’s meant the Aces have to add an hour on to the journey west to detour the city. It’s what started our dispute with the club. “I have a recording of the president of the Eagles with the chief of police,” Carlos says. “In it, he asks him to turn a blind eye to what would unfold that weekend. The message is coded, but any monkey with half a functioning brain cell could work it out.” The truth began to surface after the incident, and apparently the whole thing was a jack-up to try and take our officers down; the Blood Eagles have been attempting to spread east for years, and Lincoln is on their radar. Only thing is, nobody had the hard evidence to prove the shooting was a planned hit, not just a renegade prospect, as we were led to believe. Apex’s lip curls in a sneer. “And what you want for it?” “Three more runs.” “Doing what?” he barks. “We don’t deal in death, so it better be somethin’ fuckin’ pedestrian like pharmaceuticals.” “Guess you don’t want the proof that badly then?” Carlos pockets his bullet, and reaches across the table to snag a nacho, turning it over and over to wind the stringy cheese about it. “We’re a one-percent club, that’s public knowledge, but fuck, man, even we have standards,” Apex explains. “Really?” Carlos lifts an eyebrow before taking a bite. “I’m goin’ to check the bikes, Prez.” I scowl at Carlos, giving Apex the impression I’m just out for

a breather. It’s not too far from the truth. Apex gives me his nod of approval and continues the discussion with Carlos as I walk away. If they’re going to run over details and terms, I’ve probably got ten minutes tops before things start to break away. Sully gives me the once-over as I pull a smoke from my pack on the way out the door. I give him a tip of my chin, doing exactly what I would have done if I really were going to check the bikes. I mean, I will, but that’s not all I’ll be checking while I’m out there. He doesn’t need to know that, though. Crisp evening air hits me as I push through the exit, as does the smell of rain in the air. The bikes are just as we left them—lined up and shining under the glow of the security light. I circle each one with a freshly-lit cigarette, eyes roaming the machines for anything that seems off, and satisfied we’re not about to be blown apart by some homemade bomb care of one Carlos Redmond, I turn my sights on the car park. Across the far side, parked by itself along the fence that runs down the side of the property, is the black Escalade with the white emblem I’ve been told is his. And standing beside it, one foot braced against the wheel as she leans against the bodywork, is the woman I have no doubt will be the death of me.

THIRTEEN Elena Stalking across the car park in his dark denim, black T-shirt, and leather cut, he looks every part the dangerous menace society love to make bikers out to be. Yeah, there’s always going to be some with hearts blacker than the pits of hell, but men like those can be found everywhere—not just in MC clubs. My soon-to-be husband is proof of that. King though, I’ve seen his heart and it’s pure. He just doesn’t realize it. His face is stern, a frown pulling his brow together, and his chin tipped downward. A smoke burns brightly in one hand, the orange tip rising with every few steps he takes. He looks angry, like he could maul me, and damn how my body reacts. The cotton of my tank does nothing to hide my arousal as he comes to a stop before me with the crunch of gravel under his boots. “You gotta move,” he growls, extinguishing the cigarette butt under his toe. “Don’t want you seen.” “What’s the matter?” I ask, following him around to the other side of the Escalade. “Need you,” is all he says before taking my face in his hands and crushing his mouth to mine. I tilt my head in his grasp, allowing his tongue entrance. The bitter after-taste of smoke is on his breath, mixed with bourbon, but it’s so him that I find I don’t care. He pulls back and looks me in the eye, finally cracking a smile. “You got me under a spell, woman.” “That a good thing?” I lift an eyebrow at him. “When I’m with you.” He traces the lines of my cheekbones with his thumbs and then skims his hands down my neck to rest around my throat. “When I’m not it makes me crazy.” “Tell me how I can leave this behind without putting anyone in danger, and I’m yours,” I plead. I reach out and place my hands on his hips, pulling his lower body against mine. “Show me a way out.” King shakes his head, his hands flexing gently around my windpipe. “It can’t be done yet. I don’t have enough sway, baby.” “What do you mean?” Sway with what? His eyes appear forest green in the dim light of the car park. “Wait ’til I get my patch. Wait ’til I have men who’ll back me up. Fighting for you on my own is suicide against a man like Carlos. If I’m gonna start that kind of fight, I wanna know I’ll win” He wants me to wait. How? Every day with Carlos is a gamble. The man’s temper is so volatile I never know if he’s going to laugh at me or try to kill me. “I don’t know if I can.” Kings hands drop away and he steps back, his face pained. I reach out and tuck my fingers in the neck of his T-shirt, tugging him toward me. “I’m not done with you, yet.” “Why do we do this every time we see each other?” he asks. “If you can’t picture a future with me, then why talk about it at all?” I take a moment to pull myself together as his hands roam a path over my hips and butt, distracting me. “I do see a future with you,” I tell him. “It’s just that my future with you starts now, whereas yours . . . there’s no date on it.” “Club comes first,” he murmurs, burying his face in my neck. “You know that. I rock the boat, I fuck up everything the club’s workin’ for right now. Can’t do that, baby. Fuckin’ want to, but I can’t.”

“I know that.” My hands fist in his hair. I yank hard, a dire need overtaking me to pass on the pain he’s causing—and then I remember he likes it. The vibrations from his growl tickle my shoulder as he skims his lips over the exposed flesh. “I like these.” He loops his thumbs in the sides of my leather pants and tugs. “How much?” My back arches as he places a palm over my breast, squeezing and teasing the hard nipple with his thumb. “Enough to wish I could take them off.” I’d drop them in a heartbeat for him, but I know why I shouldn’t—why he said he wouldn’t. How would I explain away missing clothes if Sully or Carlos came out here? He pushes a hand under the back of my tank, splaying it across my lower back and forcing me to arc my back further, pushing my tits toward his face. He dips his head and teases one nipple and then the other with his teeth through the cotton of my top. “What are you going to do instead?” My words are hushed and breathless. “You a gambling woman?” “Why?” “Want to place bets on how long it is until somebody comes lookin’ for me?” He raises his head, smirking as his eyes find mine. I lift his wrist, looking at the thick leather watch with skulls on the strap. “I give us three minutes.” “Six. They’re pretty busy in there.” My hands fly to his buckle and work frantically at it. He helps me out, flicking it open, and rips the button at the top of his jeans from the eye. I tug his zipper down, my top teeth biting into my bottom lip with my concentration. He grapples at the top of my leathers, mirroring what I’ve just done to him, but my elevated body heat has stuck the damn things to me like glue. “Damn it.” I push him back and wrestle them painstakingly slowly down over my hips. He places a hand on mine and stills me as soon as my panties come into view. “That’ll do.” My breath catches when he spins me around and places a hand between my shoulder blades to force me over ninety degrees. In this position, everything down there is on perfect display for him. I brace myself on the running board of the car to keep balance as he fingers the wet material of my panties. Folding at the knees, he drops down to his haunches and pulls the thin strip of fabric aside to run a finger through my slick heat. I groan and rock my hips, seeking more. His finger sweeps the length of my pussy again, and he leans around the side of me. I sigh as he licks his finger clean, causing a fluttering low in my gut. “Sweetest thing ever.” I drop my right shoulder and push my arm between my legs, reaching for his straining cock. It twitches as he plays with me, taunting me with how hard it is. King shuffles a little closer, making it possible for me to reach without changing my position, jammed up against the car. One stroke, two, and then a swipe across the head with my thumb. He pauses in his play of my pussy and groans. “Fuck, that felt like heaven.” King’s eyes snap open, and with a crack, he slaps me hard on the ass. My back arches as he runs his tongue up me in one smooth, firm stroke, making me groan. My body responds, giving him more, and he laps at me like an eager puppy, probing every now and again with a stiff tongue into my center. My knees quake, and he shifts his hands above the back of them to hold me upright as my hand slips from his dick, lost in my pleasure. King pulls back, resting on his heels to check the time. My back aches, and unable to hold this position much longer, I stand and place my hands on the driver ’s side rear window of the Escalade. King stands as well, taking hold of my ponytail and whipping his wrist in a quick circle to take firm

hold. He’s in command of me—every part of me. I’m ready to obey. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he growls, knocking my feet a little wider. My chest expands and subsides with each breath, a muscle in the back of my leg twitching involuntarily. His palm sweeps lazily over my ass and then delivers a sharp smack to the right. What the hell did I do to deserve this man showing an interest in me? He reads my body so well, delivering exactly what I need. He plays on the edge of my limits, testing the boundaries every time we’re together. I hiss between my teeth as he rubs the sore spot on my butt and then presses his lips to it, almost as though apologizing. “I better not do that again in case it leaves a mark.” Again, Carlos hangs over our situation like a dark cloud. “Don’t talk about him,” I plead. “All I want to think about right now is you.” “You will, baby. Pretty sure my cock’s gonna be the only thing on your mind in a second.” He threads his fingers under the thin strip of fabric between my cheeks, hooking it over the back of his hand and pushing it to the side to lay his palm over my butt. King holds my panties out of the way while he lines himself up with my entrance, nudging the head of his cock inside. I pull in a stuttered breath as he hisses through his gritted teeth. I could hang in this moment forever, trapped between the desperate need to have him inside me, and the free-fall toward climax. He pushes slowly against me, and I relish every inch as it disappears inside. “Woman . . .” “Again.” I want to feel every ridge as he sinks himself inside my pussy over and over. King pivots his hips back, and then slides inside a little faster. “Harder.” He does as told, ever the dutiful soldier. The balance of power has shifted and neither of us seem to mind. I push against him when he reaches the hilt, searching for more . . . something. Length? Pressure? Friction? Pain. “I need you to make it hurt,” I say. “Fuck me hard.” I need to feel punished for doing something so wrong. “Jesus, Elena.” He pulls out and drives back in, using the grip in my hair to pull my body against him. The slap of skin on skin echoes off the car. He pounds relentlessly into me, his knees colliding with the back of mine. At this pace I won’t last long, but we don’t have time to take it slow and enjoy ourselves tonight; it won’t be long before somebody comes to see where he’s gone. In, out. Again, and again. My legs are weak, my muscles contracting as quick as he slams into me. I don’t think I can hold on. “If you need to come,” he growls, my head hurting from his punishing grip in my hair, “then do it.” King reaches his free hand around me, moving it from my panties to rub over my clit. I reach back and hold the fabric out of the way as he continues to drive hard, and unforgiving—just how I need. My stomach contracts, my back arcing. I’m going to lose it. Garbled moans fall from my lips before I can think of how loud I’m being. His hand clamps down over my mouth to keep me quiet. I come. Restrained in his hold and being punished, I come. He follows me soon after, his movements losing rhythm. His chest touches my back as he collapses over me in exhaustion. I’m still catching my breath when he lays a kiss on my spine and pulls out. “Don’t know if that’s gonna help or make me miss you more. “ He re-buckles his jeans and steps away as I straighten up.

“I know it’ll make me miss you more,” I admit. I miss him just thinking about missing him. “Better get back inside,” he says, stepping forward to stroke some hair off my cheek. His eyes sweep my face, his eyebrows peaked in what appears to either be regret or pain. Maybe both. “Too fucking beautiful to be mine.” And with those words he leaves, walking away from me as I open the door of the Escalade to get some tissues from my purse. I duck out from the car in time to catch a glimpse of him as he opens the door to the roadhouse and steps inside . . . away from me. Back to them.

FOURTEEN King The wings smell fuckin’ divine, but I’ve lost my appetite since sitting down beside this bastard again. My hands walk an impatient path up and down my denim-clad thighs. I feel filthy walking away like that, but my gut told me two more minutes and I would have been confronted with this asshole. And I think I was right. What I’d do to be balls deep inside Elena again, pretending none of this is happening . . . “You had us deliver the heads of their kids like we were the fuckin’ angels of death,” Twig snaps, bringing my focus back to the table. “I’ve got kids of my own, man. That was fuckin’ harsh.” Seems the conversation’s swung back to today’s events again. “Pretty girls, too,” Carlos taunts. Twig’s chair scrapes loudly across the timber floor, but Apex snags him by the back of his cut. “Pull that shit in and sit on it.” Twig follows orders, righting his abandoned chair, and sits his ass down. Red flushes through his face in waves. He loves his daughters something fierce. I’ve seen him cut a man for denying them the last drop of juice in the fridge at the clubhouse. Carlos has us by the balls, and every man at the table knows it. Our club’s looked for a reason to rain hell down on the Blood Eagles for what they did for years. The old boys talk about it, and the prospects speculate about what that kind of feud would be like. Threats or no threats, the deal he’s offering isn’t going to be left on the table unanswered. What else can we do but accept his terms? He holds all the fucking cards. An extra one, in my case. “We need clear inventory on what’s in each delivery,” Apex states. “I’m not having that kind of fuckin’ crap sprung on us again.” “Fine,” Carlos says, waving him off dismissively. “Whatever makes you rest easy.” “What if my men had been pulled over with that?” Apex continues. “We would have been pinned with murder. I’m not havin’ us do time for you, asshole. You ain’t payin’ that much and we don’t owe you nothin’.” “Then I’ll double your pay.” He licks his fingers clean. “Even though the evidence would have led right back to me.” “What the fuck?” Twig says. “Why would you set yourself up like that?” “Because I knew that nothing would come of it. Those people you delivered to aren’t so saintly themselves, you know. Trafficking, among other displeasing things.” “It was their God damn kids,” Twig reinforces. “We don’t take fights to a man’s family. Business stays where it belongs—away from the home.” “That’s where you and I differ, then.” Carlos pushes his seat back and rises to his feet. “I have no qualms about hitting people where it hurts the most.” He tugs the hem of his jacket and brushes off the legs of his pants. “I’ll be in touch with a time and date for the job we just discussed. We can talk about the particulars of the information transfer when the last job is done.” “Drive safe, Carlos,” Apex says with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to become another road statistic.” “That a threat?”

“It’s a fuckin’ promise that this ends after three more runs. We walk away, and you leave us the fuck alone. Otherwise you find out what we do with people like you.” “I thought you said you didn’t deal in death.” The fucker lifts an eyebrow. Apex meets him with a steeled gaze. “Sometimes we make an exception.” “I see.” He pats his pockets down, settling on the one with the bullet. “Good evening, gentlemen.” With a snap of his fingers, Carlos heads for the exit. Hope Elena’s got herself sorted by now. “How the fuck did we get in touch with this guy again?” Twig asks as we all eye the asshole leave with three fucking insiders trailing behind him. “His son is a prospect for the Fort Worth boys.” Twig chokes on his beer, spitting it over the table. “He fuckin’ what?” “Yep.” Apex scrubs a hand over his face. “Joined to piss his old man off, and Judas took him on because the kid’s got a violent temper and a charm to match Ted Bundy. Apparently quite the ‘asset’ when handled right.” “Can see where he gets it from,” I drawl. “How does that asshole know so much about us?” Twig growls. “He’s had eyes on my kids, man.” He pounds a heavy fist into the table. “He’s been watchin’ my fuckin’ girls.” “You don’t know that,” Apex says, “so cool your fuckin’ heels. He has, or had—fuck, I don’t know if it’s current or not—access to police files. Fucker like him probably has a few people on the inside still in his pocket. He might be just bluffin’ you with public knowledge.” I’ve never been naïve enough to feel that being a part of this club would mean danger was exclusive to myself, but never before now have I truly feared for the safety of my family. My parents are hard-working, good people. They didn’t exactly agree with my choice to join the MC, and I know they have their reservations about it. Sitting here, knowing some power-hungry asshole has that kind of access to details about my life doesn’t feel right. I feel filthy, like I need a long, hot shower to scrub the bastard from my pores. “So what now?” I ask, looking to the two men who are supposed to have enough experience and skill to lead us out of shit like this. “We do the runs,” Apex states firmly. “Club needs the money. As backwards as it fuckin’ sounds, what he pays us will be what we need to settle our debts and get access to what we’re going to need to take the Blood Eagles, and his ass down.” “You sayin’ it’ll be war with him too, then?” Twig asks. “Of course it fuckin’ will. No fucker makes threats against my men without wearin’ the consequence.” Apex tips the last of his drink down his throat and slams the bottle on the table. “We do this work, we take his money, and then that fucker”—he points a thick finger toward the exit—“is a dead man walking.”

FIFTEEN Elena Who the hell are you? I stare at my reflection in the windows of the car and realize that there’s something moving on the other side. Two people approaching the car, to be exact. Sully, and my damn fiancé. Carlos Redmond. Drug lord. Manipulator. Winner. He’s got where he is by beating out every ounce of competition that he’s encountered. Rumor has it he murdered his first wife after she began to question his state-of-mind. What kind of man does that? Sully opens the door for Carlos, and I tense. What if he can smell King on me? I freshened up with the perfume in my purse before I got back in the Escalade, but all I can think about is those blue light scenes you see on the extreme-clean programs, and the stuff that’s always there when nobody suspects a thing. Running my hand over my hair a last time, I twist in my seat to face forward—as close as Carlos will ever get to me acknowledging his presence. “You could smile, you know.” I swing my gaze from the back of Sully’s head and lock it onto the face of the man I hate. “You give me no reason to.” “This might change your mind.” He pulls a slip of paper out of the pocket on the rear of the front seat and hands it to me. I never knew that was there. “I was going to wait until we got home to let you know, but I’m in a good mood. Read.” Unfolding the crisp white sheets, I tip the page toward the streetlight coming in the car window and scan over the words that, despite only meaning one thing, confuse the hell out of me. “Is this for real?” “No. I have a bad habit of faking passport applications.” He glares at me after his sarcastic retort. I read over the page one more time, seeing Mama’s name in thick black lettering at the top. “Why would you do this for her?” “I didn’t do it for her.” For me. Which can only mean one thing . . . this is what he meant when he said there was something that would make me want to plan the wedding sooner. “This is your bribe for me to marry you?” “Among other things.” “You set me up, didn’t you? You planned the whole thing from the start.” Carlos smirks, eyes trained out his window. The gray strands of his hair appear luminescent in the dim light of the car. Every inch of me chills. “You already knew everything about me before you first came to visit Papa, didn’t you?” He turns his head to face me, bringing his hands together in a slow clap. “And the penny drops.” The car falls into an awkward standoff while we continue down a road I don’t recognize. He

knows I’d do anything to help Mama after what he told me about La Muerte. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me how bad things have got. When was she going to ask for help? I would have found a way. My eyes drop to my purse sitting at my feet. I need to call her again, force her to talk about it and stop dodging the subject, to clear this all up. If La Muerte wants her to work for them, perhaps she should do it, temporarily. I know why she’s refusing—the cartels have stolen from us before, taken a life too soon. Mama’s recounted many a time how my grandfather used to fly a small plane between Colombia, Cuba and Miami in the height of the drug trade. Until the very men he trafficked for set an explosive in his engine and sent him down over the ocean. Suspicious minds have a way of justifying such a betrayal. The cartel ruined our life once. Why would Mama want them to do it again? Yet, on the other hand, what other options do we have left? She can’t afford to retire, and I can’t afford to be caught sending her illegally earned money. If I get sent back to Cuba, we’d both be working for the cartel. What then? A life of forever wondering what they’re going to blackmail out of us next? Mama deserves more than that. I deserve more than that. Nobody should have to live in fear. Although isn’t that what I’m doing here? Same problem, different country. Carlos shifts beside me, letting out the subtlest of sighs. If I weren’t attuned to every detail in this car, I would have missed it. But I am. And the sign of his frustration is deafening. My sights rest on my purse again. “I still don’t understand why you’d want to help me.” I return my gaze out the window, my cheek pressed to the glass in order to avoid looking at him. “You will.” He glances across the seat at me. “And if I don’t want a part in whatever it is you’re planning?” “Then you end up like the last woman who didn’t work out,” he says with a pregnant pause, “and I really don’t feel like having to shoot somebody else if it can be avoided.” Maybe I should return to Cuba? I could open the car door and jump. Would it really hurt as bad as what he’s proposing to do? He’s threatening to kill me if I don’t cooperate with whatever he has in mind. I’m collateral in a madman’s game of chess. “I can’t agree to this.” My fingers splay over my thigh as I eye the door handle. “I don’t need or want your help for my mother anymore. I can find a way to do it on my own.” The air between us grows thick as I continue. “I think carrying this engagement on is only wasting your time and mine.” “You’re not in control of what happens here, and you know that. So stop making yourself sound stupid by pretending you are.” Okay, I kind of deserved that. “You never gave me a choice in this.” “No, I didn’t. And you know why?” He leans across, encroaching on my space. I shake my head at his question, biting my lip to distract myself from the tears that threaten to spill out of pure frustration at this cluster-fuck of a situation. “I find when I give people options, they tend to go for the easiest one. They look for the choice that will mean the least inconvenience for them. And in the game I’m in, dearest, that’s usually not in my favor.” “You realize this has technically become kidnap? You’re holding me against my will.” I have no idea what I’m trying to achieve by telling him that. What do I think he’ll do? Panic when he realizes his mistake and send me on my way with fifty dollars for my troubles? Wake up, Elena. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Am I? Holding you against your will? You can leave whenever you like.” “You just said you’d shoot me if I did.” “I would,” he agrees. “But the offer ’s still there.” Carlos runs both palms over the thighs of his

pants, balling them into fists as he rests them atop his knees. “You want the truth?” “Humor me,” I sass. “My house is large, my wife is dead, and my son refuses to visit. I’m tired of my own echo and if I’m going to find somebody to fill that void, it may as well be somebody who’s going to be useful in more than one regard. You’d be looked after, have a healthy allowance, and never want for anything. All I ask for is your obedience. Consider this first hurdle a test of your loyalty.” He supplies drugs, moves cargo that wouldn’t pass customs, and runs a gambling racket across the greater state to launder his money from all of the above. He has a reputation as cruel, and relentless if you cross him—of unnecessary suffering and hardship if he wants you to learn your lesson the hard way. And all he wants is company? I find that hard to believe. “If you’re lonely, why don’t you get yourself a dog?” “I can’t fuck a dog.” He answers without hesitation, staring out at the lights of the highway as they flash by. “I won’t be kept for your sick amusement.” “Really? Tell me again: what were your other choices?” My face flames, and before I can talk myself out of it, I slap him—hard. “Fuck you.” His fist connects with the side of my face sending vibrations scattering across my skull as my head rebounds off the window. My eye socket aches from the intensity of the pressure in my jaw. The tears I’d been so carefully holding at bay spill forth, soaking into the material of my tank as they run a path down my throat to my chest. “Fuck me?” he scoffs. “That’s what I’m trying to get you to do.” He rubs the smarting skin on his left cheek. “But you insist on making things as difficult for yourself as possible.” “Life’s difficult,” I grind out. “Only if you let it be.” He sighs and turns his body to face mine, rubbing my knee. The action is so contrasting to what he’s just done, as though he’s trying his best to make me feel better, that I find myself recoiling into the door behind me. My skin sears under his touch. “Those passport details you’re holding—I can make them go away just as fast, you know.” And there he goes, playing with my empathy again. Only the more he does it, the more it works. “She’d get by in Cuba for a little while longer.” I wave the paper between us. The car hits a bump in the road, and the armrest of the door sends a painful jolt along my spine. “This . . . it’s nothing but a bribe. My mother is a strong woman. She won’t let a cartel rule her life.” But I will—for her. “Stop being so fucking stubborn,” he yells. His face contorts with his rage. I dig my feet into the rise of the floor between our seats and push myself so damn hard away from him that I’m pretty convinced the car door will fly open any second and spill me onto the road. “I can’t decide if you’re ignorant or just fucking stupid,” he continues. “Your mother is pushing for time from La Muerte. How long exactly do you think one old woman can hold off eight kingpins? That’s eight men she has to sweeten to keep her life. Eight men she has to convince to leave her alone.” He laughs, low and scathing. “It’s nothing but a bullshit fairytale, Elena. There is no happy ending for her if she continues to refuse their requests.” No matter how hard I try, I can’t catch my breath. The interior of the car seems to shrink about us, the air growing thick. The gravity of the situation has not only hit, it’s determined to choke the last signs of life from my body. Carlos rolls his eyes and leans casually across me to open my window. His weight crushes my legs as the night air rushes in through the newfound gap.

“Breathe, Elena.” “Thank you,” I whisper. “Do not mistake my concern for kindness.” He returns to his side of the vehicle as the vehicle slows and turns down the tree-lined road his home is on. “I’ll stay.” He said it himself—I have no choice. “Of course you will.” His thumbs hook the lapels of his jacket and he gives them a tug as we turn onto the paved driveway and come to a stop at the huge steel gate of his estate. “Welcome home, Elena.”

SIXTEEN King The gates to the clubhouse roll open with a rattle and shake. Small stones get flicked into the runners all the time from our tires, and as much as it’s our job as prospects to clean them out, nobody ever gets around to doing it. Our headlights sweep over the converted warehouse in an arc as we head toward the large roller door that covers the entire front face of the add-on to the left of the building. The garage was the first major renovation to the place after the club took possession, and predictably enough, it’s the best-kept part of the entire clubhouse. The three of us roll into the garage and to our positions among the rows of shiny, well-kept machines. I back my ride in beside where Fingers, our mechanic, is bent over his bike. Killing the engine, I stay astride while the engine pings as it cools and pull my bandana off, tucking it inside my helmet. Night riding is an open invitation for a midnight feast of bugs, so I learnt pretty damn quickly to always carry something to cover my face with. Plus, the skull print looks bad as hell when us brothers pair it with our open-face helmets. Appearances. Life is all about appearances. “King, you’ve got detail in the morning.” Apex points towards our dirt-covered, bug-splattered machines. Fingers stands and rounds Twig’s ride to inspect the damage from when they tipped over. “What the fuck happened here?” he asks, fingering a few scrapes on Twig’s tank. I give him a wry smile; he takes pride in making sure we’re all running and put together right. Harming a bike is paramount to harming his children. “Got tipped over.” I run my hand over the scratches in my forks. “You want me to clean them first?” “Rather you than me, so yeah. Fuckin’ hate cleanin’,” he grumbles. “It’s women’s work. But I wouldn’t let any of those bitches in there touch anyone’s bike.” I chuckle and nod, heading for the common room. “Dead right. Probably come out and find the chrome scratched to hell with a pot scrubber.” “It’s happened before, you know.” I laugh and cross through the door, making for the stairs. I haven’t checked the clock, but given the time when we finally left Kansas City I’d say it’s got to be a little after midnight. I give Gunner a wave to say I’ll pass on a drink as I swing left for the steel staircase that leads to the mezzanine floor. While half the live-ins are happy to drink away the dark hours and sleep away the sunshine, I’ve never been that way. Call it years of ingrained habit, but my body has always woken with the dawn. The long ride home gave me too much time to think. About Elena mostly, but also of that girl’s blonde hair, that boy . . . and the parents’ grief. That was what struck a chord the most. I’m an only child to third-generation dairy farmers, but it wasn’t always that way. Once upon a time, I had a baby brother. Once upon a time, the boogey-man was only a story and not something I whole-heartedly believe in. Once upon a time, it never even crossed my mind what it would be like to feel as though a part of my life would always be missing. I thought I had a handle on what happened to my brother, that I’d coped after all these years. But those kids . . . fuck, I got a real sense of understanding for what my parents must have endured when he died.

The coroner ’s official report stated death by asphyxiation, but the circumstances surrounding how it happened were anything but accidental. Calving is a delicate time of year, and from a young age both of us kids would accompany our parents on the night-runs to bring in the newborns. We would sit in the old pick-up, barely tall enough to see over the dashboard, and watch as the yellowish beams from our parents’ torches flashed across the horizon. The occasional thump and roll of the cab would signify another new calf being tossed on the back amongst the hay, and through it all we’d sit there, not touching a thing and doing as we were told. Until we got big enough to see outside the windows, big enough to come up with stories about the dark, and big and brave enough to want to explore. It took my baby brother less than a minute to wrestle the old door open on the truck, and even less than that to disappear into the inky black of the field. My mother came running when she heard me calling his name, and my father ’s torch lanced the dark for hours, searching, praying, and hoping. I gave up believing in a higher being when he refused to answer my parents’ calls that night. Laughter carries up the stairs from bar as I turn into my bedroom and shake my cut off, laying it out over the footboard of the bed. My boots hit the timber legs with a solid thud as I kick them off, one by one. I take a moment to stand and trace the tattoo on my left forearm with my finger, doing what I can to bury the heartache that creeps into my chest like a dark fog. A scripted G is buried amongst vines and roses, faded and encased by newer and brighter ink. The memorial piece was my first, done at a back-room shop on the tenth anniversary of the day I learnt the ugly truth about the world. Garret’s body was found three days after his disappearance in a ditch five miles from our home. At first glance it looked as though he’d tripped and fallen into the stagnant water at the bottom of the dip, but closer inspection soon ruled out accidental death. Bruising on his tiny four-year-old neck indicated where the belt had been forced tight enough to choke him—the indentations from the buckle clear as day—and the marks on his body, well, Mom never spoke in detail about it, but as I grew older and learnt more about the world, I soon knew why it was that my calm and placid mother would burst into hysterical tears every time the sheriff visited with news on the case. Garret’s murderer, a man who’d been charged numerous times for petty crimes, walked free. He was an opportunist who happened to be fixing an irrigation line in the paddock next door that night. But of course, no one could prove a thing. The creep never openly admitted to doing it, but rumors were he liked to brag about things he’d done to a young boy after he’d drunk one too many; the similarities were too many for it to have been anyone else in such a small community. The only thing that would have tied him to the case was the belt. No trace of DNA was found on my brother ’s body, and being the small town that it was, the fact the old man never had anybody to verify his whereabouts wasn’t unusual. One strip of leather . . . gone. They searched his house, his work, his vehicles, but it was never found. What grates me even now is that it could have been tossed in a field, lying there for anybody to find, but the paddocks around home are vast, and the sheriff’s office only had so many men they could spare financially for the search. Seasons change. Turf gets ploughed. Opportunities are lost. Money. Everything in life also comes down to money. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pull my phone out. I wouldn’t say I’ve led a sheltered life, but those kids, they stirred something dark and dangerous that’s been hiding inside of me for far too many years, and I’m worried the hate won’t rest until I can get vengeance for what was done to them. I dial up the number of the only person who’ll be able to tell me how to move past this—Mom. The early hour won’t matter; my parents have always started the long days at the farm before the first rays of the sun.

She answers after a few rings. “Long time, no hear?” “I know. I’m sorry.” “I’m only teasing, Lloyd.” I cringe at the use of my birth name—something I was happy to shirk when I joined the Aces. “What has you calling at this hour?” The soft hum of the milking plant in the background fills the void between her words. “I won’t hold you up long—” “You’re fine. Dad’s coming around the bend now with the last of the herd. You’ve got a few minutes before we start. You’re lucky I didn’t have my gloves on yet.” She chuckles softly before sighing. Mom’s always been beautiful, and I can imagine her now in the shed, apron and gumboots on, and her hair pulled into a tidy bun to keep it from falling in her face. I used to tease her as a kid and call her the Dairy Queen, but I think she secretly loved it. She deserved it—anything to make her feel pretty when her days were filled with being covered in mud and worse. “I don’t want to upset you by bringing this up . . .” “But?” she asks hesitantly. “How did you not let your hate for that asshole who killed Garret get the best of you?” “Oh.” An awkward moment passes with just the soft whooshing of the plant filling the silence. “I think it did, to be honest.” “But you always held your head so high. You never let it affect you when we saw him drive though town or anything.” “But it did, honey. Inside, I died right along with Garret.” My chest tightens hearing Mom express her pain. Why the hell didn’t I think to do this face-toface? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” “Don’t apologize.” I can just imagine her giving me that smile of hers. “What I’m more concerned about is why you’re asking me this?” “You know I can’t tell you what we do, Mom. Just . . . something happened today that itched at old scars.” “What’s done is done.” “But he just walked. He got away with it.” “I know, and the only way I can deal with that is to not think about it. You need to let it go, Lloyd. An eye for an eye will only heal the pain for the briefest of moments. It won’t bring Garret back, and it won’t change whatever happened today. It’ll only leave you jaded and angry.” A low and resonate ‘moo’ cuts her short. “Look, the first ladies are walking on the platform. How about you humor your mom and stop by for lunch some time this week?” “I’ll see what I can do.” “Try, because I worry about you, especially when you call up talking like you are.” “I’ll be okay.” I sigh. “Love you, Mom.” “Again, you’re worrying me.” “What? I can’t tell my mom I love her?” “I could count the times you’ve said that on one hand,” she responds flatly. My heart tugs a little at the home truth. I’m not one to say it freely, and I guess it’s probably something she needs to hear more often. Carlos’s threats surface in the back of my mind. “How are things at the farm otherwise?” I’m not entirely sure what I expect her to say. That there have been strange men hanging around the house? That she’s had unmarked threats delivered to the mailbox? “Good. Just the same old same.” “Dad’s good?”

“Apart from working himself into an early grave, yes. I swear that man won’t leave himself any time to enjoy retirement.” “Some things never change huh?” “That they don’t.” She sighs. “I’ll text you before I head up.” “Look forward to getting it. I better go. Love you, Lloyd.” She disconnects, and the absence of her voice and the background noise of the morning milking leaves me with a distinct hollowness. I lie back on the bed and stare up at the pockmarked plaster ceiling. After everything that happened, my parents stayed levelheaded and dedicated to making the farm work. One act of violence against children that aren’t even related to me and I’m considering the logistics of returning to that creep’s shack and pulling him apart, limb by limb. My parents are good people who easily could have become angry and jaded toward a man who took half of their legacy from them and walked to tell the tale. But they didn’t. They rose above him by showing he didn’t affect their lives more than he should, that although they never forgave him, they moved on. So why can’t I do the same over a crime that has no physical connection to me?

SEVENTEEN King “First time for everything, huh?” Twig, screws his face up as he shakes out a cigarette. “Can’t believe Apex didn’t have details on what we were carrying.” “Neither.” I take the stick he offers and place it between my lips. Church was called the minute we arrived back at the clubhouse. The brothers rode in under the cover of darkness while I caught a few hours sleep. Those of us not privy to the meeting killed time in the common room while they talked. Apex and Twig let the other officers know what sort of shit-fight the club’s entering into. “Do you think anyone would notice if we returned and shot that sick son-of-a-bitch who killed them?” Twig lights his cigarette and then holds the flame out for me. “Possibly, but will that really solve the problem?” “You sound like my mother.” He lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “Okay?” He kicks his legs out before him and slumps down into one of the many plastic chairs that dot the back porch. “Why would somebody do that?” “Same reason you or I would do it,” he says, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air before us. “Money. You don’t want to know how many other men would have done the same thing for the right amount of cash. If not the guy we picked up from, then who?” “In other words, there’s always going to be somebody in a bad enough situation to replace their conscience with what men like Carlos are paying.” Like us. “Exactly.” Twig bobs his cigarette in my direction. “My advice? Don’t dwell on it. You’ll never stop all the bad in this world from happening. And although revenge can be sweet, it ain’t what people make it out to be. There’s no closure from it.” “It seems wrong, letting him get away with it.” “Yes, it does. But we’ve got other things to worry about first, like what other sick and fucked up shit is this asshole Carlos is goin’ to have us doing. He stares off into the distance with a stern contemplation. Pink pierces the dark gray of the night, the first rays of light making their way into the sky. I run a hand through my sleep-mussed hair, and yawn. Two and a bit hours wasn’t near enough. “You think Apex will turn him down if he gets us to do something similar?” “Nup.” “You think we’ll get sent on a hit or two?” “Yup.” “How the fuck are we supposed to keep our morals then, if our president is takin’ on shit work for dirty money?” “By not losing sight of who you are.” Twig straightens in his seat, tapping the ash from his smoke onto the deck. “Men kill for all sorts of reasons, but as long as you know that your heart is in the right place when you do it, it at least goes a way towards bein’ able to sleep at night.” The look on his face, the vacancy, he’s not speculating—he knows. “How many men have you killed?” He turns his head to me and cocks it to his shoulder with a frown. “What kind of question is that?” “I think it’s a pretty legitimate one for a prospect.” I can count the runs I’ve been included in on

one hand. I’m new to this club; I’m even newer to this side of our lifestyle. The Fallen Aces are known as the cleanest one percent club in the central states. We’re not killers, smugglers, or debt collectors. That’s what the Blood Eagles do, and the Devil’s Enforcers. Not us. This shit? It’s unmarked territory for our members. “We might do one run where somebody dies, or three, but it doesn’t make the club, King. I don’t like what we’re doin’ at all either, but I choose to look at it as a temporary stain on the club’s history. We’re in debt, we owe money to a lot of people—we don’t have a lot of options left.” “I guess I mostly want to know how a person can kill a man and not let it become acceptable, a habit, you know?” “You worried you’re goin’ to like it too much?” He chuckles before taking a drag. “I’m worried I’m goin’ to start changing my view on what’s wrong and right.” He nods, humming. “You’ve got a good head on you. I don’t think you’ll need to worry.” He sucks in a heavy breath and exhales slowly, examining what’s left of the cigarette between his fingers. “You’ll find when a man gets what’s coming to him, it makes it easier to be the person who deals it.” “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.” “Maybe I am.” He sucks the last life from the butt, the crackle piercing the stillness of the morning. “Nine times out of ten, a grown man made a series of conscious decisions to get where he is in that moment where he faces his mortality head-on. A man gets a bullet through his skull because he broke the basic rules of humanity. He harmed an innocent person, a child, an animal, or set in motion the events that led to harm occurring to the victim.” Twig drops the cigarette, stubbing it with the toe of his boot. “Look at it this way: drunk drivers choose to put the alcohol down their throat and then attempt to control a deadly machine. Mass murderers choose to take those lives; they don’t fall over repeatedly with a knife in their hand and proclaim ‘whoops’ when all is said and done. Child abusers know at some point when they raise their hand or belt to the kid that what they’re doing is overstepping an invisible boundary. An adult knows what’s right and what’s wrong. And so, in going through with the act, in acting immorally, they sign a kind of contract that says they accept the consequences of their actions.” He shakes out another cigarette and turns it in his fingers while he appears to think on his final words. “There isn’t many a time that I’ve looked a man in the eye before taking his life and seen anythin’ but understanding. They’ll beg, they’ll barter, it’s human instinct to try and survive, but look in their eyes and they’re all vacant. There’s no heart in their protest because they know they did wrong, and they knew the day would come where it caught up to them.” His words alone tell me there’s been plenty. A number doesn’t seem so important any more. “Do you remember your first?” “Of course I do.” Twig lights the new stick and puffs smoke out into the burgeoning day. “Brother from another club. We’d caught him beatin’ on his old lady in front of his kids. Turns out she was tryin’ to leave after she caught him interfering with his little girl in front of the mornin’ cartoons. He looked me square in the eye and said he didn’t regret a thing. I shot the asshole and took care of the mess while Gunner drove his missus and kids to a shelter across town.” “The Aces didn’t take her in?” “She was rival property. We brought her here and the brothers with a chip on their shoulders would have made her life hell, tore her apart.” “You know what happened to her? Where she is now?” Twig smiles slowly and turns to face me again. “She’s at home makin’ my kids breakfast.” A cool sweat washes the length of me. How did I not know that? “I thought they were your kids?” The words blurt out before I have a chance to filter myself. “They are, just not by blood.” No words. I’ve got nothin’ to say to that. The cigarette in my hand burns down to the filter, singing

my finger and thumb. I haven’t taken a single drag on the thing; I’ve been so sucked into what Twig was saying. I came out here questioning the direction of our club, wondering how a ‘clean’ group of people could let themselves stoop so low as to work for a man like Carlos. But that’s exactly the point —the Fallen Aces aren’t clean. They just hide their shit well. Twig’s words not only explain how these men who I revere and respect can commit a crime so base as murder and still be family-loving, God-fearing men, but they highlight how new I am to this. I haven’t seen what he has. You can’t wipe the stains from society and expect to keep a clean cloth. I get it. Morally bankrupt people will get hurt in order to ensure the right people don’t. Some men you can reach, and others like the way they have it and no amount of coercion will change that. Those are the kind of people that men like ours take to ground without regret. Just like Twig said, if not us, then who? What would have come of Twig’s old lady’s ex? He would have gone to jail, and after a segment of his time, walked free to offend again. Does society really need people like that? Trash littering our streets? I’m already doing it—seeing the right in the wrong. “You okay?” “Yeah. I just can’t get my head around it.” Twig chuckles, leaning back into the seat. “You’re not the only brother confused as fuck right now.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “One thing is for certain in life, and that’s nothing is certain. Rules are gonna change, priorities will skew judgment, but the best you can do through it all is remember who you are.” He pushes up in his chair, hesitating on the edge before standing. “It’s the thinkers like you who’ll change things around here one day. But before you can do that, you need to work out what exactly is it you stand for? Tell me that, and you’ll be streaks ahead of half the assholes around this place.”

EIGHTEEN Elena “Happy to be home?” I address his reflection in the window before me. “What do you think?” I tried calling Mama the moment I was left alone, but she didn’t answer. I tried four more times, the last after breakfast, and nothing. We only spoke yesterday morning and she was fine then. I shouldn’t panic, but something doesn’t feel right. “You’ll thank me for all of this in the end.” Carlos’s shadowy white figure crosses behind me, reappearing in the next pane of glass. “Is that a lie to make me feel better, or you?” “You have fight in you, don’t you?” His voice is closer, his reflection becoming clearer as he nears me. The muted undertones of his upbringing cut through his thickly put-on American accent. He can’t hide who he really is. “Fighting is a natural personality trait for people who’ve had to work for what they have, but I guess you wouldn’t know much about that.” “Working isn’t all manual labor, Elena. You may think I’ve got where I am the easy way, but you try hustling and dealing your way to the top and you’ll soon see it’s actually a lot of ‘work.’” “My heart bleeds for you.” I roll my eyes. “It must have given you a blister to pull the trigger so many times.” “More than one,” he retorts with a grin, rubbing the pads of his fingers together. Carlos sighs, toying with my ponytail. “The world doesn’t owe you anything, you know.” Spinning to face him, I hold my ground inches from his face despite the fear pulsating through my limbs. “I never said I was owed anything.” “No, your anger does.” “I’m angry because assholes like you think they can play with the lives of people like me. I’m angry because assholes like you believe it’s their right to do so.” He places his hands against my collarbone and pushes, sending me sprawling on my ass over his plush cream carpet. “Enough of your fucking runaway mouth.” “Why? Because the truth hurts?” I bite back my tears, scrambling backward on all fours like a crab. “You know nothing about me other than the jealous gossip that goes around.” “Jealous?” I scoff, bracing for another strike. “You think people are jealous of your sad and lonely existence?” “What’s worse, Elena?” He holds out a hand, offering to help me up. “Being rich, sad and lonely? Or being poor, sad and lonely? I know which I’d rather be.” I place my palm in his, staring into his dark brown eyes, so deep they’re almost black. He gives me a harsh tug, bringing me within an inch of his face as I stand. “Now clean yourself up. I have somebody for you to meet.” He smiles, sending goose bumps racing over my flesh. “We’ve yet to get to the best part of today.” *** Fifteen minutes later, I’ve had as much as I can stomach of the sterile white-tiled bathroom and have

got myself ‘cleaned up.’ I run my hands under the tap and smooth my ponytail back. Using the side of my index finger, I rub smudged eyeliner from under my eyes, and tidy up the edges of my top line of liner with the point of my nail. Doing what he’s told me to irritates me to no end, but what other choice do I have? The windows in this God-forsaken bedroom are locked. There’s nowhere to go and nothing to do but humor this asshole for a while. Besides, if I did get away from him, what then? Go back to a welcoming party at Papa’s thrown by the U.S. Government’s border agents? I still can’t believe the asshole did that. Bide your time, Elena. He expects me to try and run. He expects me to be panicked, feeling scared. I need to wait until he thinks I’m comfortable, until he drops his guard. However long that’ll take. I need to do it for Mama. “Señorita?” I poke my head around the door and into the bedroom to find a woman, probably younger than me, standing in the doorway to the hallway. “Yes?” “Señor Redmond asked me to collect you and show you where he is.” Probably in his office, like he always is. “Oh.” Giving myself a quick last look in the mirror, I briefly close my eyes and channel the anger that’s helped me survive this long. I fought my way from Mama as a baby, and I’ll fight right up until they lower my casket in the ground . . . or my body is dumped on a roadside. However this ends. “Okay. I’m ready.” The woman looks at me for a beat before shaking her head. “Pardon me for staring. I’m not used to hearing many others with the same accent.” “Where are you from?” I ask her as we head toward the grand staircase that leads down to the entrance of this ginormous house. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” “No, we haven’t. I’m from the Dominican Republic.” “You came here for work?” “My whole family did.” She holds her hand out, gesturing for me to go first. “How many in your family?” I look back at her as I guide myself down the stairs. Talking to this woman is calming, helping to distract me from what potentially lies ahead. “Seven now.” Her eyes light up. “My sister just had her baby.” “Congratulations.” She leads us to the right of the stairs and down a hall that doubles back under where we’ve just come. “Señor will see you in here.” I follow her directions through a set of double doors that lead into a modern yet opulently decorated sitting room. One of the millions of rooms in this damn prison I haven’t yet seen. “Thank you . . .?” “Maria.” “Gracias, Maria.” She turns and leaves me, heading the way we came. The silence of the house strikes me—it always has. I stand at the windows that overlook the front lawns and try to work out exactly what it is about the quiet that disturbs me when it hits. There’s nothing. Here I am, standing before large panels of glass and watching the gardener mow perfect lines in the lawn on a ride-on, and I can’t hear a single thing. Knocking the back of my knuckles against the glass, I have to laugh at myself. What am I trying to do? Test how thick the glass is with the back of my hand? What am I? Some instant soundproofing know-it-all? “The silence is lovely, isn’t it?”

My breath catches in my throat as though he’d caught me trying to escape. Iron mask, Elena. Toughen up. “I was wondering why it’s so quiet.” Behind Carlos, a middle-aged man with short brown hair hesitates. He’s dressed in simple black slacks and a gray button-down shirt. But it’s what’s in his hand that disturbs me—a plain white folder. “This is her.” Carlos holds his hand toward me, looking at the man. He addresses me as though I’m cattle being readied for sale. The man nods at the crude introduction and moves into the room, laying the folder down on a timber mosaic side table. I edge closer. His weathered fingers open the document holder and slide a couple of sheets of paper from right to left. He pats his breast pocket, looking under the folder as though he might find what he’s searching for, despite the fact he was the very person who laid the documents on the blank surface to begin with. “Do you have a pen?” So he speaks. His accent is thick with a southern drawl. Carlos steps over to a built-in bookcase and pulls out a small wooden box. Flicking the latch, he opens the lid and presents the man with an expensive-looking pen—gold. “I think the occasion calls for it.” The man smiles nervously and then darts his gaze to me. What the hell is he here for? “Father ’s name?” The room falls quiet, and I realize Carlos is staring at me. “Your papa’s name, Elena.” “Guillermo,” I answer hesitantly. He can’t be doing this now . . . The man scribbles on one of the documents and then stares up at me expectantly. I look between him and Carlos, determined not to answer and make this as difficult as possible for the bastards. “I thought she knew what we’re doing?” the man with the pristine slacks asks Carlos. Oh, I know what you’re doing. I’d just rather he wasn’t. “She knows.” Carlos looks at me and smiles, all wolfish again. “Your mama’s name?” “I think you know that.” He grins, amused by my retort, and looks to the man bent over the table. “Idoya.” “Maiden name.” “Del Olmo.” Feeling out the seat behind me, I perch myself on the edge. I thought I’d have more time. It’s over —my life is over. I’m officially his now. “Where were you born, Elena?” Carlos asks from where he now stands beside the man. “You know that,” I whisper. “No, I don’t. I know where you lived. Not where you were born.” “I was born in Cuba,” I murmur into my hands. It’s too late; there’s nothing King can do now. Not when I’m legally bound to this asshole. “Speak up, woman,” Carlos snaps. “Cuba,” I repeat, louder. “And your parents?” the man asks. “Ask him,” I snap, pointing to Carlos. “He knows everything about me.” Pushing against the arms of the chair I stand and frown at the poor guy. None of this is his fault, but each strike of the pen against that paper makes the fire inside me burn brighter. Carlos tutts, waggling his finger at me. “No, no, no, my love. That isn’t how this little game of Q and A works.” He places a finger under my chin, forcing me to stay looking at him. “Tell our guest about your parents. Were they born in Cuba?” Shaking free of his hold, I sidestep him and march across to where the man waits beside the table. “My mother was also born in Cuba. Papa was born in Haiti.”

The man hunches over the documents again, scribbling the answers. “You happy?” I face Carlos again, irritated by his presence. Just the way he stands with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands in pockets makes me want to lash out at the bully. Our guest taps the pen on the table beside me as he looks over the pages and then slides one my way. “Sign here.” Taking the gold pen from him, I force myself to look down at the documents. Marriage registration. It’s as if the words mock me, laid out so clearly in black and white. “Here comes the bride,” I murmur as I ink my role in this farce. After all, is my freedom worth more than Mama’s? Carlos bursts into laughter, crossing the room to look at the pages before me. “You knew this was coming.” “Kind of hoped I’d find a way to get away from you before it actually happened, though.” I toss the pen down on the sheets, giving a little snort. “You must have been worried I would, otherwise why rush it? Mama’s passport doesn’t depend on me being married to you, so what’s the real plan here, Carlos? Got to be more than needing something to fuck, because Lord knows you’ve got enough help around here to keep you busy.” I jab a hand toward the windows. “For all I know you’re even doing the gardener.” The humor slides from his face, and he raises a quick hand to slap me across the cheek, hard. “Shut up, you stupid bitch.” I place a hand to the burn as he leans forward, his stale breath fanning my face. “You’re right—we don’t need to be married to get your mama a passport, but what about a Visa? Huh? Did you think about that? She gets easier entry if it’s to be with family, and if we’re not married —” “You’re not family, and I don’t get a green card.” “Exactly,” he says, smiling. “What does it matter to you though, if Mama makes it here to be with me or not?” I don’t get why he’s doing this. Carlos isn’t a man to do favors for no reward. But what do Mama and I have that he needs, that requires her to be in America? “Would you rather I left her in Cuba? Perhaps I could call somebody, let the right person at La Muerte know she has no intention of giving in.” My chin quivers, but I lift my face to him, defiant. “You wouldn’t.” His top lip pulls back as his eyes harden. He leans in, nose to nose. “Try me, you desperate little bitch.” Our guest clears his throat from behind our spectacle. “If I could get you to sign, Mr. Redmond, I can be on my way.” The hatred, the clear abhorrence—it all disappears from Carlos’s face in the blink of an eye. “Of course.” He fidgets with his cuffs as he turns back to the side table, and picks up the pen. My fingernails dig into my palm as I watch him sign the line marked ‘groom.’ The two men take their time discussing the process from here, ignoring my presence. They’ve got all they need from me. Carlos has made his point. I’m redundant in the situation now. I move to the window, seeking a distraction from what I’ve just done. But nothing appeases the nausea that grows as thick as my dread. He never answered my question: what does he need Mama here with me for? The only link I can find in our lives, to his, is the Colombian cartel that took away my grandfather. But what of it? They made their feelings on him known when they murdered him. Why would they want anything to do with us now? I can’t see what benefit Carlos gets from al of this. Although he’s made it perfectly clear there is one, that I have a use for him. I just don’t get it. I block out the chatter behind me as I watch the gardener run the last lines on the far side of the

lawn. I want to believe that the ache in my heart is because I foolishly agreed to go on a date with this man and steer myself down a dangerous road. I want to believe the disappointment weighing heavy on my chest is from my inability to walk away, from my naïve assumption that I could ever use a man with this much power and influence for my own benefit. But it’s not. The sense of regret that creeps into my bones is for one reason only: in doing this I’ve given up King. I’ve signed away my chance at a real life with a man who loves me.

NINETEEN King two months later Dropping my spent cigarette to the dirt beneath me, I stand before what I can only describe as a gothic monstrosity. The enormous stone house sits on a steep hill, completely surrounded by an eight-foot fence topped with barbed wire. “These fuckers sure know how to blend in,” I say sarcastically, pressing my face to a gap between the edge of the solid steel gate and the framing it’s hinged on. I can’t see much, but still, it’s exactly what I’d expect, what with the vibe this place gives off from the road. Overgrown trees, seeding green lawns, and a wide stone-chip driveway that leads up to the even wider steps of the house—all dotted with weeds. The estate would have been grand once, but like most properties in these parts it’s been forgotten and neglected. Given over to the wrong hands, no doubt. “What the fuck are we doing here again?” I ask, stepping back to look across at Apex. He fidgets with his beard, glancing back at where our bikes are parked. We walked the last few yards to the buzzer, conscious that if we needed to backtrack in a hurry we’d have a greater chance of doing that on foot. Ever tried to turn a bike around in a hurry? Yeah, it ain’t as quick as you’d think. “This guy wanted proof before he put in for an order with Carlos.” His eyes drop to the baggie he’s holding in the palm of his right hand. “And we have it.” Apex scowls at the buzzer as he pockets the bag, and slams the heel of his hand against it again. “Can’t tell me this fucker doesn’t know we’re out here.” I take a step back as the steel gates start their painstakingly slow arc. “I don’t feel right about this.” We’ve hauled ass here to deliver a fucking baggie of coke. We’re glorified fucking couriers. It’s a waste of our time and an insult. “Since when does your moral ass ever feel right about this kind of shit?” Apex says, stepping forward through the gap before I can respond. We better be getting paid well for this. The steel of the gate rattles and clangs to a stop, fully open behind us, as we make our way up the long and grandiose driveway. A crow caws from its perch on the guttering of the house, adding to the eerie feel of the place. The buckles of my boots chime with each step I take toward a situation I have no control over. That thought alone sets me on edge. I wouldn’t say I’m a control freak, but when I have no clear plan of attack, the exits are unknown, and the location itself is completely new to me, I feel compromised. I like to be well-informed. Until four hours ago, I had no idea we’d even be doing this. A shit start to what’s shaping up to be an even shittier day. Apex clears his throat as we reach the steps to the house and hesitates. His shoulders heave as he draws in a heavy breath. He’s as unsure about all of this as I am. Great. “Sooner we get this started, sooner we can go home and have a fuckin’ beer,” I remind him, passing his spot as I take the first step. “One down, two to go.” This is officially the first of the three runs Carlos wanted out of us. Nobody realized he’d drag the deal out over such a long period of time. After that box we delivered with the heads, I thought we’d be on to each run quick-smart—bang, bang, bang. No such luck. Here we are standing outside job

number one, and all I can think about is how much I wish I could fast forward to when this bullshit’s done so ties are cut and I can go after Elena without screwing up the contract. What if she marries the fucker soon? We never discussed if there was a date; I was too engrossed in making the most of the time I had to ruin it with those kind of details. Doesn’t bear thinking about. Apex joins me at the top step and smacks a closed fist against one of the giant timber doors. I chuckle and point out the doorbell to the right, encased in an ornate brass design. Apex grins—or at least his version of one—and shrugs. The door opens and I have to refrain from laughing out loud at the juxtaposition we’re faced with. Massive mansion in an expensive location with ornately laid out gardens, and we’re greeted by some fucking homie in a pair of baggy sweats and an over-sized T-shirt. “Gringos!” He throws one arm wide in greeting, lifting the other hand to pinch the joint between his lips. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he thumbs for us to go inside. Apex leads the way as we follow this kid past sparsely furnished rooms covered with litter to a room that’s literally missing both the doors. I soon see why. Cutting lines on one of them, which is now a table propped with blocks, is the guy I’m pretty sure we’re here to meet. He inhales a line and then pats the slut to his left’s ass, gesturing for her to have a go. “You must be Apex, no?” Prez lifts his chin in response. “Hugo?” The guy gets out from behind the ‘table’, extending to his full height. He’s tall and wiry, but appears strong. Hooking his thumbs in his low-slung jeans, he hoists them up his ass and wanders across to where we are. Apex watches the guy with clear disgust as Hugo rubs his nose with the back of his hand, and then offers the same hand to Apex to shake. It hangs in the air for a few laden seconds before Hugo gets the picture and drops it to his side. “You have any trouble finding us then?” “Big place for just the three of you,” Apex says, feeling out if we’re up for any more trouble. “Eh, it’s a drop-off point, nothing special.” Hugo jams his hands in the pockets of his pants and rocks back on his heels. “Don’t even know who owns the place—we just use it when we need.” He cracks up at his comment, and then frowns at Prez. ”Got what I asked for?” “Got what we were given to pass on to you.” Apex holds out the baggie between two fingers. “As to whether it’s what you asked for, I wouldn’t fuckin’ know.” Eyes on the prize, Hugo snatches it up and marches around to the business side of his makeshift desk. He pushes the woman in the tiny shorts out of the way and clears a space. Apex and I watch on as he opens the package with the utmost care. Within seconds it’s gone, chasing the hit he’d only just taken. The slutty woman crosses the room to where the homie who answered the door is leaned against the window frame, his hand clenching a pistol lying suggestively in his lap. Like he’d have a chance. He looks green enough to shit himself if anybody actually pointed a weapon his way. “Yeah, man.” Hugo nods. “That’s good shit.” He taps the heel of his hand on the table twice. “Tell him we have a deal. I want five bricks, uncut.” Apex nods and turns heel to leave when Hugo grabs his attention with a question. “You know where he keeps his product?” “No.” Apex turns back to the guy who’s higher than a fucking kite by now. “I don’t.” “Ahh.” Hugo points a finger at each of us in turn, his legs bouncing madly. “You find that out, and we might have another deal to discuss.” “Might we?” Apex steps forward, a frown setting his brow in a firm line. “We’re not stealing product.” “Who said you were going to steal it?” The guy smirks and gestures for the girl to come back his way. “I just need you to find out where he houses his coke, right?”

“Still not doing it,” I growl. This jumped up asshole is starting to get on my last nerve. Hugo acts surprised at my addition to the conversation, and jerks his chin at me while addressing Apex. “Hey, esé. You always let your boys do the talking?” “You let yours think for himself, or does he enjoy gettin’ around pretendin’ he’s a half-assed version of you?” Apex nods in the direction of the young guy at the window. “Hey.” Hugo lifts both hands. “Let’s keep this civil, no?” “Then don’t disrespect my man.” Apex places his palms on the makeshift desk and leans in close. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ livin’ in some God damn la-la-land to think we’d turncoat and give a lowlife like you information on Carlos’s distribution. You think you’d stand a chance takin’ what’s his? You think Carlos is gonna let you just fuckin’ walk in and take his shit without rainin’ hell down on your pathetic life?” The slut, drug whore, or whatever the fuck she is, goes about her business like there’s nothing brewing. Her long, talon-tipped fingers run down Hugo’s jaw before he pushes her off. “No harm, man. No harm in asking.” Hugo rounds the table and walks up to me, reeking of sweat. “You just get me those five bricks, and we’re all good.” He slaps a clammy hand to my shoulder. I shrug him off. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me. Understood?” Hugo looks to Apex and jerks his thumb toward me. “He’s getting out of hand again, esé. You need to control your dog.” “We done here?” Apex asks, jaw ticking as he rolls his shoulders. “Eh, we’re done.” Hugo waves a dismissive hand and struts back to his table. I hold my ground to keep watch on these shady fucks as Apex leaves the room. I don’t trust either of the wannabe gang bangers. Backing toward the door, I wait until I’m out of sight before I give them my back, my hand resting on the handle of my Glock. Apex waits at the base of the steps, scuffing stones under his boot when I emerge from the house. “Cheeky fucks, aren’t they?” His lips quirk up, the closest thing I’ll ever get to a smile. He pulls his phone from his pocket. I keep eyes on the place while Apex flicks through the cell and brings it to his ear. “Yeah, they enjoyed the biscuits.” He goes quiet for a moment, grunting at the response he’s getting from Carlos. “No. They wanted more. Asked us where the bakery was.” More nods and grunts “Sure thing.” He ends the call and tips his head toward the house. “Job’s not done after all. Turns out we get the final word.” “Take it he didn’t appreciate their lame attempt at coercing us into working for both sides?” “Not particularly.” Apex pulls his pistol and checks the safety. “Can’t believe the cocky fucks thought we’d be that easy to manipulate.” “I’m sure if they had something hangin’ over our head like Carlos does, they would have had a better chance at playin’ us like a puppet.” I’m met with silence. Oops. “What’s the plan?” He says nothing, staring at me before he silently turns away and heads up the steps. “We takin’ one each?” I’m yet to kill a man, and going into this situation blind has me peaking in the wrong kind of way. Still, Apex ignores me and keeps on walking. He pushes the door open and checks all exits before he continues towards the room we were in minutes before. His silence puts me more on edge than that green homie inside did. A quiet Apex is a volatile Apex. Not the guy whose anger you want to be on the receiving end of. First week as a hangaround at the Fallen Aces, I learnt why the brothers gave Apex his road name. Twig pulled me aside and asked me how I handle hot-tempered people. I cocked an eyebrow at him

and asked what the fuck he was on about. Apparently the week before, Apex had fallen off the precipice and put two bullets in the knees of a prospect who’d ridden into neighboring territory without a pass from an officer. Story goes, his anger is like a mountain—it builds up and up until you reach the peak, and then there’s no way to go but down. The man spends weeks, months even, reaching the pinnacle, and then all hell breaks loose. Apparently the giveaway that he’s at the apex is the silence he’s currently bestowing on me. The trashed woman who was snorting blow with Hugo comes through the open doorway as we turn the final corner. Her shoulder connects with Apex, who keeps on walking, despite the fact she’s just tumbled on her ass in a pile of track-marked flesh and heels. Hugo’s sidekick falls first, red spraying from the back of his head as his neck whips and his eyes roll to white. “Fuck, man!” Hugo leaps back, knocking the door-table from the bricks that held it up, and scrambles for the far corner where a single door connects this room to the next. Apex thumbs the hammer, lining him up. But he doesn’t kill the man. He drops him to the floor with a carefully placed shot to the thigh. The man will bleed out in minutes, given where he’s been hit. He’s fucked either way. “All yours, King.” I look across at Apex as he steps aside and pulls his pack of smokes out. Hugo writhes on the floor, howling with pain. A scrape sounds behind me, and I glance back to find the hooker, slut, whatever she is, trying to run. The crack of Apex’s gun echoes about the room once more, and she falls into a heap in the hallway. Bet she wished they’d left the doors hanging. Hugo whimpers, eyes wide. Pretty sure he’s under no illusion what’s next for him. “Shut him up would you?” Apex gestures to the guy with the barrel of his pistol before he lets it hang from his ring finger by the trigger guard to light his cigarette. So this is how it’s going to be? I’ve often wondered when the day would come, when I’d be made to prove how serious I am about my loyalty to the brothers and the club. I guess killing a man is one of those things you can never truly predict. There were a thousand scenarios that ran through my mind when it came to how my first kill would play out, each as viable as the next. It could have come about any way. But here it is. And judging by the way Apex is watching me, I’d better make it soon. Palming the handle of my Glock, I walk across to where Hugo cries like a baby on his back, his hands clutching his leg, which steadily pumps red over the polished floorboards. He staggers his breaths, and tries to quiet as I lift a boot and lay it down on his chest. “You listenin’ to me now, esé?” His nostrils flare with his suppressed wails. “Scared?” “Just let me go, holmes. I promise I won’t say nothing.” “Not so tough now, are you?” “Fuck you.” He sets his jaw firm as I lift the business end of my gun to point at his right eye. And it’s there—the recognition Twig told me about. This guy knows he’s done bad. Sure, we’re following through on orders because he tried to steal from the wrong guy, but fuck, I could guarantee this asshole’s done worse given the way he prepares for the inevitable. I take a step back before I fire, hoping to minimize the filth I’ll have to clean off my jeans later. The bullet tears through his head and the room falls silent, save for the crackle of Apex’s cigarette

behind me. I wait for it—the shame, the regret, and the horror at what I’ve just done. But it never comes. There’s a void where those reactions should be, nothing but a cavern in my soul. A piece of me left with that bullet. A piece of who I was, forever gone. There’s an empty sense of grief when I process the fact that I’ve crossed that final line. I’m now a fugitive, and a murderer, and nothing I can do will ever change that. There’s no coming back from where I’ve gone. “Good work.” Apex pats me on the back of the shoulder and walks out of the room, sucking on the last of his cigarette. I take stock of the scene around us and try to think if I’ve touched anything, if there’s anything here that will link me to this crime. What use is it, anyway? It takes days for men like this to be missed. It wont be until some street-corner dealer wonders why his supply has dried up that people start to ask questions. I look down at the woman as I walk out to join Apex. Does she have family? Anybody who’ll look for her? How long until they ask questions? If they even care that she’s gone. Because I certainly don’t.

TWENTY Elena “Señora?” Sighing, I swipe the sponge over the compact powder again and apply another layer under my eye. It’ll have to do. “Coming, Maria.” Two months, I’ve been Mrs. Elena Redmond. And for two months I’ve woken up each morning crying, screaming, or a combination of both. Cleansing the soul, starting the day fresh. Some people meditate to begin the day right. I break down. Glancing around the foot well of the vehicle, I can’t find my purse anywhere. Where the hell did I leave it now? I know it was here a moment ago because I tossed my phone in it after I tried calling Mama again. She still doesn’t answer. Carlos bought a cell for me in the days following Papa’s funeral. He said it was in case of emergency, but what I think he really meant to say was in case he needed to track me down. I’m not stupid—just because I chose not to have one doesn’t mean I don’t know how they work. I tried to call Mama at Papa’s funeral. Aside from a shady man in a pleather jacket, Carlos, Sully, and I were the only people to attend. The pastor said the few standard lines, and then Papa’s coffin rolled away to be cremated. Nobody shed a tear. I tossed the ashes the following day at a national park, hoping he’d at least be happy they were spread somewhere beautiful. I just didn’t want to have to carry them around like he meant something to me when he didn’t. “I have your bag here.” Maria gestures to my purse, slung over her arm. We’ve become friends, as much as our unusual relationship will allow. We bonded over mutual interests: being held here with blackmail. For me, it’s Mama. For her, it’s family too. Turns out, Maria owes a few people who owe Carlos, and this is her repaying both debts. “Thank you.” I scoot across the back seat of the Escalade and step out into the warm sunshine, bagging my compact after she hands me the purse. Maria waits to my left while our escort, Sully—I hesitate to call him a bodyguard, considering he’d shoot me as soon as save me—closes the car door and locks it. “Where should we start?” I look down the line of Ma-and-Pa stores that fill the street. “I guess we start at the beginning?” Maria smiles and walks ahead to the first shop on the street—a used-book store. She’s a pretty girl—petite, and with eyes that always seem to be smiling, no matter what hell she’s enduring. And there’s been plenty. I’ve seen Carlos bring her to tears for delivering a drink without enough ice. She already peruses a bin of bargain books, fingers roaming the spines, when I enter the shop. The musty smell of old paper fills my nostrils, quickly followed by the sharp tones of Sully’s, aftershave. “You can wait here, you know.” I look up into his lifeless brown eyes. “You don’t need to follow me everywhere.” The man-mountain doesn’t say a thing. Just shadows me two steps behind as I walk down the aisles to a section with the classics. I lose myself in the selection, excited that I could buy as many of these as I wanted thanks to Carlos’s money. Enjoying anything of his leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to deny myself the simple pleasures for the sake of trying to make a point to a

man who couldn’t give a fuck either way. These past two months I’ve been bored to tears. His house has an empty library in it; rich timber bookcases line every wall, recessed to sit flush with the windows and doors. Ten points for guessing what I plan to do with them. With an armful of books, I reach above my head to get a copy of Little Women from the top shelf. A heavy hardback slips from the tower in my left arm and crashes to the floor, crippling my toes in the process. “Damn it.” “Can I help you with that?” The blonde woman to my right startles me. I never saw her come into the shop. I glance across to where Sully now leans on the counter, talking to the old man who runs the place, while he watches my every move. “Sure. I’d really appreciate it.” The woman bends down to pick up the strewn title, and my eyes rest on the stitched patches that adorn the back of her vest. Fallen Aces, Fort Worth, and most obviously in the center, Property of Mike. My heart comes to a grinding halt, my breath hitched somewhere in my throat. King. Is he here? What are the chances? I lost the card with his number on it the day Carlos took me from Papa’s. Sully went back as promised and got most of my things, but he wouldn’t have thought to look where I’d hidden the card between the kitchen drawers. Even if he had, I wouldn’t have wanted him to find it. What kind of trouble would that have caused? The blonde woman straightens and holds the book to her chest, smiling. “Can I help you carry them to the counter?” “There was just one more.” I point up to the elusive copy. “Oh, no problem. Wait here.” She turns away and walks to the shop front where she whistles loudly. A man appears on the sidewalk, tall and built so solid that he has to twist slightly to make it through the narrow front door of the shop. He walks in, boots clunking on the hardwood floor, and after exchanging words with the blonde woman, follows her to where we stand. Yet again, I’m mesmerized by the tag stitched to the front of his vest: Fallen Aces. Sully materializes at my side. “What’s going on?” “I’m getting help to reach a book,” I snap. He grumbles, his arms crossed as he watches this enormous biker come to a stop on the other side of me. The man has dark, messy hair that compliments the beard he sports. Plugs adorn his earlobes, and tattoos peek from under his sleeves and neckline. His skin is weathered, his eyes hard, and his apparent feelings toward Sully are as dark as his attire. “Sonya said you needed help reachin’ something.” His voice is a rich baritone. “Little Women.” I point to the book that’s become the Holy Grail, sitting on the top shelf. He extends an arm covered in leather cuffs, and plucks the material-bound copy for me. “Ma’am.” “Thank you.” “You’re a good man, Hooch.” The blonde woman, who he named as Sonya, slaps him on the chest with her palm. She turns to look at me, and nods. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” I stand dumbstruck as she crosses to the counter, places her cash down, and picks up a bag of children’s books the old man passes over. The dark and dangerous newcomer, Hooch, looks across at Sully a final time before they disappear onto the street. “You need help again, you let me know.” Sully scowls after the two good Samaritans. “Whatever.” I brush past him as Maria comes dashing around the corner of a trestle table to join me. “Are you okay?”

I hold Sully’s angry glare as I answer her question. “More than okay. Turns out there are actually some half-decent people in this world.” *** Twenty minutes later, and Maria stands beside me while we watch Sully load the books into the back of the Escalade. “Señor is going to be shocked when he sees how many we bring back.” “His library is nothing but bare shelves, Maria. He should be thanking me for making it a little more welcoming.” Sully slams the back door closed and wipes his shirtsleeve across his brow. “It’s hot out. How about I walk you ladies down to the store there to get a couple of cold drinks for the drive back?” He points to a corner store that has placards advertising ice cream, cool Coke, and slushies, crowding the pavement. “That’s such a nice thing to do,” I tease. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I swear I almost had him. Those thin, hard lips twitched. “Come on.” He jerks his head toward the store. Maria waggles her eyebrows as we walk ahead of him, always in his sight. The moment has such a touch of normalcy that I allow myself to smile and enjoy it. The past two months have been spent living on a knife’s edge, wondering when Carlos is going to flip next. Every night we eat at opposite ends of the gigantic table in his dining room, and every night our conversation after the meal goes the same way. He asks, “How did you enjoy the food?” to which I always reply, “How is Mama?” He never answers. My stomach turns the same as it does every time I think about what that could imply. The smile slips from my face. “What would you like?” Sully opens the fridge door and pulls out a Red Bull for himself. I clear my throat, realizing I’d followed Maria in here in a blind state, daydreaming about Mama. “Dr. Pepper, cherry.” Sully takes the lemonade Maria’s selected and heads for the counter to pay. The small shop stifles me, the space to move not seeming nearly enough. I move from one corner of the open floor to the other, and still my unease grows. Thoughts of what might have become of Mama fill my head. I’ve been trying so damn hard to deal with each day as it comes that I never have thought what would happen when it all catches up to me— when I realize just how fucked I am. What happens after Carlos has got Mama to the States? Does he use us for whatever we’re worth and then dispose of us like a dirty napkin? Is there a time limit on my life? Surely I didn’t really believe he’d just keep us around until I’m old and gray. You’re so damn naïve. How long did I think this fraudulent marriage would last? I leave Sully sorting his change, and Maria flicking through a gossip magazine to step out into the fresh air. The sun hits my face as I stop on the edge of the street gutter and I close my eyes, sucking in two huge breaths. “Elena?” My heart slams into my ribcage and then stutters. “Yes?” He was with them. I open my eyes to find just as I’d suspected, the clearest green staring straight back at me. “King?” “What are you doing here?” “Shopping.” I frown. “You?” He’s every bit as enticing as I remember. Damn, I’ve missed him. He jerks a thumb to the four motorcycles lined up over the street. “Riding home with a couple of brothers from down south.” I rub the heel of my hand into my breastbone and try to alleviate the pressure. “It’s good to see

you.” It’s better than good; it’s thrilling. I need to tell him what’s happened, why finding a chance to meet up with him has got a hell of a lot harder. “How’ve you been?” He leans a shoulder into a light post, his eyes roaming my body. I’ve never felt more naked while fully clothed in my life. Even worse, my body reacts and my nipples stiffen . . . he notices. “Things have been complicated.” I cross my arms over my chest and glance to the shop where Sully pockets his wallet and reaches for the drinks. “I need to talk to you.” “What—” “I can’t now, though. Just wait here for a moment.” “Elena!” Sully’s booming voice has me leaping to my toes. My legs shake involuntarily. “Sully?” “Get to the car. Now.” King narrows his gaze on Sully and follows where he’s looking, to the Escalade. His frown deepens when he spots the emblem on the guard, his back going rigid as he straightens. “In a minute,” I tell Sully sternly. “I’ve decided Maria and I need some chocolate.” “Make it quick,” he grumbles. I look across at Maria and smile. “I’ll be right out.” She nods, backing around Sully a little to place him between her and King. Sully looks between King and myself. “We’ll wait here.” “Whatever.” I force myself not to look at King as I turn back for the corner store and rush inside, turning hard left to stand before the chocolate display. My heart races, I’ve got seconds before Sully checks on me, tops. Thrusting my hand into my purse, I search the depths with frantic fingers. Got it. Yanking the pen out, I tear a corner off the price label on the shelf and scribble a quick message on the back. ‘I lost your number – here’s mine.’ Sully steps inside as I drop my pen in my purse and crumple the paper in my fist. “Do you think she’d like caramel, or nougat?” I ask nonchalantly. His eyes harden as he takes a step toward me. “Hurry up, would you?” “Ugh.” I snatch up two Twix bars and stomp to the counter. “You don’t have to be so damn grumpy all the time.” My skin buzzes with the adrenaline coursing through me. Fuck, I hope I can pull this off. I hesitate while Sully leaves the shop, dragging out how long it takes me to pay the man. As soon as I’m clear, I slip a prepaid sim card in with the chocolate. The man behind the counter takes my cash and passes all three items over. I pick up the phone card first to peel off the label that displays the number assigned to it. Sticking it to the back of the price-tag note, I crumple both together, snatch up the Twix bars in my free hand, and exit the shop under Sully’s careful watch. Praying to whoever ’s listening, I stop before Maria, aware King’s still leaning on the light post, but not chancing a look at him yet. “I hope this is okay.” I pass her the Twix, dropping the crumpled slip of paper at the same time. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.” King watches me intently as I glance his way and flick my gaze between him and the paper twice. If he’s cottoned on to what I’m trying to say, he’s hiding it well, because even I’m certain he’s missed the point. Sully jams my bottle of Dr. Pepper roughly in my grasp, and then takes hold of my elbow to pull me toward the car. “Enough fucking around.” I stumble blindly after him toward the vehicle and scowl as he releases me to pull his keys out and unlock the Escalade. Maria climbs in to the back seat beside me, and I hazard a look toward King. He

stoops to pick up the paper. Thank God. Sully shuts the door behind us then rounds the car and gets in, starting the engine. I immediately lower the window, my gaze locked on the stitched picture that makes me think I won’t have to wait for King much longer. The Fallen Aces patch, with the top and bottom rockers stating his club and chapter adorns his back as he straightens up and looks our way. The man’s a prospect no more.

TWENTY-ONE King “Drink up. You’re supposed to be celebrating!” Hooch drops on to the sofa beside me, the shredded cover spitting out a few more spots of foam stuffing onto the floor. He bobs his head to the rock song blasting out of the speakers. I should be celebrating—I got woken up this morning with a boot to the head and told to get my ass downstairs in a hurry. I expected to find the place robbed, rival MCs on our territory, or in the very least a fire. Instead, I was presented with a fifth of Jack, a slap to the head, and a joint to celebrate being voted in as a patched member. Apparently Apex wanted it done before we hit the road today, hence the early morning wake up call. Believe me, I’m over the moon. I’m honored beyond belief. But seeing Elena, seeing her fear, and seeing her get dragged off by one of Carlos’s men has kind of killed my mood. I’ve been wondering how she is every fucking day, wondering why she never called. Guess her message kind of explains that. Progress being slow as it is around here, I had to push the thoughts of her down and bury them under my duties as a prospect just to keep my fucking head. She’s his— Carlos’s—and there ain’t a fucking thing I can do to change that until our club stops working for him. We’d parted ways after disagreeing where our future was headed. I’d made peace with that, with my choice to stay loyal to the club’s best interests. And then we hooked up at the roadhouse. Fuck. I still get hard when I think about how risky that was. She got back under my skin and made herself at home there for the past three months. I’ve been going out of my head wondering how she is. Going crazy without any way to get in touch with her. And then I bumped into her at random, and I got a way to contact her. If that isn’t the universe giving me a sign, what is? “I think I might hit the hay early,” I tell Hooch. He pulls his head back and looks at me as though I told him I’m signing up for the police recruits. “You sure?” “Yeah.” We rode all afternoon to get to Fort Worth, ready for our next run for Carlos. Fucking asshole that he is. “I’m tired, man.” He grunts and nods. “If these fucks find out you bailed on them, you know what that means, hey?” I shake my head at him. The Forth Worth chapter operates a little different to ours—a little rougher. Fair to say that when we come to visit, things get a little wilder. “You’ll be expected to catch up with what they’ve drunk when you get dragged back out here.” I rub a hand over the top of my head, ruffling the overgrown lengths. “Might just take a walk around the compound then. Technically I haven’t bailed if I don’t fully leave the party.” “Now you’re thinkin’.” Hooch tips his drink my way and then stands. “Cheer up, though. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as this next run will be.” He’s dead right there. Next week is a big one. We’re moving one hundred kilos between Carlos’s distribution warehouse and a big-time buyer. It’s too much to take on the bikes alone, so we’re using the crash wagon to move most of it, and the bikes as back up. I cut a path through the main living room and step out the back onto the lawn. The music is still loud, and the chatter too much. I need to think, and all this noise is doing my head in. I pull my cigarettes out and shake one from the pack, illuminating the night with my lighter. Yeah, quitting ain’t

going so well. The space between the old house they’ve converted to clubrooms and the garage is usually inhabited by couples looking for somewhere a little more private to fuck at these kinds of gettogethers, so I hook a right and head down the dark yard toward the broken-down shed at the back of the property. The lull of somebody speaking drifts on the gentle night breeze as I approach. I turn to leave, but the gravelly sound of a particular person has me ducking down to sit behind a bushy tree mere yards from the shed. “What can you promise?” Apex asks. I can’t hear anybody else, so he must be on the phone. But why down here? Why now when he’s supposed to be co-hosting a party? “I need more.” More what? “These fuckers aren’t going to agree to that.” He sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Look, I just want assurance that we’ll get paid. I don’t really care who we piss off, to be fuckin’ honest.” A longer pause. “Pro rata. We renegotiate after each run.” What the fuck is he setting up? I take a pull on my smoke, frowning as I listen to him wrap up his call. “We get these next two out of the way and then you give me the dirt on Denver. After you come through with that and I’m fuckin’ satisfied it’s legit, then I’ll tell you what I want next.” He’s fucking negotiating with Carlos for more. “Yeah, I’ll call you then.” What happened to dead man walking? I scramble to the back wall of the shed, cloaked in the shadows as Apex’s boots pound the dry grass toward the clubhouse. Our fucking president just negotiated a deal with the devil that I don’t think any of our officers know a thing about. He’s supposed to be our leader—a man of the club, for the club. And he’s just fucked the club over. *** “Are you sure you heard him right?” Twig adds a dash of Coke to his bourbon. “Positive.” I spin my pack of smokes between my hands. “I feel shit enough havin’ to come nark to you about it. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t certain of what I heard.” He blows out a heavy breath and takes a seat on an armchair. We managed to find an empty bedroom to use for some quiet and privacy while I spill what I heard. The party still thunders below us, the rest of the club oblivious to what’s unfolding on what should be a night to celebrate my new status. Instead, I’m sitting on the edge of somebody’s unmade bed, telling my VP our president is running this club like a fucking dictatorship, not the democracy it’s supposed to be. “Well, your assumptions are right. He hasn’t said a fuckin’ thing to me.” Twig’s his second-in-command, the guy who’s supposed to know everything, to be able to run the club in Apex’s absence. How the fuck is he supposed to do that when Prez keeps him in the dark? “I need to talk to Beefy about this.” As sergeant-at-arms, Beefy will be the one responsible for sorting this mess out however he decides to see fit. “Apex must have a fuckin’ good reason for it all.” Twig scrubs a hand over his face and then takes a swig of bourbon. “I hope he does, anyway.” “What happens to me?” I eavesdropped, and then I ratted on him. No way he could ever look at that favorably. “Nothing. You went about this exactly how you’re supposed to.” “Still don’t feel right.”

“That’s because there ain’t nothing right about what he’s doin’.” He gestures for my pack and I toss it over. “He state anything specific?” “No, only what I told you. That he said after the fourth run he wants info on Denver, and then he wants to pro rata for other stuff.” Twig pulls out a smoke and lights up, puffing into the room. “I wonder what he’s plannin’.” “What other grief do we have that he’d want details on?” I catch the pack and pull out a cigarette for myself. “None. That’s exactly it. We don’t have any problems he needs to sort out. He’s up to somethin’.” “Doesn’t look all that good, does it?” “Not really. No.”

TWENTY-TWO Elena “Feel any better yet?” I cross my arms and frown at Carlos. He stands with his hands hanging at his sides, his chest heaving. “A little.” “Go on, have another go. Might as well finish what you started.” He picks up another hardback book and flips it open, tearing at the pages and sending them raining down around him like leaves in fall. He continues, teeth bared, shredding the book until all that’s left is the vinyl cover, which he then throws at my head. I duck, picking it up from where it landed against the wall, and hurl it back at him. “What is your fucking problem?” “I said you could go shopping, and you bring back books. Fucking books.” “So fucking what?” “Books,” he shouts. “I expected clothes, shoes, jewelry—something fucking useful.” “Books are useful!” “How?” he screams at me, heaving a thick edition my way. “Because if I can read, I’ll be able to escape the fact I fucking live with you!” I kick the book aside after it lands with a heavy thud and storm from the room. Fuck him. I spent more than an hour picking those books out, classics at that, and he’s just ripped most of them to pieces. His feet hammer the floor behind me at a quick pace, and I spin in time to see him lunge a hand out to catch hold of me. “Where the fuck are you going?” “Away from you.” I yank my arm, but his hold doesn’t let up. His grip aches, the throb from the pressure of his fingers intensifying. “You got a mess to clean up in there.” “I’ll be sure to let Maria know.” He chuckles, his grip getting tighter. How is that even possible? “Oh, she’ll be helping you, but you brought that shit here, you can fucking well get rid of it.” “What’s the big deal, Carlos? The library is empty. So what if I bought a few books to fill the shelves?” “Because I don’t like having books in there, that’s why.” He releases me with a jerk and barges past, knocking me off-balance. “Why?” I holler after him, not expecting an answer. When he does, it pulls the wind from my sails. “Because my first wife loved books, and I loved her before I shot her.” *** “Do you know much about Carlos’s first wife?” I ask Maria. We’re both on our knees, collecting pages and shoving them into a box to be taken to the furnace. “Only what I’ve heard.” She sits back on her heels and reads over a page, a frown pulling her eyebrows together. “What is it?” “I was thinking it’s such a shame. I’d hoped to sneak a book or two out to practice my English.”

“You speak it fine,” I reassure her. “Yes, but I’ve learnt by listening and copying,” she explains. “I can’t read it very well.” “So I’ll teach you.” I push off the floor and pick up a few of the untouched copies. “Take these and keep them somewhere safe.” She accepts the books I pass her and crosses the room to place them beside the door. “Thank you. I will.” I go back to picking up the pages, sad at the pointless destruction. He could have asked me to take them away again. He didn’t have to shred the damn things. “Carlos’s first wife was pretty,” Maria kneels beside me. “One of the grounds men worked here when they first moved in. Said she would walk through the gardens often with their boy.” A strange sense of excitement blooms hearing something personal about Carlos. Perhaps if I learn more I can use it against him when the time comes, or at the very least, understand why he’s so bitter a little better. “Have you met his son?” “No.” She shakes her head and drops a handful of paper into the box before absently squashing it all down. “He left before I started here.” “I’ve heard he’s just as crazy.” “Sí. I’ve heard that too.” Shuffling the pages in my hands, I stare down at the torn edges. “It all sounds so sad.” “Most people’s lives usually are,” Maria answers. She drags the box to a new area. “Some people just hide it better than others.” I nod at her observation, pushing to my feet to cross to the box so I can dump my handful when my leg vibrates. I ditch the pages and scramble to pull my phone out. I swapped the sim cards last night, removing the number Carlos gave me—and most likely monitors—and putting in the one I bought with the chocolate. “What does it say?” Maria flat-out refused to help me with this mess unless I told her who the man was I spoke to outside the corner store. I could have lied, but for whatever reason I felt compelled to tell her the truth. I told her about King. I glance down at the mess of numbers on the screen and shrug. “I don’t know.” She places her pages down and scoots closer, peering over my shoulder. I swipe the message open. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Got so many questions. I look across at Maria, delighted by the excitement on her face as she rereads the message. “What are you going to say?” I don’t know. What can I say? Nibbling on my left thumbnail, I hover my right thumb over the phone. “Tell him you’ve been thinking of him too.” Maria clutches her hands before her chest, wriggling in her seated position. And I want to answer them all, but how can I see you? When are you next in town? I hesitate before hitting send. What if I’m wrong and Carlos can still see what I’m messaging somehow? It’s too unlikely. I send the message and wait. The steady beat of our breaths fills the silence until the buzz of the phone vibrating has us both scrambling to tap the screen to wake it. When you want me to be?

“Do you think Señor will let you go out alone?” Maria’s gaze sweeps over the few pages that still litter the floor amongst the empty shells of the books. “He might send one of his guards to keep watch.” “I guess I just have to hope for the best.” Day after tomorrow? We sit for a moment, watching the phone before Maria sighs and scoots over to pick up the last of the pages. Same place? I’ll let you know. Meeting him there is probably unlikely given I’ll need somewhere believable for Sully to drop me off. “How do I tell him what’s happened?” Maria lifts her head at my question and places the paper from her hands into the box. “One word after another.” “I don’t know what to say.” I slump back on my heels, absently watching her as she finishes up with the last of the covers and pushes the box to the door. “I’m scared I’ll lose what remains of us, that he’ll decide I’m not worth it any more.” She stands and places her hands on her lower back, stretching. “Speak from the heart. Tell him the truth, no prettying it up, no skimming details. If you lie to him now, you’ll forever lose his trust.” She offers a small smile. “Whatever was meant to be will be.”

TWENTY-THREE King two days later I couldn’t sleep for shit all night. I texted Elena expecting some bullshit blow-off about why she needed to stay with Carlos, and instead I’m meeting her today. How’s that for a turn of events? I kill the engine and look up at the house I know intimately—my parents’ house. I told Mom I’d come over for lunch a few months back and reneged. Things at the club seemed so much more important, but after lodging a bullet in Hugo I figured I should probably follow through before something happens to me that means I can’t. The sun is bright today, catching the metal wind chime that hangs from the porch and blinding me as I walk up the path. I didn’t ring ahead; I figured I’d surprise them. The wood steps creak on my ascent and as I step on to the porch Mom opens the door with a grin splitting her face clean in two. “Well hello, you.” “Hey, Mom.” “What made you change your mind? Thought you’d decided you were too cool to come home for lunch.” I chuckle and pull her into a hug. “You look beautiful, as usual.” “Stop sucking up and spit it out.” She pats my back and then holds me at arm’s length. “At least they’re feeding you well.” “Not for too much longer.” “No?” She steps aside, letting me go inside first. “No. The clubhouse is gettin’ crowded. I signed up on my own place this morning.” “You could have come home.” Dad sits at the dining table in his coveralls, lunch spread out before him, mimicking Mom’s words as she speaks. I laugh and step over to shake his hand when Mom lets out a long, low whistle. “Look at this, Terry.” She grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around so my back is to Dad. “They gave him the patch.” “Moving up in the world then,” Dad teases. “Somethin’ like that.” I take a seat beside him and nod when Mom gestures to the pitcher of juice. “How’s that bike of yours running? Given it a service lately?” Dad and his machinery; he cares for it more than himself. “Last week. Changed the oil and cleaned the plugs. Ordered new belts to have on hand.” He waves a cut sandwich at me. “You should have enough parts on hand to strip and rebuild that machine twice.” “Yes, Dad.” He chuckles, tearing into the bread with his teeth. “When do you move in to your new place then?” Mom asks, sliding the filled glass over. “Soon as I want.” “Well, if you need to borrow any furniture while you get yourself set up, you know we still have all your bedroom suite, and a few of the old lounge chairs.” “Thanks. I might take you up on that yet.”

“What’s been going down?” Dad asks before chasing his bite with a drink. “You keeping out of trouble?” “As best I can.” They both stare at me in silence. I forget my parents can read my expressions like a damn book. “A little bit’s going on, but nothing I don’t think I got a handle on.” Mom jabs her finger my way, addressing Dad. “A year with those looneys and he’s forgotten how to speak properly.” “I haven’t forgotten,” I say shaking my head. “I just get ridiculed if I speak like I went to a private school.” “You did go to a private school,” Dad says. “And we paid good money for you to.” “Farm going all right?” I ask, changing the subject. “Eh.” He shrugs. “It’s making us enough to live off.” Farming used to be a booming sector around here, guaranteeing a man enough to have his family live comfortably if he was willing to work for it, but these days, success is measured by whether you need to visit the financial aid offices or not. “We’re thinking about dividing the property.” Mom drops the news as though she’s sharing dinner plans. “Selling off the back section in five-acre lots.” “Wow. When?” “Lawyer ’s drawing up the title deeds for us as we speak,” Dad says, reaching for another sandwich. “You eating?” I nod and snag a roast beef. “I take it that means you’ll be downsizing the herd then?” The farm size is perfect for feed rotation. Reduced pasture means reduced grazing capability. “Halving it,” Mom answers. “I think we’d get bored if we gave it up altogether.” “You’ll probably enjoy the change of pace,” I say, before taking a bite. The homemade relish Mom makes has my tongue singing. I’ve missed her food. “What’s troubling you, Son?” Dad asks. I know the asshole’s taking the opportunity to throw it out there while my mouth’s full. Bastard. “You look tired. Anything we can help with?” I shake my head and swallow down the food. “Let me think how to word it.” I take another bite of sandwich and mull over how to tell them what’s bothering me without giving away club business. Mom rises from the table and starts clearing away empty dishes as I finish the sandwich. I could just pose it as a hypothetical situation. Should work that way. “If you had an employer who didn’t operate by the same code of conduct as his employees, what would you do?” I’ve pretty much given the game away, but they still don’t know the worst of my problems—Elena. “Confront him,” Dad answers. “Are their indiscretions making your job harder, or is there no change?” “Harder. Increasing the likelihood of workplace injury.” Dad exchanges a glance with Mom as she returns to the table with a tin of raspberry slice. “My problem is I don’t know if I should stay with the job and hope for change, or move on.” “You do what feels right for you,” Mom says quietly, wiping crumbs from the edge of the tin. Dad leans his elbow on the table and frowns. “If the situation at your ‘workplace’”—he lifts his eyebrow at the word—“changed, would you enjoy your job?” I nod. “For sure.” “Then why wait for change?” I frown, picking up a piece of the slice with real raspberry jam and a solid chocolate top. Heaven. “What do you mean?” “Don’t sit around and wait for things to change. Because if they do, it’s either going to be for the

worse, or the person who does create the change will be just another person you don’t want as a boss.” “You think I should try to change things myself then?” He nods, taking some slice also. “Be the change. Petition your ideas and align yourself to be the boss one day.” I chuckle and put the whole slice in my mouth, chewing and swallowing while I shake my head at him. “You basically told me to try and overthrow the president.” He stares me dead in the eye, not an ounce of humor on his face. “Why not? You’re a smart man with his head and heart in the right place.” My heart beats a little faster at the mere thought of entertaining the idea. He might be onto something, though. Maybe I could lead the club and steer it away from the direction Apex has it heading in. Clean it up and make it a safe haven. I don’t have to do anything shady; I can pull the right moves to get there. Become an officer, move through the ranks. Elections are open every five years, unless the remainder of the board votes an officer out. I wouldn’t have to wait too long. “You think I’d be good at it?” Dad smirks. “You’re asking your parents if you’d be good at something.” “Right.” I chuckle and reach for another piece of slice. If I want the change, I have to be the change. Guess that could apply to Elena as well. If I want her to be mine, I have to be the change that makes it happen. I can’t continue to sit around and wait for the timing to be right—who’s to say it ever will? Looks like my schedule’s suddenly become pretty fucking busy.

TWENTY-FOUR Elena My palms are clammy as hell. I’ve given up rubbing them over my leather pants to try and dry them. I just end up with black dye wearing off over my hands. Carlos didn’t take much convincing to let me go shopping again. I told him I wanted to buy the ‘practical shit’ he asked for: dresses, jewelry, and accessories. Sully said I wouldn’t be guarded; he’d rather find somewhere to have a quiet drink than watch me try on item after item in a dress shop. He’s going to drop me off, and pick me up four hours later. I almost fell on my ass with shock. I’ve been checking out the window the whole way here for flying pigs. Sully turns the Escalade into the parking lot for the mall and brings the car to a stop. He twists in his seat and looks at me over his shoulder. “Four hours. I’m risking my neck leaving you alone, so don’t do anything stupid. Understood?” I hold up my phone, showing him the time on the screen. “Four hours. Noted.” My legs bop impatiently as Sully gets out and opens my door. “I’ll be back in this exact spot to get you. If I can’t get a space close by, I’ll double park, so make sure you’re here.” I nod, rocking in my seat with my purse on my lap, willing him to get out of the damn way and let me out. He steps aside and I leap into a quick walk, waving him off over my shoulder. My legs ache with the need to run, but I don’t want him to get too suspicious. There’s nothing off about me being eager—it’s been three months since I’ve been anywhere alone. But running? Yeah, it’s not the Black Friday sales. The doors to the elevator open, and I walk inside, turning in time to see Sully back out of the park. As soon as the doors slide shut, I have my phone awake and a message to King underway. I’m here. I’d let him know last night what mall I’d be at. The display illuminates, my heartbeat quickens as it does. Besides Mama, he’s the only other thing that helps me get up each morning. Life under Carlos’s oppression is hard—too hard some days. On my way. He said he’d wait nearby so he didn’t get spotted. The elevator doors open, and I step out into the street, finding a bench to sit on while I scroll through to Mama’s number and hit dial. It rings. And rings. And rings some more before the telco disconnects. I swallow down the rising sickness. Something’s wrong. I know it. If only I had another way to reach her. I ring anybody official, and questions will be asked about my hasty marriage after Papa’s death, and who I’m married to. I can’t afford to draw that kind of attention to Carlos and mess things up. Where are we meeting? I sit and wait for King to reply, aware that he’s unable to while he rides. He’ll be here soon, with me. Relief hits me so hard that I fight back the urge to cry. I’ve been living minute to minute in this lie that I’m doing okay for too long, and the stress is taking its toll on my mental health. I’m not okay.

I’m married to a drug lord to save Mama from drug lords. Go figure . . . I lose myself watching the people walk by, looking at what they wear, which stores the bags they carry are from, and imagine what each of their lives must be like. Women with children, businessmen, businesswomen—they all have somewhere to go, a life to live. I wonder what they think when they see me? What do they think my story is? The rumble of a motorcycle grows and echoes off the shop-fronts, snapping me from my daydream. My heartbeat is a soft whoosh in my ears as I spin around and watch him pull up on the side of the road behind me. King backs the bike in, head down as he watches the back wheel. He kicks the stand out, removes his helmet, and turns to look over his shoulder at me before he dismounts. “Hey, baby.” He grins and steps toward me as I stand from the bench and move toward him also. “Hey.” I lean in with my hands on his chest for stability and give him a chaste kiss. “I wasn’t sure if you’d get in touch.” He smirks, eyeing me head to toe. “Jesus, woman. You think I’d ever be able to say no to you?” “Probably has the same likelihood of me being able to stay away from you, huh?” I move a hand to his shoulder, sweeping it over the rise of his traps. “You look good.” “You look fuckin’ amazing.” He bends quickly and catches the hem of my dress with his fingers, flicking it up before letting it billow back to my legs. “I like this.” Anybody else and I would have slapped them to the ground for that, but with King? I’m wondering why I wore panties. He tips his head to the side and scratches at his neck. “You want to do this here, or somewhere else?” “Here, of course,” I sass. “I’ve got a thing for exhibitionism.” He smiles and nods to the bike. “You know what I mean. Get on before I make what you said true.” We ride out of town, and my heart soars when he pulls into the same cabins we’d stayed at last time. He even manages to get us the same room number. It’s nothing special; a two-room cabin set out amongst nine others just like it, but in a world where not much is just for us, it’s ours. It’s one of the few places that I don’t have memories of Carlos. With a kick from King’s boot, the door is shut and I’m left staring down the only man in my life who has been able to make my legs literally buckle with a look alone. His dark blond hair is ruffled from riding and falls in messy sections over his forehead. The lengths draw my gaze down to his intense green eyes that watch me do a slow take of him. I swallow as his full lips tip up on one side. His eyes roam over my body, and of all the things to think about, I realize I’m still wearing the plain wedding band Carlos made me put on. I clasp my hands behind my back, not ready to tell him just yet, and wriggle it off, throwing it to the carpeted living area with a flick of my wrist. Must remember to look for it later. “What was that?” Damn it. “What?” “Did you just throw something behind you?” He marches around me, making the tiny cabin look like a shoebox with his size. “No.” I catch him by the sides of his cut and try to tug his hard body to mine. It’s like trying to move a rock. “I saw something land over here.” He stoops down and picks up the damn ring, holding it between his thick fingers. “What’s this?” “Do we have to talk about it now?” I snap. Selfish as it is, I wanted to spend time with him first, time without something as problematic as this ruining the mood. “Yes, we do.” He holds it out before him. “Why did you throw it away?” The way he looked at me a second before, I was ready to skip straight to the bedroom. Now? He’s

making me mad at him, not that any of this is his fault. My anger toward him is unjustified, but I can’t stop the way I feel—I need an outlet, and unfortunately he’s the closest one. “I didn’t want you seeing it.” “Is it . . .” He turns it over in his palm. “Is it a wedding ring?” “Bravo.” I stomp past him and slump into the only armchair, my hands jammed between my knees. “You tied the knot then?” He cocks one eyebrow at me. It’s the sexiest thing at the worst time. “Yes.” I feel like a teenager admitting to the sheriff that I tagged the side of the local hall. His back finds the wall, and he lifts both eyebrows as he checks the ring out. I launch from the chair, annoyed that he’s managed to ruin the mood, or perhaps that Carlos has ruined it without even being here, and try to take the ring from him. “Uh-uh.” He closes his fist around it and holds it over his head. “Tell me why the fuck you went through with it.” “I don’t see what difference it makes.” I jump, trying to get it from him, but my hands keep slipping off his wrist, failing to get him to even move. His belt buckle and the studs on his leather cuff scratch at my flesh as I throw myself against him, doing what I can to wrestle his hand down. “It matters to me,” he growls. “I’m tryin’ to understand this whole thing. You said you don’t love him, so why do it?” I sigh, shoulders slumping as I quit my struggle against him. “I’m married to the asshole so I don’t get deported.” King’s brow pinches and he throws the gold band across the other side of the room as though the act of touching it disgusts him. In a way, I understand. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d leave it off as well. I gasp as he wraps his huge hands around my upper arms and holds me firm. He looks hurt. “If you were that fuckin’ desperate to stay here, I would have done it.” He lets me go with a shove and storms the three steps it takes him to cross the room. “Why him?” “I didn’t have a choice.” He lets out a bitter laugh and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling with his back to me. “Yeah, right. So his money and status had nothin’ to do with it?” “Is that what you think of me?” I look around and grab the closest thing—a stack of tourism pamphlets—and throw them at him. They hit his back with a dull thwap before skittering to the floor and slowly fanning out over the carpet. He turns around to face me, brow tight. Whoops. “You fuckin’ throw shit at me again and I will fuckin’ tie your hands behind your back until we’re done. Got it?” Yes, sir. Why the hell does that sound so appealing? I look around for something else to throw when he closes the gap between us and then bends a little to level our gaze. Lines pinch around the sides of his eyes as he looks over my face. “Why didn’t you have a choice, Elena?” His question makes me second-guess everything I’ve done. Could I have got away if I tried a little harder? I didn’t even run when we got out of the car the night Papa died. I never risked it to know if I would have stood a chance at escaping. I just took Carlos’s threats as gospel and assumed I couldn’t. “Mama, she lives in Cuba still.” I drop my gaze to the floor. “She’s in trouble, and I can’t get her here without help. He said he’d pay for her to fly to America.” “If you married him?” I nod, burying my face in my hands. “He says something about another way I can be useful to him, another reason to keep me around, but he won’t tell me what.” King lets out a heavy breath. His hands gently circle my wrists and he forces me to show my face. “Is your mama on her way then?”

“No. He won’t talk about her—shuts me down every time I ask. I don’t really understand what he’s trying to do with me.” Now that the fight has gone, I’m tired. All I want to do is lie down, but King’s hands on my wrists keep me upright. I slump against his hold anyway, hoping he’ll let me go. He picks me up instead, and guides my legs around his hips. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rest my head on his shoulder and let him carry me over to the armchair. He sits carefully on the edge, giving me space for my legs that are still wrapped behind him. “We can talk more about it later,” he says quietly, stroking a firm hand over the back of my head. “For now, I just want to enjoy being able to touch you again.” My heart breaks. He’s so perfect, and yet he’ll never truly be mine. “I feel safe with you,” I whisper, tightening my hold. “I feel like this is all there should be.” “It could be.” A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “Yeah, right. In what world?” “Ours.” I wish it were so easy. But everything comes with a price. I’m never going to have much more than this, right here. And it hurts. “I have four hours,” I say. “Sully will be waiting for me at the mall.” I glance across to where my purse lies. “It’s probably closer to three hours once we take off the time to get back.” “Then we have three hours,” he says, guiding my head off his shoulder, “where I get to give you a break for a few minutes here and there.” Three hours. I’d take three minutes of time alone with him if that was all I was offered. I lean back, taking his face in my hands and stroking my palms over his cheeks. “Show me what it could be like. Can we pretend? Spend the whole time in bed like this is our lazy Sunday?” “Sounds perfect.” His lips twitch up in a small smile, and I trace the movement with my thumb. His breath catches as I lean forward and place my lips hesitantly on his. The soft lengths of his beard tickle my chin. I move my lips slowly over his, feeling the tempo of his warm breath increase as I do. We kissed before, but this is so different. Before was in the heat of passion, stealing what we could in case there was only the one time. But now, I have the time to show him how deeply he affects me. He closes his eyes and mimics my movements, gently pinching my bottom lip between his. I shuffle about as we repeat the tender touch, allowing him to tug my dress from underneath me so he can roam his hands up the inside over my back. The moment is slow, and thoughtful. Each path of my hands over his shoulders, chest, and arms is done with precision. I’m mind-mapping my perfect man. Committing him to memory. Saving some for later. “Take these off and sit back down.” King tugs the side of my panties, leaning back to give me room to get up. His eyes track me as I stand and shimmy the lace down my thighs and over my knees, and then kick them aside. His tattooed hands move in his lap at the same time to unbuckle his belt. I watch the thick veins move over his forearms as he tugs on the leather strap and pulls the belt free of the buckle. The dome on his jeans pops with a flick of his thumb, and he follows it up by tugging the zipper down. The man isn’t wearing any boxers. He’s going commando underneath all that denim and leather. Save me . . . I’m surely going to die—my heart can’t handle those kind of surprises right now. “Get.” He pats his thigh with a heavy hand as he scoots back in the seat. I scrunch my dress out of the way, climb on his lap, and lower myself down. A hiss escapes between his teeth as the heat of my flesh meets his. “Jesus, baby. Stay like that. Give me a minute.” His eyes close and he tips his head back on the seat, groaning.

The sound vibrating from his chest causes a rush between my legs. His hips rock slowly, sliding his stiff length through my wet heat, the head pressing as it passes over my tight bundle of nerves. I place both hands on his shoulders to steady myself as the wave of pleasure rips the strength from my muscles. I rock my hips in unison, using the way my knees are braced against the arms of the chair to push myself down harder. “I’ve been wantin’ your pussy so fuckin’ bad,” he says, placing both hands on my hips to push us together even harder. “I’ve been wantin’ all of you again.” Our tempo picks up, the rocking growing frantic. The familiar numbness builds in my thighs. “It’s too good,” I moan. The head of his cock bruises my clit, pressing so damn hard. I could take more. “That’s it,” he coaxes. “Show me how much you like it.” King slips a thumb onto my nub and rubs hard circles as I pant and grind over his length. If this is how amazing he feels without penetration, what the hell am I in for later? Bliss—that’s what. “Tell me when you’re about to come. Don’t you dare come sittin’ over my cock.” His gaze is fixed to his thumb and the frantic movements of my hips. I’m so close, so deliriously happy. Do I tell him, or do I just ride this out? It’s too good to waste. “I’m close,” I pant. “Oh my God, so close.” His hands bruise my hips as he grips hard and hoists me up so I’m left squatting, my feet jammed between the cushion and the armrests. My jaw drops as I watch this wide and muscular man writhe and wriggle beneath me with effortless grace so his head is now where his lap used to be. King braces himself on bent legs, reaches up and takes hold of my hips once more to slam my throbbing pussy down on his face. Holy . . . I come. I fucking explode over him like nothing else as his tongue flicks crazily across my over-worked nerves. The high starts to fade when he inserts two fingers, stoking the fire, and sends me shaking onto another level. The things he can do. And we have three hours. With a satisfied groan, he lifts me off his face. I’m shaking as I grapple for something to steady myself on so he can scoot up the chair again. “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted.” His beard glistens with the evidence of my arousal. I run my palm over his face, wiping the remnants away. “Ready?” He places his hands over my hips again and guides me down. I lose focus and cry out as his length fills and stretches me. He starts out slow, easing out and in again, before he builds to the same frantic pace as before. His arms cord, the muscles working hard as he lifts me on each down stroke, dropping me hard as he thrusts up. It’s raw, anger filled, and deserved. My head pulls back with a twist of his wrist in my hair, and he yanks harder as he comes, still guiding me with the other hand nestled in the small of my back. My inner muscles clench in response, putting pressure on his pulsing cock. He groans between gritted teeth, and gives me a few last pumps before pulling me forward so my head rests on his chest. “Three hours,” he says with a sigh. “You’re either goin’ to kill me in that time, or have me fuckin’ fit by the end of it.”

TWENTY-FIVE King She lay silently on me after we’d finished in the chair, not saying a thing, but not letting go either. The moment was perfect—a glimpse of what lazy Sundays could be like in another life. Her eyes closed, and for a moment there I was pretty sure she fell asleep. Only when it got too hot to be pressed so intimately together did we give in and move to the bedroom. “Tell me what kind of trouble your mother is in.” I twist my fingers through her dark hair as we lie on the bed. “Is it money?” “In a way.” Her hand reaches out and she lays a palm over the ink on my pec. “I only know what Carlos has told me.” “Your mother didn’t tell you abut the trouble herself, then?” I ask. She pulls her hand away, flexing her fingers in and out of a fist. “I can’t get hold of her. I’ve tried calling, so many times.” Her brow furrows, her eyes glazed. “And you’re worried about her?” I gently place a hand over hers to trap it against my chest again. “My head tells me what my heart doesn’t want to believe.” “Which is?” “She’s dead. That they’ve already caught up to her and I’m too late.” Elena tries to pull away and roll to the other side of the bed, but I’m not having a bar of it. Just because she’s always dealt with shit like this alone before doesn’t mean she still has to. “How can we find out for sure, other than the phone?” Her muscles relax again, her body seeming to find comfort in my touch as I run my fingers gently along the curve of her waist. “I’d need to be able to get in touch with her neighbors.” “I take it you don’t have their numbers?” “No.” Her eyes follow me as I move out from underneath her and turn on to my side. “What if I made some calls? Surely there’d be ways for me to get the numbers?” “Maybe.” I move off the bed and cross over to where my jeans lie in a heap. “Who should we look up first? Do they have a directory number in Cuba?” I pull my phone out and turn around to find her propped up on one elbow, watching me. “No.” She shakes her head. “Nothing I could find anyway.” “Inconvenient,” I say, walking back to her. “But nothing we can’t work around. What’s her name?” I stand frozen two steps from the edge of the bed and open a message to Twig. “Idoya del Omo.” Between Gunner and him, one of them should be able to help. I enter in her mother ’s name and hit send. “What are you doing?” “Helping.” I toss my phone over to my jeans again and slide back in to bed, adjusting the sheets over us. “I’ll let you know if I can find anything out, baby. Somebody’s got to know somethin’.” Elena reaches out and takes my hand in hers, laying it between us. She turns my fingers over in her hold and looks at them, at the cracks in my skin. I watch her as she studies my palm, hard and full of

callouses. “You have worker ’s hands.” My lips curl up on one side. “My parents have a farm. They had me out working a rake when I was half the size of it.” “They all tell a story.” She traces the hard flesh with a finger. “Are you proud of your story?” I pull in a deep breath and exhale before answering. “For the better part.” I don’t think there’s a person on this earth who doesn’t carry at least one regret. “My mother was a hard worker,” she says, nestling her head into the pillow beside my hand. “Papa? He was a dreamer. He wanted what my grandfather had, but without the sacrifice.” “What did your grandfather do?” “He flew a Cessna. Pride of his family. He worked two jobs, sleeping four hours a night to afford his pilot’s license.” She looks up to find me watching her intently. A flush spreads over her cheeks before she ducks her head. “He did a couple of small jobs, but there wasn’t a lot of market for a pilot where he lived. Not until cocaine took off in Miami in the 70s. He was one of the men who flew contraband between Colombia, Cuba, Miami, and return. He made very good money. Something Papa was envious of when my grandfather died and left it all to his siblings.” “Is that why Carlos wants you around? Are your family involved in the trade?” It makes sense then why Carlos is so keen to trap her—why he married her. It can’t have been just because of her expired visa. “I don’t know.” She lifts up and straightens my arm under her head to then lie nestled into the side of my chest. “Grandpapa’s plane crashed in 81. It was a set-up from the then largest kingpin to take down the last supporter of the previous cartel boss. None of these new kingpins operate by the same standards; they’re all out to kill each other for the top spot more than they’re in it to maximize the business.” “What has that got to do with you?” “I don’t know, but that’s the only connection I can draw.” Her eyes lose the spark that had grown as she talked of her family. “You think that’s why he got involved with you, for your family?” “Do you?” Elena glances up as I shrug. Who would know? It’s obvious the guy is ruthless and fucked when it comes to how he treats people. But marry her because of some vague connection to past cartel bosses? It doesn’t make sense. “What other reason could there be?” I shake my head, pulling her tight against my side. “Now I see where Sawyer gets it from.” “Is Sawyer his son?” “Yeah.” I rub my free hand over the top of hers and then tug her on top. “He’s a prospect at our southern chapter. Crazy son-of-a-bitch.” “Carlos’s son is with your club?” Her head pulls back, the most adorable look of confusion on her face. “To piss his old man off, yeah. Thought he’d join to be a biker, not a drug dealer like his old man.” I wrap my arms around her waist, resting a hand lazily on her naked butt. She sighs and tucks her head under my chin. “He never spoke about him. I only know what I heard in gossip.” I guess that’s a good thing if they don’t talk about much. They can’t spend a lot of time together if that’s the case. My limbs turn to concrete, and I swallow twice before the words even stand a chance at coming out. “Do you sleep with him? I mean, I know you’re married now, but you said you don’t love the guy, and . . .” Where am I going with this? Her fingers run a lazy path over my bicep, tracing the picture of a compass inked into my skin.

“You know the answer, King. I’m not going to voice it.” Jesus. A wash of heat runs the length of my body. “He hurt you?” She chuckles. “I have a wicked temper sometimes. It gets me in trouble.” If he hurts her . . . if he— “Stop thinking about it.” Elena shifts, propping her chin on her hands to look up at me. “We have less than two hours left to spend together. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to spend most of it pretending there’s nobody outside of these four walls who matters.” “Apart from your mother.” Her smile fades. “Apart from Mama.” I tuck her head back under my chin and run my fingers down the lengths of her hair, laying them out over her shoulders. “We’ll figure out what to do. I promise you if nothing else, I’ll ease that burden.”

TWENTY-SIX Elena The last three hours have been the best of my life. Cliché? Maybe, but it’s true. We spent the time we weren’t having sex doing silly stuff like tossing peanuts in each other ’s mouths, making out, and then playing twenty questions with each other. King had stepped out to take a few calls, and when I asked him who it was, all he’d said was ‘I told you I’d help.’ Mama. I don’t want to get my hopes up. These past weeks I’ve grieved the inevitable, that she’s gone. If I start to believe she might be okay, just to have that hope torn out from underneath me when I find out the worst has happened, I don’t know if I could cope. I lean my cheek against the warm leather of King’s back and watch the buildings fly by beside us. Our time was over too soon, and before I knew it King was breaking it to me softly that we’d better get going. I’m not ready to give him up just yet and return to the dark reality of being Carlos’s wife. It’s a title, nothing more. I don’t belong to him. I never will. The sun is relentless on our ride back to the mall, and I end up with a fine sheen of sweat over my body by the time we pull up in a nearby side-street to park. “I don’t have any shopping,” I point out as he pockets his keys. “What were you supposed to be buying?” “Clothes, bags, shoes, that kind of stuff,.” He slips his hand in mine and starts us toward the mall. “Best we hurry up then, hey?” His eyes light up as he smiles down at me walking beside him. “You look like you need to cool off, anyway.” I eye the man head to toe and realize he’s nowhere near as hot and bothered as I am. “Why aren’t you sweaty? You’re in black, for Heaven’s sake.” “Wear one of these long enough”—he tugs on his cut—“and you’ll soon acclimatize.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I bet.” We head indoors, and I tune in to the lyrics of The Clash’s “Should I Stay, Or Should I Go” as we cut through a department store. A laugh escapes me at the irony. Stay. Always stay. “What’s so funny?” I stop and point to the ceiling, indicating he should listen. He does, and the cutest smile spreads over his face. “Funny.” “True though, isn’t it?” He listens a little longer as we walk and then nods. “Pretty much.” I look across and catch his brow furrowing before he continues. “Elena, you need to understand how it is for me.” “I do,” I say, trying to take the stress away. We were happy, leaving each other on good terms without arguing the obvious for a change. I wanted it to stay that way. “I don’t think you do.” He tugs me to a sunglasses display and picks up a pair of ridiculously oversized shades. I smile as he positions the arms on my ears. The damn things cover half my face. “Perfect disguise,” he says. I go to take them off when he holds up a finger. King ducks around me, snatching up a hat from another stand. He plonks the fedora on and grins. “Now nobody will know who you are.”

I take the items off and return them to their displays. “Stop being silly.” “Beats moping around until you need to head up to the car park.” He reaches out and snags me around the shoulders with his arm. I relax into his hold, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I better find something to buy though.” “How long we got?” I pull away to check the time on my phone. “Ten minutes.” “Race you.” I’m left laughing as King dashes through to the shoe display and picks up a pair of strappy sandals. “You like?” I shake my head. “Hold this and watch a pro.” I give him my purse and lace my fingers together, cracking my knuckles. Eleven minutes later, I’m jiggling my leg as the cashier rings up the purchases. “I’m late.” King’s body envelops mine as he moves behind me, placing his arm over my shoulders and wrapping it across my chest. “Relax. Women always take longer than they say they will to do shit.” He places a kiss to my cheek. The cashier gives me the total and I hand over my card. She swipes the purchases through and passes the bags over. King places my purse strap over my shoulder first, helping me hook the bags on my hands. I ended up snaring five tanks, two pairs of jeans, a dress, and three pairs of heels. For eleven minutes, I think I must have set some sort of record. We walk to the exit of the department store where it joins on to the rest of the mall, and King stops. “I’ll leave you here, baby. Any farther and I might get you in the shit.” I pout. Yeah, it’s childish, but it sums up how I feel without me having to stomp a foot. “It better not be too long before I see you again.” He jams his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor between us. “I got your number. I’ll let you know if I’m passin’ through.” His reluctance confuses me. He was happy to ride down weekly before, why not now? “What’s wrong?” “Nothin’.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They remain a deep forest green as he jerks his chin toward the elevator. “Get up there before you’re in trouble, huh?” “It’s not over with us,” I say, reassuring myself as much as him. “Yes, it’s hard now, but I won’t be stuck there forever.” He nods, glancing to his right as he frowns. “No, baby. You won’t.” His chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. “But for now this is how things have gotta be.”

TWENTY-SEVEN King I never want to have to do that again. Walking away from Elena was hard. I shouldn’t have looked back. I should have walked out of that fucking mall, ridden down the street and focused on the road ahead. But I’m a love-struck fool. A fucking idiot. And I looked. And of course, there she was. Beautiful and fucking perfect, walking in the opposite direction toward the elevator for the car park with her round ass swaying side-to-side. And now I’m fucked. Because I want the wife of a drug lord for myself. And I’ll do anything I can to have her. Twig’s waiting for me when I pull my bike into the garage, his arms crossed as he leans a hip on the worktable. Fingers works on an engine behind him, the bike up on stands as he gives a socket some elbow grease. “You left in a hurry,” Twig comments as soon as I’ve killed the motor. He wanders closer, out of earshot of Fingers. “Ready to tell me why I’m trackin’ some woman in Cuba?” I messaged Twig first after Elena told me about her mother because he’s about the only guy I can trust, and let’s face it—a year with the club hasn’t earned me a lot of contacts yet. He’s been keeping me updated on what he’s been able to find out so far, which doesn’t sound good. “All in good time, brother.” He grunts a laugh, jerking his head back as he does. “Beefy wants to see you when you get in. He’s out on the deck eatin’ a foot-long.” When is the guy not eating? I give Twig a slap on the arm as thanks and leave him pulling out two smokes, one for him and one for Fingers. Callum tips his chin as I walk in, a beer in his hand while he leans against the wall and watches a game of pool. “Beefy’s lookin’ for you,” he hollers across the room. “I know. Save me a beer, would you?” I carry on out the back and stop beside the obese officer. “Beefy.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and holds it up to indicate I should wait. His jowls wobble as he chews, and with some decent effort, he swallows the mouthful and gives me a stern look. “King. How goes it? We need to talk.” “I’ll let you know how it goes after we’re done, yeah?” He pushes off the railing he’d been leaning on and leads me inside, all elbows and hips. The guy’s named Beefy for a reason, and it’s not for his love of a good burger—although that’s probably half of what’s contributed to his size. He leads me into the spare room beside Apex’s office and shuts the door behind me. I wait patiently while he performs the three-stage act that is him lowering his enormous size onto a chair. “You know why I need to talk to you, right?” He’s puffed from just crossing the room. “Think so, yeah.” It should be about what I overheard Apex saying, but there’s that one percent of me which panics that he knows where I’ve been the last half a day. I didn’t tell a soul about meeting up with Elena. And for good reason. “We need to talk about what you heard Apex organizing.” He pauses for breath. “You need to forget it.” And there’s the good reason right there. You can’t trust anybody to do what’s right anymore. When

I’m told to forget our president is making underhanded deals, how am I supposed to trust that my brothers won’t sell me out to Carlos if they know who I’m involved with? Are we ‘involved?’ Maybe. Hardly. “Can I ask why?” “No.” Beefy braces a hand on one knee, looking as though he’s mentally preparing himself for the task of standing. I seriously have respect for the guy who built his bike—it can probably withstand a nuclear war if it can survive carrying Beefy around for as long as it has. “If I hear anything else about those deals goin’ around that hasn’t come from myself or Apex, it’s on you.” “Understood.” Be the change. Dad’s voice echoes in my head as I watch Beefy leave the room. I hang behind, shake out a cigarette, and ponder where to from here while I suck it back to the filter in long, unfulfilled drags. Can I still make it through the ranks if this is how deep the dishonesty runs? Twig seems on side still. Who else can I count on, though? How deep does this secret society within our walls go? Is it even restricted to our chapter, or are other officers in on this thing Apex has going with Carlos? On the flipside, what if more work turns out to be a good thing for our club? More money means more options, a bigger and better clubhouse, and more attraction for new members. Could Apex be doing us a solid by securing more cash? I want to say yes, but my gut’s going with no. Nothing’s simple and uncomplicated with men like Carlos. The whole arrangement is bound to come back and bite us in the ass, but when? And how? Once the dust settles, who’s going to be left wearing the crown? I stub out the cigarette and pull my phone out. After punching a quick miss you—yeah, I know—to Elena, I dial up Mom and lift the phone to my ear. “It’s only been a few hours,” she teases. “How’s my boy?” “Well enough. Those sections—how much you sellin’ them for?” “Hadn’t settled on that yet. The next available appraiser can’t get here until next week.” She hesitates, and I catch the clanging of dishes in the background. I’ve probably caught her in the afterdinner routine. “Why are you asking?” “Thought I’d buy one.” I’m met with a long silence. “Is there a plot marked out next to the fishin’ pond?” “There is.” “Mark it for me, yeah?” She sighs. “Lloyd. Are you sure?” I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Spending those few precious hours with Elena gave me time to think. While she talked beside me, I plotted out our future. “That spot’s special to me —you know that.” It’s where Garret and I used to play until the sun had long dipped below the horizon and Mom would yell for us from the dirt track. “I know,” she says quietly. “It would be nice to know it would be looked after. You know how it is —somebody new comes in and tears out the trees. They fill in the pond and have a tennis court or something just as ridiculous.” “Exactly.” “I’ll let your father know.” She huffs before continuing. “How can you afford it, honey?” “Don’t ask me questions you won’t like the answer to, Mom.” “I thought as much. Your father wants a word.” She muffles the phone and the warble of their voices fills the line before Dad cuts in. “Hey. How’s the great dictatorship coming along?”

“Funny. It’s meant to be a democracy, and that’s all you’ll get out of me.” “I forget it’s all Agent 99 and Chaos with you lot.” He chuckles. “Your mother says you want the west section.” “That’s right.” “Do we need to launder the cash before we take it to the bank?” “Fuck, Dad.” I run a hand over my face. “It’s fine, honestly.” “Good. Now make sure you stop by again next week and see your mother. You’ve started something here, and I can’t be bothered with the grief if you leave it another few months before you show up.” He complains as Mom probably socks him one. “I know. I’ll make sure I come over more often.” I end the call with Dad and pull out another cigarette. I barely had any when I was with Elena, but being here is doing jack-shit to calm my mood. Using the heel of my boot, I drag over the chair Beefy was on and prop my feet up, leaning into the back of mine. Elections are up in three years. All positions will be vacated and the floor will be open to nominations and votes. In a perfect world, if this stint of Apex’s screws us over, he’ll be not only out of an officer ’s role, but he’ll be out the door without his patch. Keep my nose clean and I should be a shoe in. But this ain’t a perfect world, and people aren’t as straightforward as they should be. If half the officers are clearly on side with him, how many members will also back him up in a fight? How many will vote him back in against their better judgment? In a world where loyalty comes before honor, I don’t think I’ll ever really know until it happens.

TWENTY-EIGHT Elena “How was your shopping?” Carlos meets me at the door as Sully retrieves my bags from the back of the Escalade. With his hands in his slacks pockets, he rocks on his heels, grinning down at me as I climb the steps to his level. Game face on, Elena. “Relaxing.” I smile, as I come to a stop on the top step. He hits me so hard that I stumble back and miss my footing. Only by the grace of Sully’s quick moves do I avoid cracking my head open on the bottom step. “Relaxing, huh?” Carlos marches down the steps, standing over me and grabbing hold of my hair to yank me forward, out of Sully’s arms. Thousands of needles prick at my scalp. I scream at the pain and grapple to get his hands off me. “Steady on, boss,” Sully speaks up from behind me. Huh? “Stay out of it,” Carlos growls at the big guy. He slides his hand from my hair to the back of my neck, and wraps his fingers either side of my throat. “I have something to show you, my love.” He spits the last word at me through gritted teeth and shoves me forward, steering me into the house by my neck. I stumble over the threshold, my flip-flops slapping the marble floor as he marches me across to his office. My elbow catches the edge of the chair he shoves me roughly into, and I rub to appease the sting. “What is this about?” Yep, I’m playing dumb. Like that’s going to help now. “What is it about?” He laughs, picking up a large silver handgun from the desk. The clip drops into his hand and he shoves the bullets in with the same tenacity as his words. “You tell me. Does a married woman fuck around?” He hesitates long enough to spin his laptop around, showing me an array of pictures of King and I on his bike, King at the office for the cabins, of me kissing him goodbye. I’m so stupid. Did I really think I could get away with it? “You said you wouldn’t be watching me,” I snap. “You fucking lied.” “Of course I did,” he roars. “But you didn’t answer my question—does a married woman fuck around?” He slams the full clip back in the gun. “No,” I whisper. “Speak up!” “No.” I lift my chin to him. If he wants a fight, he’ll get a fight. Carlos palms the loaded gun, switching it between hands like a magician would a pack of cards. “Should a married woman be wearing her ring at all times?” He points to my barren finger with the gun. Damn. How could I have forgotten? “Yes.” “Yes, she should,” he yells, throwing his arms wide. “So where the fuck is it, Elena?” “I left it at the cabin,” I murmur. “I can’t hear you,” Carlos sing-songs, one hand cupped to his ear. “I said I left it at the cabin.” He waggles the handgun toward the door. “So go and get it.”

I hesitate. It’s a trick, surely. “Now!” I leap to my feet and head for the door. I need to find Sully so he can drive me back to the— “Elena?” “Yes?” I spin around, my heart pounding against the restriction of my ribcage. “I told you the only way you’d ever leave me was with a bullet to the back of your head, and I meant it. This was your test of loyalty, and you failed.” He lifts the gun and for a fleeting moment I feel nothing, only peace with what’s to come. It could never end any other way. He frowns, looking away briefly before reopening his eyes and staring straight at me. The crack of the pistol ricochets off every wall, the fire in my flesh immediate. Yelling out, I look down at my leg, at the tear above my knee. “Next time,” Carlos shouts, tossing the gun on to the desk behind him, “It’ll be your head exactly as I promised, and I won’t fucking miss.” *** “He could have done a lot worse,” Maria says, squeezing my hand. I nod, watching the doctor pack up her supplies. Carlos left me sitting in the foyer with blood running from the chasm he’d put in my leg for five agonizing minutes before he let anybody know I needed help. When you have a path torn out of your flesh, five minutes is a long fucking time. He’d watched me from his desk as the printer whirred behind him, collected the freshly inked pages, and then walked out to casually toss an array of the photos of King around me. The asshole hummed a tune as he did it, adjusting the odd sheet here and there so I was left the center of one twisted flowershaped photo mosaic. “It’s still so sore.” “Sí. The medicine takes a little while to work, remember?” I close my eyes and let my head drop onto the back of the chair in my bedroom. Maria had tried to get me to lie down on the bed, but it didn’t feel right being in such a relaxed position. A few quiet moments pass with Maria fidgeting beside me. She straightens the corners of the bed sheets, tucks my shoes away in the walk-in, and generally does anything she can to keep her hands busy. The doctor gives me a run-down of aftercare, and then leaves a bottle of painkillers on the bedside. She checks the dressing on my wound and then with a sigh, pats me on the arm. “I’m not here to tell you how to suck eggs, but I’ve seen him deal out a lot worse. This really was just a warning. I’d take heed if I were you and change my behavior so he doesn’t get angry again, otherwise next time I’ll be returning to zip up a body bag.” “Duly noted,” I say, my eyes still closed. Her neatly pressed clothes make a swishy sound as she moves, and from it I can track her leaving the room without having to crack an eye. “Señora.” I open my eyes begrudgingly at Maria’s urgent tone. “What is it?” “I saved this when everybody was distracted.” She reaches into the pocket of her pinafore and pulls out my phone. My self-pity-induced fatigue vanishes. With a great deal of effort, I push myself up straighter in the chair and reach out for it. “Oh my God, Maria . . .” She perches herself on the arm of the chair and points to the screen with a smug smile. “You have a message.” I swipe the phone open and read.

Miss you. Maria watches me with barely restrained excitement. Her lips are wide with a big toothy grin as she nods. “You’ll reply, won’t you?” “Of course.” She stays balanced beside me and watches the screen as I type out my response. He knows about us. I’ll call later. Blacking the screen, I stuff the phone down the side of my seat cushion. “Call him now,” Maria urges. I shake my head. “I don’t want to be mid-call if Carlos decides to come up and rub this in my face.” I gesture to the wide bandage wrapped over my knee. It’s really only there as a precaution, to keep the area clean while the glue holding the split together sets. The wound wasn’t quite bad enough for real stitches, apparently. Still didn’t stop it bleeding like a motherfucker. “If you need anything . . .” “I’ll let you know.” I place my hand over Maria’s and squeeze. She’s my only slip of sanity in this madhouse. We’ve grown close over such a short time and I know if I ever left, I’d be doing everything I could to have her come too. I’ve not had many friends in life, and one as genuine as her I’d like to keep. She collects an empty glass and the blood-covered towel we used until the doctor arrived, and leaves, pulling my bedroom door to behind her. From where I sit most of the front lawns are visible and I while away the next however long watching the sway of the tree branches in the gentle wind. For open green spaces, I haven’t seen a lot of wildlife. I haven’t seen a lot of anything living to be more precise. But I guess that’s what you get when you’re the kind of person who has a habit of shooting your wife. My eyes drift closed and I slip in and out of a semi-slumber, thinking of Carlos’s first wife and what she may have been like. Was she disappointed that her son turned out like his father? Did she even know that he had before she died? I don’t know how old their boy was when Carlos killed her. My thoughts drift on haphazard segues from one thing to another, thin links bringing each random idea or image together with the next. As always, my dream-like state brings me to Mama, and the horrific images that my subconscious conjures up snap me wide awake. A sheen of sweat covers my flesh, and I rub my arms on the sides of the chair to try and rid myself of the clammy sensation. I look across at the window as I do and realize I’ve lost more time than it feels, given the sky is now blacker than a coalmine. Pushing my hand down between the cushions, I snatch up my phone and clutch it in my fist as I lift my stiff body from the seat. My bladder ’s fit to burst. I hobble to the bathroom, and after finishing what I’m in there for, try to call King. His phone rings out, and I disconnect, setting my cell down on the counter to check out the bruising on my cheek from where Carlos hit me on the steps. This is ridiculous. I’m creating so much work for them because the man who knows where she is and how she is won’t say anything out of spite. I hide the phone for later at the bottom of the basket of towels and stretch my leg out, testing my knee. The pain’s bearable when I stand still, but movement has fire surrounding the site, making it feel as though my thigh is hot and twice the size. I sigh and fidget with a few wayward strands of my hair. If I want an answer about Mama, I need to confront him—I need to ask Carlos. The notion he’d tell me anything after shooting me for being unfaithful is outright ludicrous, but I have to try. Unfaithful. It’s hardly cheating when your marriage is nothing but a sham.

Twelve whole minutes it takes me to get downstairs. Walking is one thing; I’m not too bad once I get into the rhythm of my limp. But the stairs? I end up having to do a hop kind of thing sideways to get down each step without applying too much pressure to my bad leg. When I finally reach the bottom, I realize that Carlos has been watching me through his open office door for the last half. “Entertaining?” I ask, hobbling over. “Oh, my love. I’m going to get great satisfaction out of watching you struggle over the next few weeks.” Asshole. I limp across to the chair that sits facing his desk and lean my hands on the back to take my weight. Sitting, being comfortable in general around him, would feel so wrong. “What do you want?” He gathers up something I’m not quick enough to see, and stuffs it in the top drawer. “Where’s Mama?” “Not this again.” He sighs and places his head in both hands, elbows on the table. His fingers push through the gray lengths in an orderly pattern. Index finger, middle finger, ring finger, middle finger . . . “If you refuse to tell me, I swear that I will find a way to take you down.’” He arches a brow and says nothing, reclining in his leather office chair. “We had a deal—I marry you, you help Mama. I’ve upheld my end. Now it’s your turn.” “What makes you think I won’t?” I narrow my eyes on him. Is he fucking kidding? “Do you see my mother anywhere around here?” “Things are . . . complicated. That’s all you need to know.” Bullshit it’s all I need to know. He’s denying me the basic right to information. “She’s my blood,” I say, thumping a closed fist to my chest. “And you know, don’t you. You know where she is.” Carlos shrugs. “Tell me!” “Well, isn’t this a nice show of bravery.” He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat before erupting into a full-on laugh. “Let’s get something straight: I owe you nothing. We never made a deal, Elena.” “We had a verbal contract.” “Prove it.” He leans forward, pressing his fingers together against his mouth. So not going how I’d planned. “Where. Is. She?” The chuckle starts low in his throat, rumbling as he turns away from me and lifts the lid on his laptop. “You want to know? Fuck it. Let’s show you.” He taps at the keys, frowning. “Let me see . . .” I wait with bated breath. What has he been hiding from me? “Have you been to Colombia before?” he asks, out of the blue. “No.” I frown, hating the fact that when he’s so relaxed he doesn’t actually look half bad. His eyes are a piercing blue, contrasting with his gray hair and goatee to give him an almost icy feel. So fitting. “It really is lovely. We should make sure to tour the jungle area one day. So lush, so green. It’s such a paradise.” “Mama?” I shift on my feet, the ache in my knee spreading. “You really should sit down, take the pressure off.” “I wouldn’t have a problem if you hadn’t shot me.” His eyes storm, turning navy as he looks up from the screen. “I wouldn’t have shot you if you’d kept your fucking legs closed.” “What the hell is your problem, huh?” The anger boils under my skin, the heat looking for an

outlet. “You didn’t marry me for love. You married me because I was ‘useful’ to you. What is it to you who I sleep with?” He pushes up from his seat, stomping around the desk. “You want to know why I’m angry that you fucked him?” “Please,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Enlighten me.” I try to back away, but he’s faster and more agile than I am. His hand closes on my throat as he yells, “I’m angry at your lack of respect, Elena. No, I don’t love you. I can’t stand the fucking sight of you, to be honest. But none of that changes the fact that this”—he slams his free hand between my legs —“belongs to me.” Carlos’s breath fans my face as he leans in close, his teeth bared like the predator he is. “Fuck you,” I spit out. “You’re nothing but a coward who hides behind his violence.” “Really?” His hand on my pussy shoves hard, and my body hits the wall behind me. “I’m a coward, huh?” “Nobody fucking likes you, so you force them to. You’re searching for gratification, for acceptance, but you know what?” “Why don’t you fucking tell me?” he growls, his hand restricting my air. I gag, and force the words. “You’ll never get it.” The pain in my knee is nothing compared to what he does next. With his hands positioned how they are, he’s got the perfect hold to lift me—and he does. My feet leave the floor, and he heaves me sideways with a growl. I crash-land into the sharp edge of his timber-framed filing cabinet. The impact point stings with a quick burst, and needles of pain shoot through my back in all directions. I crumple in a heap, curling in on myself and letting the tears flow. Tears of frustration. Of despair. And of remorse. Remorse for how fucking stupid I was to think I could fight this man, let alone reason with him. So stupid. “I think it’s time I reminded you that you have no ownership over your body anymore, Elena.” He snickers and leans in to shove me hard in the shoulder. “This is my toy.” Shove. “I get to play with it, not him.” Shove. “I fucking own you.”. I feel filthy, disgusted by my own flesh. The urge to vomit rises, and I swallow loudly, closing my eyes against the tears that want to flow free. “But first,” Carlos says, backing up a step. “A little something for you to keep your mind off what I’m about to do.” He strides back to his desk and hesitates. “You want to know where your mama is?” he yells, his voice rebounding at me off every wall. I manage to nod as I tentatively feel out the still-smarting area on my back. My ‘yes’ comes out as a warbled moan. Carlos spins the laptop around after a few more taps and leans against the wall while I struggle to sit up and see. “Here she is. Here’s Mama.” I can’t move. I also can’t look away. No. The air in my lungs turns to lead, and my stomach switches places with my heart. “No . . .” He grimaces, turning the image of her bloodied, disfigured, and very much dead body back toward himself. “That’s how they found her a month ago.” A month? He’s known this whole time? “You knew.” My voice is deep with my rage. A thick buzz builds in my limbs, the pain forgotten as my anger blinds me. “Believe me, I’m not exactly happy, either.” He slams the lid of the computer closed. “It puts a rather large hole in my plans.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?” Tears streak down my face. “Why keep it a secret?” What did he have to gain by holding back what he’d found? “I thought I could fix things,” he growls, turning a stapler in circles where it sits on his desk. “I thought she may have left something behind, told somebody else—” I eye the potential weapon under his hand and ask, “What do you mean? Tell them what?” He stills the stapler under his palm, and runs the tip of his finger along its spine. “Do you know why your grandfather was killed?” “They thought he was stealing. None of it was true though, just lies, and rumors.” “They weren’t lies, Elena.” “Pardon?” “Your grandfather stole over a million pesos from his employer; not a lot of money to them, sure, but they didn’t need him fattening his pockets at their expense.” “No, that’s wrong.” I shake my head. “Everything he had, he earned.” “He didn’t.” Carlos lifts his gaze to mine. “He stole, got caught, and paid the price.” I lean back where I sit on the floor and slump against the filing cabinet. “Even if it were true, it still doesn’t explain your interest in us.” A tremendous ache grows in my chest before I can whisper the next words. “In me.” There is no ‘us’ anymore. Mama’s gone. I’m alone. Carlos cocks his head to the side, a bemused expression on his face as I duck my head to my knees and silently sob. He waits until I quiet, giving me time to pull myself together before he continues talking. “I’m interested in the money, Elena. You’re a means to an end.” “But we—I don’t have it. Grandpapa gave what he had to his siblings when he died.” “You really don’t know much about your family, do you?” Carlos rounds his desk again to perch on the front corner, one leg raised off the floor. “He hid the money. Your great aunts and uncles got a share of twenty thousand pesos, Elena. Chump change. He hid over a million, and your mama knew where.” He’s lying—there’s no other plausible truth. If Mama knew about that kind of money, then no way would she have let us struggle like we did. “You’re lying.” “Afraid not.” Why would he go to the trouble of trapping me into marriage, just to bring Mama to the states over some fabled stash? He could have flown to her directly if he wanted to ask where the money is. “Why me? Why go through all of this if you could have just asked Mama yourself?” “I needed her to come to me. You’re the way to get her here.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Were the way to get her here.” “You could have flown her in on a visitor visa,” I say leaning forward. “She could have come as a tourist. You didn’t need me.” He chuckles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “If only. It would have saved so much time.” “Why then? Why didn’t you just go to her in Cuba?” Was there really any better option for her? There or here—clearly both scenarios end up with her murdered. Why didn’t I try harder to get her over earlier? I should have forced Papa to help while he was alive. I should have done more . . . “I’m wanted.” Carlos answers my previous question. “I try to fly to Cuba, I get arrested.” “You married me, fucking blackmailed me into it, just to get my Mama here so you could force her to reveal some imaginary stash of money?” I scowl at the asshole, sitting there, smirking, and looking like a fucking pig in mud. He’s enjoying this—enjoying my pain and anger. “You’re pathetic.” “Am I?” He pushes to his feet and takes a step toward me. Hands to his knees, he lowers himself to my level and and narrows his gaze. “How?”

“Because you stoop so low as to fucking steal from a thief.” I fight back my apprehension seeing the storm brew in his eyes. He deserves to feel as bad as I do. “You’re lazy, and a fraud. You’re a sad, lonely little man hiding behind a fucking mask.” He lunges away, turning for his desk and, what I can only assume to be, his gun. Injured knee and aching back aside, I stand and reach for anything I can physically lift within close radius of me. One by one, I hurl them at him, creating a distraction and releasing my anger at the same time: a lamp, a bookend, a ring-binder, and two full bottles of whiskey. One by one they crash around him, knocking items from his desk and littering the floor as he holds his arms up in defense while he makes his way to me. I’m boxed in where I stand—no way out. I don’t care. He lied. He used me for some cockamamie scheme to get easy money, and in turn fooled me into thinking he’d actually protect Mama. As if that was ever going to happen. More fool me for believing him. I knew he didn’t give two shits about me, but I was stupid and naïve enough to think he would really help Mama. Never again. Papa’s promise of college, Carlos’s promise of bringing Mama to America—I’ve allowed myself to be fooled by selfish and heartless men one too many times. I won’t let it happen again. I can’t. My arms ache, my stomach tight with grief, but I continue to throw things his way until he breaks through my swing and grips my head on both sides by my hair. I stare into his soulless eyes and realize I was wrong about him. This man doesn’t want acceptance; he wants reverence. He wants people to fear him, bow at his feet as he passes. He wants to make a name for himself that will last long after he’s gone. He’s seeking immortality. And he was going to use me to help achieve that. “El Diablo,” I whisper as he whips my head to the left and crashes it down on the filing cabinet.

TWENTY-NINE King God, I miss her. Everything just feels so . . . pointless now. Tomorrow we set off on the second of the agreed three runs for Carlos, so tonight the brothers are having a pre-celebratory warm-up. If only they knew we’re nowhere near the end of this. But they don’t, and I’m hardly going to say anything. So they drink. And they fuck. And they drink while fucking. But it’s not my scene, not tonight, not without her. I can’t decide if the four hours was not enough time together, or too much. Either way, it hurts. She’s back there with him. She didn’t have much choice, and I don’t carry enough weight to do a damn thing about it on my own. I’ve never felt less of a man. I should be able to help her, to get her out, to keep her. But instead, here I am, sitting on the sidelines like a fucking child. There’s too much at stake to go renegade, though. If I went after her now, I’d risk her life, my position with the club, and our future. I might not like it, but this work we’ve been doing for Carlos is what’s paying for the land at Mom and Dad’s. Cold, hard cash for shit that leaves me questioning when it was I decided my morals should be as filthy as the rag I use to clean the engine on the bike. Apex is a good guy that way at least; he pays each brother who participates in these jobs well, saving the largest chunk for the club kitty. Or so he says. Who would really know? Looking at the way things haven’t changed much around here, I wonder if his pockets have been getting a little heavier. Makes me more determined to do as Dad said and be the change. They’re good people, the Fallen Aces—most of them regular people with regular jobs outside of the club: grocers, bankers, plumbers, and painters. These people deserve better than the stigma they get. They deserve somewhere to come and relax, unwind, and forget their troubles—not be confronted with more. They’re all upstanding citizens . . . until they put on the patch. Then people look at them differently, and with one slip of leather, they lose four notches on the social ladder. Once again, it’s all about appearances. Everything in life boils down to appearances. I slip off the barstool I’d been sitting on and drag my gaze across the room in search of Judas. Our Forth Worth president is in second-in-charge of this run. The details I got from Apex were sketchy, and I can’t help but feel he was being an asshole on purpose just to fuck with me. I like to be prepared, and he knows that. The music’s shifted from rock to some sort of dance track with a heavy beat. I don’t mind the stuff, but I know fuck-all about it. Couldn’t tell you the difference between house, trance, and whatever the fuck the rest is called if you paid me to. The resonance of the bass shakes me to the bone as I weave through the drinking, arguing, and fucking people to find Judas. Pushing past a group to head toward the garage, I come face to face with his son, Hooch, caging some blonde thing against the wall. “You seen your old man around?” Hooch pins the woman in place by a hand to the base of her throat, and turns his head to face me. “Yeah. He just went out to the garage to look at some mods on Apex’s bike.” “Thanks, brother.” I give him a slap on the shoulder as I walk past. “Leave you to it, huh?”

I don’t even need to make myself known before I step out. The door opens as I approach. Apex gives me a not-so-friendly fist to the shoulder as he passes by, leaving me with Judas, who’s busy pulling a disgusted face at Hooch. “Take that shit somewhere else, would you?” He thumbs out to the party in progress. “I know you ain’t the only one doin’ it, but I don’t want to see where my son sticks his fuckin’ dick.” The blonde giggles as Hooch picks her up, tosses her into a fireman’s hold, and disappears toward the bedrooms. “How can I help you, King?” Judas pinches his nose and sniffs hard. “Assume you’re after me, by the way you’re just standin’ there, gawkin’.” “If it’s not too much trouble, I was wonderin’ if you could go over tomorrow with me again.” He tips his head and studies me. “Just want to be sure not to fuck up, is all.” “Sure.” He nods towards Apex’s office. “We’ll use that, eh? Probably the only room in the place without anyone in it already.” He wouldn’t be half wrong there. My phone vibrates in my pocket as he walks ahead, and I steal a glance at it. He knows about us. I’ll call later. A flash of panic has my skin on fire, my feet rooted to the spot while I consider if I should turn back to the garage and just go. “You coming?” Judas calls from near Apex’s office door. “Yeah.” No sense in rushing at the problem like a bull at a gate. If she were hurt, she would have said. She can’t feel too threatened if she said she’d call later. Calm your shit, King. I pull up the wooden school chair beside Apex’s desk and give it grief as I lower my heavy frame onto it. I might have fit on one of these ten years ago, but the amount of red meat I consume and my healthy relationship with manual labor has somewhat increased my size. “Before we start,” Judas announces, rounding the scratched desk to search out another drink from the stack of bottles in the drawer, “I have something to talk to you about as well.” “Yeah?” “Apex.” “What about him?” I feel like the kid in between divorced parents. Talking about my president, in his office, to another president of our club feels wrong on way too many levels. For all I know this could be a set up, a trap to catch me out. “He looking after you boys good?” Leaning back on the seat, I cross my right ankle to my left knee. “I’m not sure I follow what you’re gettin’ at.” Hope he doesn’t have this damn room wired for sound. Judas grabs a half-drunk bottle of Jack and dusts the inside of a glass with his finger. “Heard a few things.” “Like what?” The amber liquid hits the bottom of the tumbler with a splash, sending droplets over the top of the desk. “That he’s been makin’ some questionable choices of late.” He mops up the spills with the sleeve of his shirt. “With all due respect, even if I had anything to say, you’re askin’ the wrong man. I’ve only just got my patch. I’m not privy to that kind of business yet.” “Yet.” He echoes my last word as he swirls his drink. “What do you think those boys would say if I asked another officer? Twig? Gunner? Jack?” “Nothing.” “Exactly.” “So you thought a man who’d just been patched would be a weaker target?” I can’t believe the

audacity of this asshole. He’s certainly living up to his fucking name. Judas swallows half the drink with a loud gulp and then chuckles. “Yeah, you’ve got me figured out.” “You weren’t bein’ none too subtle about it,” I deadpan. “Can I ask what the concern is for you if Apex is doin’ his job right or not?” I swing the accusations of treachery back his way—see how he likes it. Judas leans on the desk, both elbows taking his weight as he hangs his head between his shoulders, his eyes locked to mine. “Everything in life is relative, King—especially so between our chapters. He’s in control of the mother branch of the Aces, and what he decides trickles down to the rest of us.” He downs the last of his drink and sets about pouring another. “There’s at least two men at that table of yours better equipped to run the place than Apex. Two men who wouldn’t line us up to become fuckin’ drug mules.” He’s got to be fucked out of his tree. Why the hell is he spouting this shit to me? “I could get done for treason just for fuckin’ listening to you.” He nods slowly. “Yeah, I know. But there’s a reason I’m talkin’ to you, King. Apart from the fact I fuckin’ well know for sure you’re thinkin’ the same way.” “What makes you say that?” He chuckles, and leans back to take a slow sip of his drink. “Apex hasn’t told you fuck all about tomorrow, right?” I nod. “He’s doing it on purpose, which shows he doesn’t trust you. Yet here you are, patched in, and all the other brothers can do is talk about how the sun shines out your ass.” I snort at his comment. If they do it’s the first I’ve heard about it. “You know what that tells me?” Judas downs the last of his whiskey. “Tells me that you do your job well, and that you’re so fuckin’ squeaky clean that if I squeezed you hard enough you’d shit bars of Sunlight.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m dead fuckin’ serious, King. You’re a man of the club, and the only reason Apex would have to feel put out by that is because he ain’t.” The smile fades from my face. He’s got it fucking nailed. “What’s the point to this?” I ask. “What are you offerin’?” “A place at my table.” Refusal sits on the tip of my tongue. He’s trying to poach me from Lincoln, effectively shitting in his own backyard. He’s echoed the very thing I’ve talked to Dad about these past weeks. I’m a man of the club—I’d be good for the club. I’ve got ideas on what could be done to make our chapter better, safer, and more welcoming for new members. A family place. Like it was supposed to be when the founding members got together for their first ride. Maybe being the change isn’t such a pipedream after all? I certainly seem to have the backing of some pretty influential members: Twig, and now Judas. “I’ll think on it.” Still no point in refusing him; I may as well keep him on side. He nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Now about tomorrow—take what ammo you think you’ll need, and then double it.”

THIRTY Elena White noise. Constant screeching. It’s been burning my inner ear since I woke up. I’ve been put to bed. There’s Advil and water on the bedside. I should take it, try and alleviate this incessant drone, but ugh, I don’t want to move. Moving only makes the ringing worse. And the pain between my legs. Did my period finally come? It’s that kind of ache; the dull throb that tells you things are a little tender down there. The sound of paper dragging over paper is as deafening as a rockslide. I screw my eyes tight, but the scraping continues. The snap of the book closing is a thunderstorm overhead. “You’re awake.” Maria comes into view as I crack open my eyes, one of the classics I gave her clutched in her hand. I lift my finger to my lips and shush her before pointing to my head. “Ah, sí,” she whispers. I let her help me to sit and down the Advil. The constant static roars with every movement. The longer I sit upright, the more I realize how bad it aches between my legs. I peel the sheet back and look down, seeing a facecloth lying on the mattress. “Ah,” Maria says, snatching the damp cloth away. “Sorry. I forgot I had that there for you . . .” She flicks her wrist in a circle. “. . . to ease things.” I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. I’m more concerned about the sickening violation that takes hold of me—and not from her placing a cool cloth on my most private parts while I was out cold. “What did he do to me?” I whisper. Maria drops her chin to her chest and turns away. No. He wouldn’t have been that sick, would he? Of course he would have. “The doctor, she came. She said he’d been a little rough with you.” Oh, God. He did. The sunlight through the windows burns my welling eyes, and I gesture toward the curtains. Maria nods, slipping silently around the bed, and draws the heavy drapes. The rings pulling on the rail are like a train coming in to stop at the station. I know what the problem is—concussion. I’ve got no idea how long I’ve been out cold, but with my memory of how hard Carlos swung my head before it connected with the cabinet, I’d say a while. I lift my hand hesitantly to the area above my ear and feel out the dent in my flesh and the swelling around it. I’m probably lucky he didn’t crack my skull. I try to settle down on the bed again with Maria’s help when a bolt of nausea has me clutching my stomach. She rushes to the bathroom and brings back the waste bin just in time. I expel everything I’ve got, which isn’t much more than a lot of acid, and start to cry. This is bad. I keep testing him. And each time it gets worse. Mama. Oh my God. Mama. My tears intensify. Maria does what she can to console me. Does she know? Probably not. She probably just thinks I’m upset because of what Carlos has done. And I am, but not as much as I’m fucking torn in two at that final image of my beautiful mother. At seeing how she went. I cry until the tears run dry. I cry until my chest heaves so hard with my hiccups that I can’t breathe, all while Maria rubs circles on my back and softly sings.

And then I sleep. I don’t know how long I’m out for, or how many times I wake. There’s just daylight, then dusk, then daylight again. Once or twice I stay awake long enough to register my stomach is growling, but I don’t care. I sleep. The doctor comes in; I see her beside me and close my eyes. I sleep again. Maria’s there, pushing pills into my mouth and coaxing me to swallow. I do. And then I sleep some more. By the time I wake and stay awake, I’m sore all over. I’m stiff. And I need the toilet more than ever. Maria has stayed by my side—or maybe she’s come and gone? I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been mentally absent most of the time. “I need the bathroom.” Leaning on Maria, I hobble across the bedroom. She waits outside the door and talks to me the whole time. I guess she’s been instructed to keep me alert when I do finally wake and to check how responsive I am. I should be in hospital. I need to get in touch with King. I vomit. The nausea hasn’t gone while I’ve been resting, which troubles me. I’d hoped to wake feeling better, but if anything I feel worse. Taking my time, thanks to my shaken balance, I bend and search the towel basket with my hand. I pat under each rolled towel, finding nothing. My headache pounds, and my skin feels hot. “Maria?” I use the shower wall as a walking aide, and lean on it to get to the door. “Yes?” Her head pops around the frame, and seeing my plight, she rushes over to help. “The towels. Did you change the towels?” “No.” Shit. “Why?” “My phone.” I close my eyes, trying to ground myself. “My phone was in there.” “Ohhh.” Yeah, ohhh. I don’t have his number. Who does? Damn it. What if Carlos has it? I can’t take more of this, especially not when I’m still recovering from his last fit. “I can’t do this any more, Maria.” She helps me on to the bed, fluffing the pillows behind my back. “I can’t take any more.” “You can.” The usual smiley, happy Maria has vanished. The woman in her place is new, a harder side I’ve never seen. “And you will.” “He’ll kill me next time.” She stands at the foot of the bed and hesitates with her fingertips resting on the mattress. “May I speak honestly?” “Of course.” “You need to stop fighting.” “But you told me not to give up?” I frown at her, ignoring how much it hurts. “Sí. I meant stop arguing. Stop waving the red cape at the bull.” She sighs and sits sideways on the edge of the bed. “Think of it like a bull fight. The matador, he starts out aggressive, provoking the bull, no?” I nod. My guess is I’m the matador in this story. “But when he wins, when he brings the beast down, how does he do it?” “With spears.”

“Exactly. He kills it slowly, one strike at a time.” “So you’re saying I need to be more subtle, take him down blow by blow.” Her smile returns. Her eyes are bright as she nods fervently. “Sí. You’ve waved your cape, you’ve made the animal angry—now kill it.”

THIRTY-ONE King Fifty-odd miles to go. Callum’s arm hangs out the window of the crash truck in front of me, his hand surfing the cool night air. Nerves kicked in when I watched the load get stacked up at Carlos’s temporary stock warehouse—a veterinary practice that’s been shut for years down on Route 75 out of Tulsa. There’s a lot of coke in the back of that van, as in, I can’t even hazard a guess at what its street value is. Lots. That’s all I need to know. More than we could repay if this goes wrong. I had a missed call last night from Elena after her message. I called straight back as soon as I saw it, an hour later, but there was no answer. I know it was dangerous; fuck, if she’d been with him I could have got her in even more trouble. I just needed to hear her tell me that she’s okay. Twig and Gunner turn at the head of our procession, riding a good mile ahead of Callum so as not to draw too much attention to our convoy from civilians. The van follows, as do I, and then comes our tail-end Charlie, Hooch. We’ve barely straightened out when a dark gray pick-up draws my attention. It passes by us, travelling in the opposite direction, and then does a U-turn to bring up the rear. Keeping eyes on my mirror, I drop my arm beside my leg and shake my hand as though trying to regain feeling. Hooch catches the signal and acknowledges it with a ‘scratch’ to his nose. The pick-up trails us through two sets of lights and out of the town we’ve passed through to the open road. My muscles tense, my gut screaming at me to stay alert. Hooch tests the vehicle out, pulling his bike close to the center line to block the driver ’s view of the road. The pick-up weaves left and right, appearing to try for a clear line of sight around Hooch. Callum taps the brakes twice to indicate he’s noticed what’s going on. I drift right, aiming to hug the side of the road and look ahead to spot where Twig and Gunner are, when from my right, a black sedan screams out of a side road, and cuts between Hooch and I. The gray pick-up accelerates with a roar, overtaking until it’s side-by-side with the crash truck. I check my mirror as I reach for my gun and find Hooch unloading bullets in through the passenger window of the sedan behind me. The pick-up rams into the crash truck in front of me, and I whip the bike left so hard that my back tire slips out, skidding on the hardtop before I manage to right myself and pull up. The crash truck’s come to a stop further up the road, Twig and Gunner arriving just as Callum fires out his open window at the pick-up, which is wedged hood first into his door. I kick out my stand and get off, gun drawn and at the ready as I approach where Hooch has ditched his bike and is currently bashing at the driver ’s window of the sedan. “Get the fuck out!” He smashes the butt of his gun against the glass again, the driver slumped over the steering wheel. As I round the front of the vehicle, I see why. There’s two good holes through the windscreen. “I think you got him, man.” Hooch is as high as a fucking kite—no surprises there. His eyes are wide, and the pupils pin-pricks as he stares at me. I lift my hands and jerk my head toward where there’s commotion at the truck. “Come on.” I don’t wait for him. I turn and hotfoot it up the road to where Twig now has a man kneeling with

both hands on the back of his head, and Callum struggles to wrench another person from the passenger side of the pick-up. The door ’s all busted in, meaning he has to try and haul our attacker out the broken window. I’m barely ten feet away when a third vehicle roars up the road from the way we’ve come. Bullets pepper the side of the crash truck, and Twig’s hostage decides it’s a good time to run. He doesn’t get far. My boots strike the road with heavy slaps as I run the last few feet to the pick-up. Using it as a barricade, I fire at the oncoming vehicle over the tray. The car screams past our location, and brakes heavily a half mile up the road, the tires screeching as it whips around and comes back. More bullets scatter over our location. Callum dives inside the crash truck, cranking the key to turn it over. Twig, and Gunner lay down cover as Callum pulls around, and takes off back where we’ve come. Hooch skids in beside me, and changes the clip on his gun. “Fuckin’ bullshit, ain’t it?” “You don’t say.” I let off three rounds at the car ’s tires as it flies past again, heading after Callum. “Move!” Twig hollers as he runs toward his bike. The four of us scatter, revving engines as we trail the car, and Callum. Gunner ’s first, giving his bike hell to catch up. I follow close behind, before Twig and Hooch bring up the rear. The crash truck bounces, it’s rear wheel lifting off the ground as Callum swings it at speed around a corner and down a dirt road. I’m fucking thankful there’s no other traffic out here, the area we’re travelling through being rural. Gunner slows for the corner, sticking his boot out as he drifts around the bend. I follow suit, putting my bike into a controlled slide to get around the turn faster. Gunner ’s twisting his throttle hard, gaining on the car and Callum, when his back tire steps out and the bike starts to wobble. Tank slap. Fuck. He goes down hard, rolling along the road as I tear past choosing to stay in pursuit. There’s fuck all between us now. I reach for my gun, and battling the wind resistance from the speeds we’re doing, line up the back tires of the car. Three rounds and I take the first one out. A flash of black in my mirror draws my focus away for a brief second, and I catch Twig hard on my rear. Our procession turns another hard right, snaking through the back roads. Twig pulls level, and on the next decent straight, joins me in firing at the sedan. I don’t know who hits, but regardless, the other tire goes, slowing the car to a stop as the rims starts to churn up the dirt road. Callum pulls over further up the road as Twig and I dismount, weapons still aimed at the car. Twig pulls the door open while I cover him, and unloads two bullets into the sole occupant. “Didn’t you want to find out who the fuck set this shit up?” I ask. He shakes his head and steps back. “Nah. Got that from the other guy before he ran.” “Blood Eagles?” He nods. What the fuck is going on? Our rat’s alive and well it seems. “Who knew?” “About the run?” Twig clarifies as Callum approaches. “Yeah.” “Just us, Apex, and Judas.” Six men other than me. Five suspects. “Somethin’ has to be done about this bullshit.” I tuck my gun away. “Before anyone gets killed.” “Fuckin’ close, wasn’t it?” Callum asks, peering in the open door at the dead driver. “Good thing you’re a hell of a driver then, hey?” Twig glances back up the road and sighs. “Better go check on Gunner.”

THIRTY-TWO Elena one month later The more I think on it, the more Maria is right: I have to take him down blow by blow, one little chink in his armor at a time. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of what I can do, but the inspiration never comes. Not when I can’t get King out of my head. Without my phone, I can’t check in, see if he’s okay. Carlos is a jealous and controlling bully. His style is retaliation for anybody who thinks they can outsmart him. And when he’s not dishing out any further punishment on me, other than a harmless cold shoulder, I’ve got to wonder what he’s doing then with King. How could I live with that? If he’s hurt him, made him suffer, or even worse because of me . . . I shouldn’t have been so selfish. I should have left my ring on all those weeks ago and never played the game. Twenty-seven days straight I’ve been stuck in this fucking prison—but who’s counting, right? Cabin fever set in at nine. I’m sure Carlos’s plan is to drive me to the point of madness so I’ll submit to him. It doesn’t help that the first half of my punishment was spent between lying in bed wishing I would die, and vomiting in the bathroom. Never going to happen. Today, the mind-numbing routine I’ve been stuck in changes. Today, I get to leave and stretch my legs—see people who haven’t been personally vetted first by Carlos. I should be ecstatic. I want to curl up under my covers and sleep the day away. Because today, he said we fly to Colombia. What for? As if he’d tell me that. No prizes for guessing it has something to do with my grandfather ’s supposed hidden fortune. The headaches and nausea have subsided, but never truly gone after my concussion. I raised the possibility of visiting a hospital with Carlos last week, but he laughed, telling me if I was going to drop dead from internal bleeding then it would have happened by now. All the same, it worries me. My small suitcase is packed for our trip. Not that I have a lot to take with me anyway. The floral pattern on the travel case glares at me from its position beside my set of drawers. It’s a silent threat; flowers on a trip that’s going to be dark and unbearable. Turning away from the bright design, I roll to my other side and stare across my room at the pale shadows cast by the dim light of the alarm clock. Four-eleven a.m. My buzzer will go off in forty minutes, giving me an hour to shower, dress, and eat before we leave. I should sleep, but I find it hard to welcome the altered state when all it brings is nightmares and painful memories of better times. King said that all these bad things were just a bump in the road, and that life would get better. He said I was all he’d ever want. But he’s young and damn fine-looking, and with the lifestyle he lives, he’s probably surrounded by a heap of pretty women. Twenty-seven days is an age for me being stuck in here with no way to contact him, but it would be a lifetime twice over for a man with that many temptations around. I should forget King. He’s probably forgotten me. It would make the disappointment of my life so much easier to stomach. But for some reason, I can’t let go. The dream of a life lived with King and without fear of reprieve is too much to take, but at the same time, I couldn’t survive without its hope.

A half-hour passes with my thoughts stuck on a never-ending cycle of grief. I follow the same stages: shock, disbelief, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression, and then hope. Each time I start out wondering how the hell I let myself get here, and then slip into a bottomless pit of despair when I remember how powerless I am to change things, only to talk myself into a thin belief that I might still get out if I don’t give up the fight. The buzzer pierces the morning, disturbing the semi-slumber I’d drifted into while lost in my thoughts. Having such a horrific sound scream in my ear makes me realize just how close to sleep I really was. Damn it. I’m going to need to nap on the plane if I want to be alert while in Colombia. I don’t even know if we meet anyone the day we arrive, or what I’m going to be subjected to. I’ll lose my fucking head if I have to sit around a hotel room, wondering how long I have left before Carlos decides I have no worth anymore and shoots me. Because it’s bound to happen. Why would he keep me? I don’t know where the money is. I slip into the bathroom and start going through the motions of getting myself prepared for the trip. I shower, apply the minimal makeup I have, and then suck in a deep breath. Most of my panic about my fate in Colombia lies with another problem I’ve been facing each morning. My period never came last month. I can’t remember how many weeks it’s been since I had it the month before. I used to chart it in my phone so I’d be prepared, but without the calendar, my memory is fuzzy. Was it the first week, or the second of the month? How long has it been? The thought that I could be carrying a part of him, of the monster downstairs, scares me. I try not to think about it. But when my head is spent hanging over the toilet far too much for how long it’s been since he hit my head, a girl’s got to worry. Placing my hands over my abdomen, I look down at the relatively flat expanse of flesh. I don’t feel any different—at least, I think I don’t. I can’t be pregnant. How much bad luck can I get? Pushing my growing panic down, I take several deep breaths and stare at my reflection in the mirror. Later. After the trip to Colombia. If it’s true, if I am pregnant, there’s nothing I can do about it, so worrying isn’t going to help anything. I need to focus on one problem at a time. I need to deal with things bit by bit. No sense in overwhelming myself with the things I cannot change. The wheels on my suitcase make a steady whir as I drag it along behind me, heading down to breakfast. I place the floral nightmare beside the front doors and slip through the silent house to get to the dining room. The lights spill out into the hallway as I approach, the tinker of cutlery on china echoing in the vast emptiness of Carlos’s home. “How did you sleep?” He greets me without looking up from his phone, scrolling pages with a flick of his finger. “Same as usual.” “Good.” He’s got no idea how I sleep. We’ve never spent a night in the same room, and he’s never cared to ask before now. He’s buttering me up, making me relaxed so I’ll drop my guard. He’s up to no good, that’s for sure. I pluck a piece of toast from the basket on the table and decide against having anything but butter on top. My stomach hasn’t been settled for weeks, and I lost my appetite somewhere back when I lost hope of ever getting out of this house to see King again. King. If only he knew where I’m going. I don’t expect him to ride in on a shining white motorcycle and save me from the dragon that is Carlos, but it would have been some slim comfort knowing somebody who gives a shit knew where I was when I don’t return.

“Are you packed?” “I think so. Difficult when I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.” “I told you two days.” “You said ‘I hope no more than two days’. That eludes to us possibly being gone longer.” “Do you fucking argue about everything?” Carlos throws his spoon down, sending yoghurt and muesli scattering over the table. “Fuck’s sake. Now look what you made me do.” I lift a slice of toast and hold his gaze while I chomp down. Bastard. I hope the cartels fucking shoot him in the kneecaps and torture him when they find out he’s trying to steal the money my grandfather took from them. “Do I need to know anything about what we’re doing?” I ask, mopping up melted butter with my slice. “Just to shut your fucking mouth and to do as you’re told.” “I might find it a little too exciting seeing people,” I sass. “It’s been a while.” “Maybe I’d let you out more if I could trust you not to fuck anything that moves.” He casually takes a gulp of his coffee, looking down at his phone once more. “Like you do?” His eyes slowly track from the phone, up the length of the table, and settle on my face. “You want to know why you’ve been here for months and yet we sleep in separate beds?” “Not really. I quite like that arrangement.” “What then?” he yells. “What is it you want?” “A fucking divorce. I want my freedom back.” “You never had any freedom,” he says quietly, sipping his coffee. “You were bound to your parents, working for them. Tell me, Elena. When was the last time you truly did anything for yourself?” I push my chair out, preparing to run. “When I made love to King.” “Made love,” he scoffs, shaking his head. A strange silence settles between us. I expected to have him draw a gun from somewhere, to have to duck flying crockery. But he simply stares at me for a moment before continuing with his breakfast. “I’m sure you’ve guessed that the only reason I’m taking you is because it has to do with your grandfather ’s money.” “Figured it wasn’t a sightseeing holiday, yeah.” He scowls at me. “All you have to know is that you’re needed as visual proof for what I’m organizing. You don’t need to say a thing. Nothing. If I catch you uttering a single fucking word about any of this, about your mama, or about the circumstances of our marriage, I will cut your tongue out.” I lift the side of my hand to my forehead, and salute. “Understood.” ‘Visual proof.’ What the hell does he mean by that? I ditch the last of my toast and excuse myself from the table to freshen up. My gut churns, but I don’t know if it’s nausea or anxiety. What if I never return from this trip? What if I never get a chance to talk to King again and explain what happened? It hurts to think he might assume I broke contact on purpose. God. What has he been thinking all this time? I wish I could tell him that I don’t regret what we had one bit. That I miss us. God, how I miss us. And that I was a fool to say I couldn’t wait. I’d wait a thousand years in purgatory if it meant an eternity with him.

It’s been a month since I saw him last, three since we decided to make our dates about more than just coffee. Three months. My hand drifts to my belly as I walk. What if . . .? I don’t know if I want to cry with joy or sadness. The chance is there, the timing fits. We didn’t always use protection. It was stupid, careless, but I never paid a second thought to it at the time. Checking over my shoulder when I reach the foyer, I duck right toward the servants’ area in search of Maria. She’s the only person who knows, the only person who can help. She looks up from the cart of clean sheets and towels she’s stocking when I come barreling in to the linen room. “Señora? Are you okay?” “I need your help.” Resting my backside against a shelf, I brace both hands on my knees and swallow back the flow of nausea. “You look ill.” “I just moved too fast after breakfast, is all.” I want to tell her my suspicion, but I’m not one hundred percent sure myself yet. Or am I just in denial? “What do you need?” She goes back to stacking towels on the cart. “Can you get word to King for me?” She drops the towel in her hands and rests both palms on it. “How would I do that?” “Next time you’re in town. You go shopping with Sully each week, don’t you?” “For cleaning supplies, sí.” “Beg someone to pass the message to somebody at his club. Bribe the shopkeeper to ask around for a contact.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing the tears not to come. “I don’t know, just somehow, please.” A gentle hand rests on my arm. “Elena, what is wrong?” “I’m scared I won’t come back from this trip.” Maria pulls me into a hug, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and placing her chin on the top of my head. My nostrils flare like crazy, but I fight back the tears. I won’t cry. I’ve been weak for too long as it is. “I will try for you,” she whispers. “What would like me to say?” “Tell him I’ve gone to Colombia.” I hesitate, weighing it up in my head. “And that . . .” “What?” I pull out of her embrace and hold her hand in mine. “That I think I’m pregnant.”

THIRTY-THREE Elena The car comes to a stop as I wait on the top step of the entrance with Carlos. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since I found him after talking with Maria. He acknowledged my presence with a curl of his lip, and then pointed to the door. My stomach lurches, and I draw in a deep breath. It’s got to be anxiety this time. It can’t be anything else. The day is far too bright for my liking already; the stream of sunlight hurts my eyes. I watch as Sully loads our things in the car and then opens the door for us to get in. Carlos goes first, jogging down the steps and disappearing inside the Escalade before I’ve found the strength to move. I swallow back my fear, place my best foot forward, and then crumple onto my knees on the concrete step. The world spins underfoot, my vision going hazy as I struggle to push myself upright again. “You okay, ma’am?” Sully takes a hold of my elbow and helps me to my feet. “I just . . . I was dizzy.” “Nerves,” he whispers, steering me toward the car. I glance up at the man and find a soft smile on his lips. Damn. If Sully’s feeling bad for me then this trip can’t be good. I climb in beside Carlos and drop my head o the seat. He doesn’t say a thing. Either he didn’t notice what just happened or couldn’t care less. I’m going with the second option. We ride in silence the whole way to the airport, other than the soft classical music of the car ’s stereo. The journey gives me time to settle my stomach and find my head again. I’m not sure what the hell happened back there, but by the way my body feels as though I’ve run a marathon in the last twenty-four hours, it can’t be good. The noise of the airport assaults me first as Sully opens my door. Announcements sing out over the PA, traffic a steady hum as it passes by on the drop-off road. I step out and take a moment to steady myself, one hand on the door pillar. My head spins. “I’m not feeling well, Sully.” He takes my hand and guides me to the back of the Escalade. “Stand here while I get the bags out. We’ll get you a lemonade once we’re inside.” “What’s wrong with her?” Carlos asks, gesturing to me as though I’m the family pet. “Feels sick.” He scoffs, shifting his gaze to me. “Harden up, you fucking whore.” I glance around at the people walking behind him on the pavement. Nobody pays any mind to what unfolds right in front of them. Sully gets a luggage cart and places the bags on it. I’d run while they were distracted, hot-foot it to the nearest phone booth and call people until I managed to get through to King or one of his club, but with the way my body feels as though I’m part of some gyroscope, I’d be lucky to make it to the other side of the car before I fell over. Sully helps me to the cart and places my grip on the handle beside his as we walk. I lean on the cart, bumping him every so often as my loss of balance gets the better of me. I’m deteriorating rapidly. How the fuck am I going to make it through a nine-hour flight? We stop at an airport shop that has a small drinks fridge beside the counter. I eye Carlos as he

stands beside the cart, scrolling through his phone, while Sully buys me a lemonade. My so-called ‘better half’ couldn’t give a fuck how I am, but his guard cares enough to do something to help. Sums up my life perfectly. I take the plastic bottle from Sully and he places his hands over mine to crack the lid with a fizz. “Let it go flat. It’ll settle your stomach.” He hands me a chocolate bar I hadn’t noticed him pick up. “Have this to get your sugar up.” He steps back, looking disapprovingly at Carlos before starting our cart toward the check-in for business class again. I follow two steps behind, opening the chocolate and nibbling on one corner. My foot falters and catches the terminal floor as I misjudge the distance to the ground. Sully and Carlos continue ahead as I stop, closing my eyes to try and get my bearings. It makes everything ten times worse. My hands tighten on instinct around the drink and food as I open my eyes and register too late that I’ve tipped off-balance. The floor is unrelenting as my shoulder hits first. Sully spins around at my pained ‘oomph’ as I brace my neck to protect my head. Last thing I need is another concussion that I might not fully recover from. “Get up, you attention-seeking slut.” Carlos’s pointy shoes stop by my head. I leave the food on the floor and push up to sit . . . and then fall right back down. What the hell is going on? My head spins, the ground seeming as though I’m in one of those funhouses where it tilts unforgivingly. “I think she needs medical attention,” Sully says, helping me to sit. We’ve gathered a crowd, some bystanders forming a semi-circle around our show. “Get. Up,” Carlos mutters through clenched teeth, still not doing a damn thing to help me. I wouldn’t expect any less. “They won’t let her on the plane like this,” Sully points out. “She can’t go anywhere.” “She’s fucking putting it on so that’s what you’ll think,” Carlos snarls. He grabs me by the upper arm and wrenches me to my feet. One of the bystanders steps forward to intervene, but holds his ground when Sully lifts a hand to indicate he’s got it. Carlos lets go of me, hissing under his breath, “Show me how you can stand.” My legs give out, the floor too unstable. “Fuck.” He paces away before coming back at speed. If we weren’t in public, I could guarantee he would have kicked me from the way he moved. “Get her in the fucking car.” “Do you need an ambulance?” an onlooker asks. “No,” Sully answers, looping his arms under mine. “We’ll take her home.” “I think she needs a hospital,” the old lady presses. “We’ll take care of it,” Carlos answers, his tone switched to smooth and assuring. “Thank you for your concern.” She eyes him suspiciously. She’s probably seen enough men like him in her time—all charm on the outside and rotten inside. I let Sully guide me over to the luggage cart and brace myself on the handle. Thank fuck it has our bags on it to balance my weight, because I’m leaning on it pretty hard. We leave the terminal, heading back for the car while some of the straggling spectators look on. Carlos mutters blue murder under his breath, punching away at his phone while we walk. He moves away from Sully and I to place a call. “You’ll be okay,” Sully reassures me, helping me on to the back seat. “We’ll get you looked at.” “Is he coming too?” I ask, glancing to where Carlos paces along the pavement, a terse smile on his face as he tries to fake niceties with whomever is on the other end.

“Hopefully not.” *** He didn’t come back to the house. Small miracles do happen. I’m not in Columbia, and Carlos has left without me. Thank you, Mama. Who else would be watching over me? Certainly not Papa. I sat in the car while Sully saw Carlos back to the departure lounge. Again, I could have run, but again, my legs wouldn’t have allowed it. I think they both knew that, too, which is why they left me alone. Instead, I closed my eyes and drifted off, an unrelenting sense of fatigue having taken hold. I didn’t wake up until we arrived back at the house and Sully parked the car. He carried me inside to my bedroom and made me comfortable while Maria ran around frantically, ordering one of the other help to call the doctor. I guess in my time here, I have achieved something: I’ve managed to make Carlos’s staff care about me. And I care about them, too. They’ve helped me, and Maria became my friend, even when she didn’t have to. I’d even go as far as to call Sully a friend after what he did today. He didn’t have to stand up to Carlos; he could have packed me on to that plane with some bullshit excuse as to why I was so weak. But he didn’t. He got me back here. I’m not in Colombia. “Can you still get the message out?” I whisper to Maria after Sully leaves us. She nods. “I already have.” “How?” We were only gone for a few hours, and Sully was driving us. She grins, clearly proud of herself. “I phoned the grocer we order our fruit and vegetables from. I figure that won’t look suspicious if anybody were to check the records.” “Oh my God.” She’s too good to me. I fight back my happy tears. He’ll know soon. “Thank you.” She pulls a chair up beside the bed and sits, placing her hand on my stomach. “Señora . . .” “Everything will be fine.” I rest my hand over hers, hoping my false smile is enough to convince her I’m not feeling the same panic that’s written over her face. “I hope so.” The doctor comes and examines me. She takes blood, and after a long line of questioning I’m backed into a corner about the truth of it all. “Tell me what else there is, Elena.” She sighs and perches on the side of the bed. “This isn’t all from your head injury, is it?” I roll my head to the side and stare out the window as I answer. “I can’t remember when my last period was.” She sighs again, more out of pity by the sound of it. “Oh, Elena.” There are no congratulations. The expression on my face gives away my terror. A baby. I’m not ready for that. I can’t even care for myself properly. How am I going to protect a child as well? “What’s your best guess?” “At least eight or nine weeks, I think?” She looks toward the vial of my blood sitting beside her bag. “We’ll soon know for sure.” Her brow dips, her eyes hardening when she looks back my way. “I heard why he beat you so bad last time I was here. Are you sure of the father?” Shame fills me, rich and strong. “No.” The doctor hisses between her teeth and walks across to her bag. “Well, with all the vomiting you say you’ve been doing, the dizzy spells, and the obvious loss of weight from all of it, I’d make a guess that you’ve probably got what’s called Hyperemesis Gravidarum. It’s basically a really bad case of morning sickness, but left untreated you could damage not only yourself, but the baby.” She packs

the things left out into her bag and clasps it together. “We’ll treat it first before you need to worry about anything else.” Maria hangs her head. I feel filthy, as though any second they’re going to ship me off to a home for disgraced mothers. How could I be so careless, so full of wishful thinking, when I should have been taking better care of my body? Of the little one growing inside it? The doc takes me by surprise when she asks, “Are you able to let the other man know? He may want a say in this?” “A say in what?” She meets my questioning stare with a cold, clinical one. “If you are less than fourteen weeks, you have options.” Options? “No. I couldn’t do that.” “Nobody would judge you if you did. I’m just putting it out there, knowing your . . .” she looks around the room and pulls a grimace, “situation.” If the baby was Carlos’s, how would that make me feel? Forever being tied to him in such an intimate way? I guess deep down I’d been hoping it was King’s, but now that I think on it . . . Oh, God. What would I do? “When do you get results?” She pulls her cell out and flicks her finger over the screen. “Give me your number, and I can call you tonight.” I nod, reciting the digits as I reach my hand out for Maria. She takes it in hers and rubs her thumb methodically over the back of my hand as the doctor pockets her phone again and packs the last of her things. “Would you like me to bring back some reading material?” Would I? It seems so long ago that I was taught about this stuff. “It probably wouldn’t hurt.” She nods and crosses the room to give me a pat on the arm. “You’ll be okay, Elena. You’re a strong woman. You’ll do fine.” I hope she’s right.

THIRTY-FOUR King “What are you doing?” Twig stands in the way of my bike, legs either side of my front wheel. “Move, brother.” “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” A few minutes ago, he thrust his phone at me, saying one of his cohorts from Kansas was on the phone. I listened to what the guy had to say and hung up before heading straight out to where I am now without saying a thing. “I need to go take care of something.” “You’re fuckin’ drunk,” he observes. “Fuck off.” The bold son-of-a-bitch leans over the bars and pulls my keys out, trapping them in his fist. “Spill.” “Fuck! I need to get goin’ already.” I dismount and move to take him down and wrestle the keys from his grasp. He halts me in my path with a quick fist to the stomach. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere with a fuckin’ attitude like that without tellin’ me why first.” I struggle to keep my last whiskey down. The first two weeks without Elena had been hard enough. I honestly thought I had the key to distraction figured out by visiting Mom and Dad regularly so I could go stand on my land and plan our house. But that soon lost its appeal when I kept coming up with things I wanted to ask her. Would she like an island in the kitchen? How many bedrooms did she think we’d need? So I turned to alcohol to numb the pain from her silence. It works for some of the other brothers around here, and seems to be working for me too. Coughing, I back up and take a seat on an upturned crate. “She’s in fuckin’ trouble.” My throat is tight. “And she thinks she’s pregnant.” Twig groans, running a hand down his jaw. “Let’s start at the beginning: who’s ‘she’?” “Elena.” “Come again?” I lift my eyes to his and wince at the disappointment I find. “Tell me it’s not the Elena I think it is.” “Yeah, Carlos’s woman.” “The broad from the roadhouse?” “Mm-hmm.” “Fuck man!” He hurls my keys at me, the metal leaving a sting where it connects with my shin. “What the fuck were you thinkin’? Apex know?” “Jesus. Fuck no.” “Well that explains the woman in Cuba you were havin’ me track.” We never did find an answer about Elena’s mom. Twig paces between the rows of bikes in the garage, tapping his finger to a wing mirror or two. “What’s the trouble?” “He’s taking her to Colombia. She thinks she won’t come back.” “That what Benny told you just now?” “Yep.”

“How does he know?” Twig stops pacing, facing me with his arms crossed high on his chest. “Word from Carlos’s maid. She told the old boy at the grocers, and he tracked down Benny.” “When?” “What?” “When did the grocer guy hear about it?” I work back through the timeframes mentioned in my mind, frowning as my fingers still fidget with the keys. “Yesterday, I’m guessin’.” “Yesterday.” I nod. “So she’s probably already gone, right?” Fuck. “Probably.” “So where were you goin’, lover boy? Goin’ to kick the door down while she ain’t home and leave her a romantic note?” He’s right. “What the fuck do I do?” I stand, the frustration needing an outlet. “How do I fix this?” “Maybe you can’t.” “Are you fuckin’ serious?” “Think about it.” He steps in my space, nose to nose. “What kind of shit you think is goin’ to rain down on us if you go chargin’ in there on a personal vendetta?” “Don’t you think I’ve thought about that? Don’t you think that’s the only reason I haven’t until now?” I sigh and turn away from him, running my fingers through my hair. “I’m not givin’ up on her.” Spinning to face him once more, I implore him with my eyes. “You’ve gotta help me.” “I ain’t gotta do shit about you not knowin’ when to fuckin’ keep it in your pants.” “She was supposed to fuckin’ be mine,” I yell, thumping my fist against my chest. “He fuckin’ stole her. Married her to give her a fuckin’ visa.” “Tell me you haven’t been fuckin’ her while they’re married.” Silence falls on the garage. Twig drops his head back and covers his face with both hands. “Fuckin’ moron. Follow me.” He strides past me to head for the door that leads inside. Fuck. I hesitate, eyeing my bike. I could get on and peel it out of here before he can reach me. “Now!” Shit. May as well go with the asshole. If I want help, I’m going to have to get it the right way. All I want is to ride, though. To get my ass over there and see her. To ask her if the baby’s mine.

THIRTY-FIVE King “You fuckin’ leave it.” Apex shoves the heel of his hand into my shoulder, sending me stumbling back into the door. “No fuckin’ way are we getting into a war over this.” “Would you leave it?” I ask, barely controlling the need to punch him in the throat. “If I was given the choice: club or slut, yeah, I would.” “She’s not a slut.” I launch forward, but Gunner ’s hands around my arms hold me back. “Easy on the disrespect, Prez,” he says from behind me. “Do you know if this fuckin’ kid is yours?” I shake my head. “No, but how the fuck am I going to find out if you’re banning me from contact?” “Walk away, King.” Apex sits on the front edge of his desk, hands either side of his body. “This can’t end well.” Rich, coming from the fucker who’s getting our club into bed with the psychotic asshole Elena’s married to. “I can’t.” “You fuckin’ well will.” He pushes up, getting in my space. “Patch or her. Your choice.” “Are you for fuckin’ real?” I push into his chest with mine. “You know how it goes, King,” Twig quietly warns from behind me. I spin around, facing the asshole. “You were the cunt who suggested I go about askin’ for help the ‘right way.’” I say the last words all high-pitched, taking the mickey. “And now look where that’s got me. I should have just fuckin’ ridden out, straight over your God damned foot.” “Fuckin’ try it.” He steps up, inches from my face. Shit’s about to go south in here—fast. “Get Beefy, for fuck’s sake,” Apex hollers, dismissing Gunner with the task. He leaves Apex’s office with a slam of the door and returns a short time later with the fat fucker. “What’s goin’ down?” “Cunt-knuckle here got Carlos’s woman knocked up,” Apex spits out, glaring at me as he talks. “Fuck’s sake, kid.” Beefy takes the only chair, damn near crushing it. “What the fuck you do that for?” “I didn’t think we had enough drama around here,” I snipe, glaring between Apex and Beefy. “Careful.” Apex lifts a thick finger. “I’ll kick your ass out for fuckin’ disrespecting officers in a fuckin’ second.” I curl my top lip back at him, baring my teeth. Asshole does that, and I leave with half his face on my fucking knuckles. “I get you’re all hopped up about this girl,” Beefy says, one hand raised to appease everyone, “but that kind of conflict is the last thing we need.” “I imagine so. Right royally fuck up your plans to do more work for the asshole, wouldn’t it?” “What?” Gunner asks, pushing off where he leans on the wall. “Didn’t you know?” I back up to avoid Apex’s advance. “Our prez here has jacked up more work with Carlos after the three runs are through.” “That true?” Gunner steps between Apex and myself before Prez can lift his fist. “It’s good money, Gun. We’d be fools to turn it down.”

“It’s also fuckin’ suicide. Look what the asshole has us doin’ now,” he says. “You want our club to go that way?” “Ain’t any other road clear, is there?” The two of them stare each other down. I’ve started something here, and hopefully it pays off in my favor. “What is it you want from us then, King?” Beefy asks. “Help gettin’ Elena out.” He snorts a heavy breath through his nose and places a palm to his knee, his elbow popping out to the side. “After the last of these three runs is through we could table the issue.” Apex whips his neck to look at Beefy. “No. That’ll fuck up what I’ve got planned.” “Exactly my point,” Beefy says, pointing a finger at Prez. “This is your plan, not ours.” He gestures between Gunner, Twig, and himself. “I’ve covered your ass long enough. You’re standin’ here preachin’ rules and shit to King about his situation, and yet you’re fuckin’ bending them to suit your own needs.” He shakes his head, his neck wobbling. “Time to do your fuckin’ job properly.” “You want out too?” Apex threatens. “Look, my fuckin’ job here is to make sure everybody keeps their fuckin’ shit in line.” He leans forward. “And that includes you.” “After the third run,” Apex cedes, “we’ll take your problem to the table.” He jabs me roughly in the shoulder. “But I’m not fuckin’ promising squat.” “Better than doin’ fuckin’ nothing though, ain’t it?” “Get out.” Apex rounds his desk, dropping into the worn seat to pull up a bottle of Jack. “All of you. Fuck off.” *** “What’s your gut instinct?” Gunner asks later, after we’ve downed four shots each. “Think it’s yours?” He was stunned to hear the news, but knowing that Beefy was on side with Apex, Twig thought it was a good idea to include Gunner as a second witness. “Hope so, brother.” “Yeah,” he says with a grin, leaning back where he’s reclined on one of the plastic deck chairs. “You always struck me as a family kind of guy.” “Got our house planned out and everything.” “Yeah?” “My parents have a farm. They’re dividing off the back of it and I’ve bought a section.” He lets out a long, low whistle. “Hope it’s not too much of a commute.” “Why’s that?” “Because when you’re the prez one day, you’ll be here a lot.” I laugh and stretch out as well. “Don’t think I’ll ever be prez after today.” “Wouldn’t write it off completely.” “Why not you?” I ask. “You’d be good at it.” “Don’t want it. Got enough on my own plate without having to wipe half a dozen other asses.” Silence falls between us, Gunner closing his eyes as the sun makes an appearance from behind a cloud. I lose myself thinking about Elena. How is she coping? Is she safe? I push thoughts of exactly what’s being done to her out of my head. Each time I think about that fucker touching her, treating her like meat, it leaves me wanting to kill someone. Preferably him—Carlos. “You asked Twig to keep eye on her?” Gunner pipes up. “Not yet.” “He will, you know.”

“I know.” I hesitate for a moment. “He’s a good guy, Twig.” “Yep. Another bastard who cares about other people’s happiness far too much for his own health.” “What do you mean another?” “I mean besides you, you dumb shit.”

THIRTY-SIX Elena four days later I waited. Like Rapunzel locked in the tower, I waited. But King never came. Too weak to leave the house, I couldn’t go to him. I’m not sure if Sully would have tried to stop me, or helped me. I don’t understand him anymore. So I lie in bed and while away my time teaching Maria how to read English properly, sleeping, and crying when I’m alone. The doctor returned the day after the incident at the airport with the pamphlets she’d promised. She also came back in person because she didn’t want to break to me over the phone that I was right on the cusp of fourteen weeks. Even if I had wanted to terminate the baby—which I still couldn’t imagine doing—I couldn’t have. I’m fourteen weeks. Officially in the second trimester. That means King has every chance to be the father. I cried for a solid hour when I realized. As though slapping me in the face with the severity of this latest complication, my stomach decided now would be a good time to start swelling. At first, I thought it was because I could eat again. After throwing up regularly for weeks, I’d lost almost fifteen pounds. By the time I could stomach a full meal, my body couldn’t cope. I had to start again with small helpings and work up. Things started to look up. I was getting stronger. Maybe I can leave? And then Carlos came home. His dealings went well in Colombia, even without me, or so I gathered when he came to me the night he returned and slept in my bed. He wanted to celebrate. I guess I was being punished. I never asked him more about what happened over there. Part of me would rather never know what my name helped him achieve. If it even did. By this point though, I don’t care. I haven’t told Carlos I’m pregnant. I tell myself it’s because I’m not ready to face his reaction— what if he beats me to try and make me miscarry? I think deep down, though, I’m hoping King will come and I won’t have any reason to let Carlos know. Still, life in the Redmond house has become somewhat . . . mellow. Carlos is happy with whatever screwed up plans he’s working on, Maria and I enjoy our afternoons reading, which as long as the books don’t get left in the library, Carlos allows. Life is . . . normal. Or as much as I can let myself believe. The doc came back with vitamins and more information on what to expect. I hugged her when she said she would lie to Carlos about why she was there. She’s advised me to try and find a discreet clinic offsite to go to for regular check-ups. I haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to do that yet. The sun is out this afternoon, which has been a rare occurrence of late. The rain persisted for two days after I confirmed my pregnancy. I think that was Mama crying. The pool house is cool compared to the heat that now rises from the pavers of the courtyard. I started out in the sunshine, soaking up all the natural vitamins I could get, but when the sweat began to run a path down my sides, I shifted into the shade. I’m contemplating going for a swim when Carlos

comes in to view, strutting through the door with a smug grin on his face. Nothing new there. “You’re looking much better now you have some fat on your bones.” He sits on the side of my lounger, ignoring the open book I have over my stomach as a distraction. “Something the matter?” The question isn’t asked out of concern, it’s posed as a challenge. “Just tired,” I lie. As far as he knows, all of this is still a run-on from my concussion. I think the doctor gave him some spiel about the supposed severity of it. I’m not sure. I just know he hasn’t been on at me so hard since he got back from making that deal. This amicable treaty of ours is new. I’d planned to fight to leave after he returned, but the past few days I haven’t had it in me. Maybe I am tired from the pregnancy. Who would know? I sure don’t anymore. I’m a stranger to myself. “I thought you might like a break from the house, if you’re feeling better,” he says. “You need better fitting clothes since you’ve lost weight with your illness.” “A trip out sounds lovely.” Again, a lie. I’d been enjoying the extra room in my clothes. They hide a certain bump. “Sully will be with you, of course.” “Of course.” I roll my head to the side and look away. How am I ever going to get to King again if I’m being babysat? “Is there a problem?” “No. I think I might have a nap, is all.” He grumbles and stands, his weight leaving the lounger. “I’ll send Maria out with fresh water.” He points to the empty bottle beside me. “You need to keep hydrated in this heat.” He exits, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Tears flow in its place. Living here isn’t living. It’s existing. My heart aches, my soul crying out to be with King again. I’ve died, and I need him to breathe life back into me. There’s nothing left of the woman who spent four beautiful hours pretending the world didn’t exist. There’s only a shell, a hollowed-out chamber where love used to reside. My hand rests on my stomach as I curl in on myself and silently weep. If I have no love left for myself, how am I going to care for this child? Will my inability to love the life growing inside of me mean that my child turns out cold like Carlos, no matter who the true father is? Something has to change. I can’t raise a child in hell.

THIRTY-SEVEN King An unknown number flashes up on my phone, and despite my better judgment, something tells me to answer it. “Hello?” “This King?” “Who’s asking?” I let the half-empty bottle of Jameson in my hand fall to the carpet. The lid’s still screwed on; I had every intention of drinking it, but even the alcohol doesn’t help anymore. “My name’s Sully. I work for Carlos Redmond.” Fuck. No wonder my gut instinct was going haywire. “Why are you calling?” I sit up on the sofa and twist myself around to face the front. “Can you be in Kansas City tomorrow morning at ten?” “Why?” Please, just this once, give me a break. “I have somebody you’d like to see.” The line clicks as he disconnects the call. I stare down at my phone, confused. He never said where. As though answering my question, the cell vibrates in my hand. One new message. Sure enough, it’s an address from the same phone number. I Google the details and see it belongs to some motel just off the main road. How the fuck did Sully get my number? The set-up seems too easy. As much as I want to believe Elena’s found a way to see me again, I’m suspicious. Tensions with the Blood Eagles are high, and it seems the deeper involved we get with Carlos, the more the Eagles have it in for our club. One more run and then my problem gets tabled. I haven’t slept for more than a few hours a night since the blow-up with Apex and Beefy. We’ve got one more run and Carlos seems in no hurry to complete it. Apex has been a fucking bear with a sore head to be around, blowing up at anybody and everybody. He hasn’t spoken to me since the office incident. Pretty sure the asshole thinks it’s my fault Carlos has entered radio silence. Maybe it is? Don’t fucking care, either way. I snag up the bottle and take it across to the kitchen counter. My home is still bare, save the few pieces of furniture Mom gave me. I’ve bought pots and pans, washing up shit, that kind of stuff. It all still sits in the shopping bags at the base of the wall beside the kitchen. I guess in all honest truth, I’ve kept it packed, thinking that eventually I’m going to move out to the section. Even my subconscious is away with the fairies. I’m fucked. My phone vibrates across the counter as I’m contemplating opening the Jameson after all. I reach out and slide it to answer, smacking the speaker icon. If I want that drink after all I’m going to need free hands. “Go ahead.” “Where the fuck are you?” Twig asks. “At home.” “Good. A call went out this morning for church, even though we ain’t supposed to meet again until next week. I’ve just turned up for it, and King . . .” He sighs. “What?” “I’ve heard that Apex has done the dirty on you, man. He’s not going to table your issue with the

idea of gettin’ you help. He’s tablin’ it to get the others to watch you—make sure you stay away from her.” The whiskey bottle hits the wall with a smash, amber liquid running down the paint in rivers. “That fuckin’ asshole.” “Look, I can’t say more over the phone. You know that. Come in and we’ll talk about it, yeah? I’ll do what I can, but you know how it is.” Yeah, I do. Twig pushes against Apex too hard and he’ll find himself with me, in the no-man’s land between being on the inside and being shafted from the club altogether. The line goes quiet and I think I’ve lost him before he returns, deathly quiet. “You better not be plannin’ on going to Kansas City again.” I don’t say a thing. “Fuckin’ hell, you stupid son-of-a-bitch,” he yells, blowing up the line. “I’m tryin’ to help you here. Get your fuckin’ ass back to the clubhouse before you fuck everything.” “How can I fuck everything?” I ask. “From what you’re tellin’ me, it already is. Plus, that asshole hasn’t given us jack-shit to do for ages. He fuckin’ knows something, too.” “You knew the risk.” “Yeah, I did.” “So I’m goin’ to ask you one last question, King, and I want you to think real hard about the answer.” I know it before he says it. “How serious are you about this club?” Fuck. He did it. He pulled the damn loyalty card on me. He knows where I stand. I live for those bastards. I just don’t like the one who’s at the top. “You know the answer to that,” I murmur. “So what you goin’ to do about it?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “Call just came in for the last job, too. It’s a big one. As in, real big. A lot of money on the table, King.” No wonder Apex is gunning to keep me on the outer. “When?” “Two weeks from now.” “Shit.” I stretch my arms out across the counter to grip the far side, dropping my forehead to the hard surface. “There’s no way around this, is there?” “Afraid not.” He sighs. “I know it’s hard, King. But you can’t have your damn cake and eat it too. You either stick with the club, help us sort this out, or you hand in your cut and walk.” “Ain’t gonna happen.” “Best you be tellin’ her that then.”

THIRTY-EIGHT Elena “Where are we headed?” I look out the windows at the semi-residential area we’re driving through. “I thought we were going to a mall?” “It’s a surprise,” Maria says beside me, reaching out to take my hand. I look down at her small fingers around mine and frown. “What do you mean?” Sully slows the car, pulling in the driveway of a bar. I continue to frown as I look at the false saloon-style façade on the building. “You’re going to get me drunk?” I look back at Maria and quirk an eyebrow. “Funny,” she says, “but no.” The car continues past the last of the painted parking spaces and we curl around the back of the building to a row of motel units. I twist in my seat to look around as Sully brings us to a stop and kills the engine. Is this it? Carlos has had enough of me? I’m going to be topped off in a motel parking lot? No wonder he’s been so nice to me the last few days. Maria wriggles beside me, smiling. “I can’t wait to see your face.” Can’t be that bad then. But really, how exciting can it be with Sully watching our every move? “Time to get out,” Sully instructs. He exits the vehicle first and then opens my door. “Come on.” Maria lets herself out and flashes of her black hair circle the car before she stops at my door, right as I reach for Sully’s offered hand. “Why are we here?” “You’ll see.” She doesn’t look at me as I answer though; she scans the parking spaces, checking the way in. We stand around for a while, shooting the breeze about mindless topics like our preference for style when it comes to clothes and shoes. Sully checks his phone twice, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves as he stands at the hood of the car. Maria stops mid-conversation, her eyes trained on Sully. “Relax.” He smiles at her—actually smiles—and nods. “I can’t help it. I’d hate for this to get you in trouble. Either of you.” To my utter shock, I watch as my only friend and an apparent enigma saunters over to place both her palms flat on Sully’s chest. His hands settle on her hips. “My man is a good man.” My man? Good man? They both turn their heads and find me gaping. As in, my jaw literally strains against its hinges. “Sully and I have been seeing each other for a month now.” You don’t say. “Wow,” is all I manage to voice. I turn my body towards them, intent on asking more, when the sweetest sound in the world plays a tune for my heart. The low rumble of exhaust pipes grows, along with my excitement. By the time King pulls up beside the Escalade, I’m jumping up and down like a damn child, clapping. “Maria!” I squeal. “How did you . . .?” She pats Sully on the chest. “It was his work.” I barrel over to Sully and wrap him in a huge hug, laughing. “Thank you.” He gives me a squeeze and then releases me—pointing me towards King, who is dismounting—

and sends me on my way with a pat on the back. I suck my bottom lip in to stop from laughing and crying all at once, and wait. King pulls his helmet off, grinning, and places it on the seat before he takes a step toward me with his arms outstretched. “Hey, baby.” I run at him, and damn near knock him to the ground with my eagerness as I launch myself into his arms. He catches me, placing both hands under my butt and capturing my mouth with his own to give me a long and hot-as-hell kiss that earns a whoop and a holler from Maria. “Missed you,” he growls, rubbing his nose on mine. “Got so much to ask you.” “I thought I wouldn’t see you again.” “I told you those days wouldn’t be our only ones, that we’d have more.” I’m lost staring into his sharp green eyes and don’t even notice Sully approach. “Two hours, and then we’re on the road.” King nods. “I’ll take what I can get.” “He thinks we’re shopping though,” I say to Sully. “And that’s what Maria and I will do,” he reassures me. I look over my shoulder at my beautiful friend and realize why she asked me all those questions; so she knew what to buy. “You two . . .” I trail off. There’s just no words for what they’ve done. “Enjoy yourself,” Maria says, opening the passenger door of the Escalade. “Do everything I wouldn’t do.” She closes the door before I can say a word. King gives Sully a nod and sets me down on the concrete as they pull away. “Come on, baby. We got some catchin’ up to do.” He pulls a key from his pocket and smiles. “Picked it up earlier this morning so we wouldn’t waste any time.” I take his hand and let him lead me to a motel room, not giving a damn that the clichéd meet is the only type we’ve had to snatch time alone. I get two hours with King. Two glorious hours to be with the man I love. Why stop there? I tug on his hand as we reach the door and he turns to look at me. “You okay?” His gaze falls to my stomach. “You look pale. You not feelin’ well?” “Let’s leave,” I say. “Let’s get on your bike and go.” He busies himself with the lock, frowning intently at it. “Two hours, Elena. That’s all I managed to jack up with that Sully guy.” “So?” I ask, as we step into the room. “Run away with me.” He leaves the question hanging, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans to set it down beside the keys. I spoil myself watching him move, the way his T-shirt strains as he shakes his cut off and places it gently over the back of the only chair in the room. “You know who the father is?” Bubble—burst. “I’m pretty sure it’s yours.” “Pretty sure?” he repeats, spinning around to pin me under his gaze. He shirks his T-shirt, leaving only his jeans and boots. Not fair. “The dates . . . they work out for you.” He nods, seemingly satisfied. “Does he know?” I shake my head. “I don’t want him to.” “He’s gonna realize sooner or later, baby.” He lifts both eyebrows, giving me that look. “Not if I leave first.” King frowns, dragging a hand over his beard. “You sure it’s mine?”

“Ninety-nine-point-nine.” His face softens as he joins me on the bed, stalking me from the foot. “You look so fuckin’ good, Elena.” I melt every time he growls my name. “You look better.” I lie back, trying for coy and sexy, but end up drawing his attention to my growing bump as my dress falls flat over the rise. His eyes light up and he sits back on his heels to look me over. “Can I . . .” His hand hovers in the air. I take it, bunching my dress up and place his hand flat, flesh to flesh. His nostrils flare as he slowly sweeps his rough palm over my stomach to trace the curves with his thumb. “Do you know?” “What it is?” I ask. He nods, wide eyes still trained on my belly. “Boy or girl?” “Not for sure, but my heart tells me it’s a boy.” “We’re going to raise him together one day, okay?” His brow twitches, emotions warring behind those green eyes. “I believe you,” I whisper. He withdraws his hand, his gaze moving to find mine. “Things are complex at the moment, but you and I, I’m going to—” “We have two hours,” I cede, reaching for his hand again. “We can talk about it later.” He lies down beside me, tracing the side of my face with his fingers. The muscles roll in his arms under the tanned skin. Every little detail about him is so masculine: his beard, his build, the tattoos. He’s so fundamentally male it makes me want to sigh out of appreciation whenever I see him. I place a hand to his shoulder and push so he moves to his back. His lips quirk in a smile as I climb over the top of him and straddle his hips. Taking the hem of his T-shirt in my hands, I tug. King’s stomach bunches underneath me, every delicious muscle in his torso put on full display as he lifts his shoulders off the bed and pulls my dress up over my head. The material hits the floor, and hungry hands track a path up my stomach and under the swell of my breasts. I lay my hands on his forearms, loving the feel of his muscles moving as he pushes my breasts up and toys my nipples with his thumbs through the fabric of my bra. “These will get bigger, right?” he asks, squeezing my boobs together in a makeshift push-up. I chuckle. “Yes, they will.” He gives me a grunt of appreciation and goes back to exploring my body with his hands. “I want you under me today.” His thumbs hook the straps of my bra over my shoulders. “Get naked and I’ll think about it,” I tease. He tosses me aside, making me laugh as I bounce on the mattress. “As you wish.” Rolling to my stomach, I bend my knees and kick my legs behind me while I take in the amazing sight before me as King doubles over to shirk his jeans. He stands with his back to me; the muscles in his thighs flex and separate as he bends at the waist to pull the denim off his feet. “Like what you see?” he asks, still with his back to me. “I need to wake up to this,” I mumble, my chin propped in my hands. “You will.” His face is somber when he turns back to me. “I mean it, Elena. Fuckin’ kills me not to have you in my bed every night.” “Tell me more.” I kick my legs and smile as he drops his boxers. “If I had my way, I’d give you my patch and put you on my bike, make sure you ride everywhere without any panties on so I can pull over and taste that pussy of yours whenever I want.” I didn’t think I’d ever be one for dirty talk, but damn, the way it sounds when he says it, his voice

so husky and sensual. I’m one spoilt woman. “What else?” He reaches the bed, his cock growing and twitching. I could touch him with my tongue, he’s that close. “You’d wrap those arms around my middle, put your hands down inside my belt, and feel how fuckin’ hard you get me when you’re pressed up against my back.” “Can we do this?” I ask, breaking the moment to sit up Indian-style. He places his hands on his hips, standing in full nude glory without a care in the world. “Do what?” “Everything you’ve just said.” I scoot forward and wrap my legs around his, the head of his cock tapping on the underside of my jaw as I look up his ripped body at him. “Promise me that one day you’ll claim me as yours and we’ll do that. Ride somewhere for the weekend and spend the whole time exploring each other, finding new ways, new places . . .” I drift off as he wraps his hand around the base of his erection and moves the tip upward, over my chin, and rests it on my bottom lip. “You were saying?” he teases. I smile and peek my tongue out, wetting the tip. He groans, lifting his cock to slap it on my bottom lip. “Again.” This time I go a little slower, swirling my tongue around the head. He pops his hips forward, just enough that I’m forced to open up so he doesn’t get my teeth. I wrap my lips around the top and suck, creating a vacuum. “Fuck, baby. So soft.” I push for more, taking him in my mouth until he hits the back of my throat. I’ve never felt more content in my life. His sighs, the groans he makes—they all cause my heart to swell knowing that I can make him this happy, this sated. I bob my head along his length, working him until he hisses between his teeth, his hand wrapped around the back of my head to guide me, and then I push back. “Why’d you stop?” he moans. “Because I want to feel you inside me.” He chuckles, tipping his chin to one side. “Baby, you don’t need to worry about that. Got all intentions of sinking balls deep in that beautiful pussy.” He shoves my shoulders, tipping me on to my back. “Just gotta taste it first.” He tugs my panties down my legs, stopping at the pinkish scar from where Carlos shot me. Again, he has to ruin the mood without being here. “What’s this?” “Stupid accident. I’ll tell you about it later.” He holds my gaze, questioning, but carries on with the removal of my underwear. King’s lips dot a kiss to the scar, and then track higher until he places his mouth over my clit and sucks. I’m done. I’m spent. He does things with his tongue I thought weren’t physically possible. My thighs clamp the sides of his head as he brings me to the brink with the tip of it, flicking the muscle over my sensitive nerves as he pushes two fingers inside. “Yeah,” he mumbles from between my legs. “Come over my tongue, baby.” And I do. Oh, God, I do. I’m still coming down from the crest when he crawls over me, his shoulders bunching as he shifts his weight up my body, his abs tense. Eyes locked to mine, he slides himself in me, not saying a thing, just looking. I can’t even describe it, the feeling that no words could ever suffice in place of what is shared through a look alone. He tells me he loves me. He tells me he’d never hurt me. And he tells me that the search ends with me—that we’ll be together until we’re old and laughing because we’ve misheard what the other one’s saying. I can’t think of anything more perfect. We’ll be past our prime, unable to move our bodies the way

we are now, but I’ve never wanted that so badly in my life—to just be with someone. “I love you so much.” I run my fingers through his hair as I say it, my body rocking slowly with each thrust of his hips. “You know I love you too, baby.” His head dips as he takes a nipple in his mouth and swirls his tongue around the tip. I sigh and close my eyes, my hands still holding his head as he shifts to repeat the action with the other nipple. There’s no urgency, only meaning. No wants, only needs. We need this. I need this.

THIRTY-NINE Elena “Shouldn’t we just go?” I frown at the way he tries to ignore me, watching the driveway intently for the Escalade. We talked about our baby, discussed how I’ll keep it hidden for a while longer. King asked what names I like, and lay beside me as he stroked the tiny bump, his glassy eyes showing he was far away from me, lost in his thoughts. “I can’t take you with me today, Elena. I already said that.” And yet, like a fool, I hoped he’d change his mind after sharing such an intimate moment with me, discussing the future for the life I hold inside. “Why not?” “Just sit, please.” He pats the raised garden wall he’s leaning on. “I don’t feel like sitting.” I want to curl up and become a part of the harsh concrete underfoot. The clouds block the sun, giving what’s shaping up to be just another bad memory the perfect setting. I turn away and fist my hands, setting my jaw firm. I don’t want to cry. I’m not sad. I’m angry. “Do I not mean enough to you?” “You mean the fuckin’ world.” He rises to his feet, closing the space between us. “Baby, don’t cry.” I grab hold of his T-shirt and bury my face in it, startled by the dire need I have to just hold him when he’s the very thing making me so mad. “Why won’t you take me, then?” “I told you. Things are complicated at the club.” “Fuck your club!” I scream, taking a step back. “I’m not asking your club, I’m asking you.” “If you can’t understand how things work, then don’t blame that on me.” He lifts a pleading hand, taking a step closer. “No,” I growl. “I’m not to blame here. I’ve been patient. I’ve lived in hell waiting for you.” He tries to make a grab for me, but I back away. “I know your hormones are making you emotional, but—” He did not just go there. “Excuse me?” “Fuck.” He realizes his mistake, and drags a hand over his head to ruffle his long hair. “Don’t fight, okay? I don’t want to leave you like this.” “I don’t either.” My anger subsides when I think about this being the last memory we have to hold on to until we see each other again. “I’m confused, King.” I give in and cry. Maybe my hormones are wreaking havoc. “Hey,” he soothes, pulling me to him and running a hand over my hair. “Shh.” “You said you wanted me.” “And fuck, I do. Jesus, Elena. I’d have you forever twice over.” “So why won’t you take me away from here?” I pull back and pound his solid chest with my fists. “Why won’t you take me with you if you want me? And don’t you dare say your club.” “Because I can’t,” he growls, clutching my fists. “Damn it, I want to throw you over my shoulder and take you to see what I’ve been doing without you these past few months. Trust me, everything I’ve been doing has been for you and me, and when you see it”—he sighs—“you’re gonna fuckin’ love it.” “So show me now.” “I can’t.” His brow pulls tight, and he closes his eyes. “There’s things going on at the club that

would be jeopardized if I took you away from Carlos right now.” “I can’t take all this back and forth,” I say, shaking my head. “One minute you want me, the next you want to leave me.” “You’re not the only one strugglin’ with it.” He steps forward and cups my face. “I fuckin’ love you, Elena. Just remember that.” I knit my fists in his T-shirt, pulling him closer to me as we kiss. His taste fires my dormant desire, and regret at not being able to leave with him today pulls me under. I lean back, wiping under my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Take me with you anyway,” I beg. “We’ll work it out.” “I take you with me today, and not only do we have your husband gunnin’ for us, but my club—my brothers—will be lookin’ to strip my colors and fuckin’ teach me a lesson.” “So we run farther,” I say, tugging on his shirt again. “We go far away.” He snatches my wrists in his grip, shaking me gently. “Listen to me. We can’t, Elena. I won’t spend a life on the run with you. You deserve more.” He drops one of my wrists to place his hand on my stomach. “We deserve more.” I drop my forehead on his chest, frustrated and defeated. “Tell me how perfect it’ll be if I wait, then. Tell me what your plan is.” “I will when the time is right.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a small cell from the back pocket of his jeans. “Take this.” His fingers curl over mine, putting it firmly in my grasp. “Sully told me yours got taken.” I knew it. I nod, my hands shaking around the phone. “After Carlos found out about us. It’s why I couldn’t call you.” “Fuck.” King frowns, running his palm over the side of my face. “I thought you were just angry at me. I thought you’d given up.” “Never.” I lift my eyes to his. “I don’t want you to go just yet.” He leans forward and rests his chin on my head, wrapping me inside his solid arms. “Wish we had more time.” I link my arms about his waist, locking my hands at the small of his back. “Don’t make me go, then.” “We’ve got to do this right, otherwise a lot of innocent people will get hurt. Could you live with that?” He pulls back to look at me, his arms still locked tight. “I couldn’t.” His heart is too large for a man of a life such as his. It’ll surely kill him, the empathy he carries on his shoulders. “No. I couldn’t.” My thoughts drift to Maria. Even Sully. His gaze shifts over my shoulder before he leans down and closes his lips over mine. I open my mouth, giving his tongue access, and cry as he kisses me with so much passion yet pain that I feel I’ll surely break. His thumbs stroke the apple of my cheeks as he dots little kisses on my nose and pulls back. He’s got tears in his eyes. “Time to go, baby.” Gentle yet strong arms take me in their hold from behind. “Come on, Elena.” The realization drives a stake through my chest. King’s kiss was a kiss goodbye. He’s handing me over, letting me go for good. ‘I can’t take you with me.’ “How long until I see you again?” I beg for the answer. He shrugs, slipping his sunglasses on to cover his eyes. “I can’t promise anythin’, Elena. I won’t lie; it could be a while.” “You can’t do this,” I yell. “You can’t just walk away. What about our baby? You going to abandon them, too?” I try to pull out of Sully’s grasp, but it’s fruitless. King steps toward me, so close, but still out of reach. “You know I’m doing this for both of you.

I’m doing what’s right, Elena. Running with me is going to always put you in danger, and until I can fuckin’ change that, I don’t want to risk gettin’ you hurt, or worse, killed.” “You can’t leave me,” I scream. “I have to.” He runs a hand over his mouth and beard, and then turns away, walking toward his bike. “You fucking lied to me,” I wail. “You said this wasn’t all we’d have.” He hesitates, his back still to me, and his head hung. “I didn’t lie, Elena. I told you what I want to believe.” He closes the distance to his bike, and throws his leg over. “Don’t go.” My moaned plea falls on deaf ears. I groan and sag into Sully’s hold before wrenching toward King again, forcing Sully to stumble forwards. “King!” “Elena,” Maria softly says from beside me as King starts his bike. “It’s time to leave.” I drop to the ground, still in Sully’s hold, the smashing of my breaking heart the only thing I can hear as King kicks the stand up, and rides away.

FORTY King two weeks later I sink myself into that fucking house. Mom and Dad come down to the section periodically to check on me, bringing me food and water as I work my hands to the bone. I wear a headlamp when it gets dark, and sleep in the cool hours between midnight and dawn. After a week, the blisters on my hands went hard, and new callouses form. I smash out every frustration into each and every fucking one of the nails holding the framing together. “Lloyd?” I look down at Mom from where I straddle the top of a wall. “You need a rest, honey.” “I’m almost finished with the first level,” I say, pointing to the structure with my hammer. “You need a rest,” she repeats. “Come down.” The sweat runs in a line down my back into my jeans as I give in and climb off the frame, hanging by my hands before I drop to the floor below with a thud. My boots feel slimy from all the sweat that’s run into them while I’ve been working. The sun’s been out most days, and my skin’s turned a rich tan. “Come up to the house for a bit.” Mom hands me a bottle of water and frowns. ”Your father ’s worried about you.” “I’m fine,” I say, taking the top off the bottle and downing half in four big pulls. “I’m keepin’ busy.” “Why?” she asks quietly. “What do you mean?” I frown at her, wiping the sweat off my face with the T-shirt tucked in my back pocket. “You’re avoiding something.” She ducks her chin, giving me her ‘Mom’ look from under her brows. My nose twitches. “No, I’m not.” She lifts a single eyebrow, and I lose it. My nostrils flare and I spin away, taking half a dozen steps down the slope to get away from her. “Lloyd.” The grass swishes under her feet. “Talk to me.” I stab the heels of my hand into my eyes, pushing the tears back in. “I failed, Mom.” “At what?” “Life,” I shout. “I fucked everything up.” She stands beside me, silent, waiting for me to explain. “I fell in love, I got her pregnant, and I fucking walked away.” “Why?” Mom whispers. “That doesn’t sound like something you’d do.” Fuck—even my mother doesn’t know who I am anymore. “It is,” I say with a bitter laugh. “That’s the asshole your boy is now.” “You didn’t answer me,” she says, removing the water bottle I’m slowly crushing in my hand. “Why?” “The club,” I murmur, dropping my head. “It was her or the club.” “Lloyd . . .” She wraps her arms around me, giving me what I don’t have for myself anymore—

love. “What do I do to make it right, Mom?” “You tell that woman you’ve been a fool.” She pulls back, her hands still on my elbows. “You still love her?” I roll my eyes. “Of course. I’m building a fuckin’ house, ain’t I?” She chuckles, looking at the start of the home I’m making for Elena. “Yes, you are.” Her gaze returns to mine as she gently shakes my arms. “Do what you feel is right.” “That’s my problem,” I say. “Both answers feel right.” “So pick the one that comes naturally.” I nod, giving her a one-armed hug. “I’ll work it out, Mom.” “Good. I’m giving you an hour, and then I want you up at the house to shower.” She pulls back and screws her nose up. “You stink.” The sun catches the grays in her hair as she walks across the paddock and hops on the quad bike to return to the homestead. I told her I’d sort it out to try and stop her worrying. The truth? I don’t think I can. I think it’s too late.

FORTY-ONE King Tomorrow’s the big one—the grand finale. The call came in to check I was ready to go while I was in the shower at Mom and Dad’s. I rang Twig right back and headed straight to the clubhouse to get the run down. Couldn’t fucking believe my ears when he told me what Carlos is having us do. We’re moving people—children, to be exact. Fucking children. Apex sought reassurance they weren’t to be harmed, not wanting a repeat of our first run, and not only did he get it, but he was given a ‘good faith’ payment from Carlos. Ten percent up front; twenty grand in the back pocket before we’ve so much as stomped a foot on the kick-starter. Leaves me suspicious of the whole deal. Twig’s concerns, which echoed mine, were tabled, and rules were set in place. The kids are to be treated as if they’re our own, and if we feel their lives are threatened or in any danger at their delivery points, we have rights to refusal. Six kids, and three different drop-off points. The co-ordinates were checked and each is in a residential area. The details make it look as if we’re taking these kids home, but nothing is that simple or harmless when it comes to Carlos. I’ve learnt that pretty fast about the guy. I stand up from where I’ve been slumped against the wall watching the party go down and head toward the deck for a smoke. We’ve got a new prospect, and right now the poor son-of-a-bitch has a beer bong stuck in his mouth and our two barmaids for the night are filling it as fast as he can drink it —topless. Gunner slaps one of them on the ass and heads over when he sees me passing by. Tossing an arm around my shoulders, he shoves a full beer bottle in my hand. “You look like you’re not enjoin’ yourself.” “Little preoccupied with somethin’, to be honest.” “Also look like you’ve been gettin’ a bit of sun of late.” He looks over my face with narrowed eyes. “Been helpin’ at the farm.” He nods and guides us over to a table. “What’s botherin’ you then?” I look around at the other somber members spread out over the common room as we take a seat. The run’s important enough that a few of the Fort Worth chapter have ridden in to help. “It’s just this job tomorrow. I don’t have a good feelin’ about it.” He nods. “Yeah. I know.” “You think we’re doin’ the right thing here, takin’ the work?” I put a feeler out to gauge his reaction, to see if he’d be the kind of person to support Apex or not. “I don’t think we have a choice.” Great. He’s neutral. I’ve got no idea if he’s in on these extra deals or not. “Wonder if we could get more, you know? Really fatten up the bank account.” Gunner eyes me cautiously. “What the fuck would you want to do that for?” So he’s not a supporter. “I wouldn’t. It was just an idea.” “A fuckin’ stupid one,” he says, taking a swig. “Keep that kind of bullshit locked away.” Gunner places his drink on the edge of the table and reaches into his pocket to pull out a joint. “You’ve got

too much potential to be ruinin’ your rep with crazy fuckin’ ideas.” “Didn’t think it was that crazy.” “It puts the club at risk, and what’s rule number one on the fuckin’ charter, King?” “The club always comes first.” “Exactly. And so far . . .” Gunner chuckles, picking up his bottle, “you’ve managed to do that. Makes me think you’ll go far ’round here.” He believes in me, too. Seems I’m making a good impression all ’round. I would say it makes me think I did the right thing walking away from Elena, but the jury’s still out on that one. My heart screams at me for even thinking it. “Who you ridin’ with tomorrow?” A change of subject would be good before this gets too awkward. “Callum. You?” “Twig.” “Mmm.” Gunner takes a long pull from his bottle. “And Judas is riding out with one of his boys with the other two kids, hey?” “So I heard.” I down the neck of the beer in my hand for courage and ask, “Why isn’t Apex goin’?” “Didn’t say. He just wanted to sit this one out.” “You think he’s got a bad feelin’ about it, too?” “Possibly.” He raises his beer in a toast to a brunette as she wiggles her fingers in a coy wave. “There ain’t anything right about pickin’ up six kids from a fuckin’ shipping yard.” “None at all.” Where have these kids been? What has Carlos, or his associates for that matter, had them up to? Kids. Who the fuck uses kids for their illegal shit? Dirty fucks like Carlos do. Even more reason why I’ve got to speed things up and figure out how I’m going to get Elena out without causing a war; there’s no way I’m having a guy who uses kids in the drug trade have a hand in raising mine. I tap the table before us and push my seat out to stand. “Thanks, Gun.” “What for?” “For remindin’ me I’m not crazy to think we’re fuckin’ ourselves over with this one.” He doesn’t say anything, simply tips his bottle my way with a smile as I leave. Callum stops me on my way out to the garage. I cringe inside; he got patched in a few weeks back, and I was so wrapped up in my own issues I never celebrated with him. “Where you goin’?” He waves his hand toward two blondes in tiny black dresses who sit on one of the sofas, seemingly waiting for him. “Wanna share?” I give him a pat on the chest and shake my head. “Maybe next time, brother.” He shrugs and drops on to the sofa between the women. “Your loss.” I chuckle and step through to the garage, bee-lining for my bike and swinging my leg over. The engine starts with a roar, and I note before I pull out that Apex’s spot is empty. Interesting. The gate rolls open, and for the first time since joining the Fallen Aces, I feel relieved to be putting the clubhouse behind me. I’ve got myself a house to build if things are going to shape up how I hope, and it’s not going to happen if I’m sitting around at the compound dreaming about it. Be the change.

FORTY-TWO King following day We were fucked from the start. A mile out from our drop-off point, Twig’s phone rang. He fumbled with it, but trying to keep the kid on his bike and getting the damn thing out of his breast pocket was a bit of a task at sixty miles an hour. The plastic shattered the second it hit the road, segments flicking into my rear wheel. Two turns from the stop, the girl who’d diligently clutched my waist for the better part of half an hour slipped and caught her foot on the pipes. Her howl of pain was louder than my engine as it growled down through the revs. We should have listened to our guts and turned back. Instead, we ride on to the address we’d been given and pull into the driveway of a two-story colonial that still has scaffolding up from a recent paint job. The young boy straddling Twig’s fuel tank gets off first. Too young to sit on the back, he’d ridden on the front the whole way. The kid runs up to the front door as though this is the best day of his life. Another sign we should turn around and fucking haul ass. Twig dismounts and makes the single most important mistake of the next five minutes—he turns the engine off. Walking to the rear of my bike, he helps the little boy’s sister down and gives her aid to get to the front door with her injured foot. I should have been watching the house, but instead I’m fixated on that patch of red on her ankle and foot, feeling shit that I’ve hurt her. Twig delivers the kid, nodding at whoever is on the other side of the door, and turns to go. He makes it to the bottom of the steps before the first bullet tears through his shoulder. The second shreds his left calf. Whoever ’s shooting at him is fucking with him. They could have shot him clean in the head or heart, given his range to the front door. Instead, they’ve crippled him. The next bullet from the shooter tears a path through my side where I still sit on my bike. Thank fuck it doesn’t seem to hit anything major. The pain only fuels the anger that’s brewed inside these past weeks since I left Elena behind. I’m fucking furious, and it needs an outlet. I’ve just found it. Glock in hand, I manage four rounds toward the house to give Twig cover. He manages two of his own on the way to his bike. The final bullet from our shooter? Yeah, that’s Twig’s, too. With his head down, turning the key, he never sees it coming. He folds like an accordion, slumping off the left side of his ride to lie on their driveway with his right boot still hooked on the seat. I see red. Kicking my stand out, I fire the last rounds in my clip at the house, shattering the frosted windows beside the door and putting holes in the wood. The kids are nowhere to be seen and all I can hope is that they’re somewhere safe inside. Returning fire whistles past my ear and puts a gash in my shoulder, but nothing is going to fucking stop me. Not when I’ve just seen one of my closest friends, and a fucking good family man, fall before my eyes. I replace the clip as I advance, dropping my empty on the front steps. The door splinters at the lock

after a healthy dose of right boot, the shooter surprised to see me walking in without a fucking care in the world. I give him a bullet in the shoulder and one to the knee—this fucker ’s mine. The man falls to the floor with a growl, defiant to the last. “Where the fuck are the kids?” I holler at him. “Safe.” The guy stares up at me, his gun rests where it landed after I shot his shoulder, out of reach. I place another bullet in his arm for good measure anyway. “Anyone else here?” Lying on his side, he shakes his head. “No. My wife took the kids out the back.” I circle the bastard, smiling at the mess I’ve made of his right arm. “What the fuck is going on here?” “Orders were to take you out after the drop.” His words are clipped, angry, as though he’s frustrated he even has to answer me. I’m so furious, breathing so heavily, that my normally loose cut feels too tight. “They even your fuckin’ kids?” The guy nods, his teeth bared as he winces at the pain. “What the fuck we doing pickin’ your kids up from a motherfuckin’ container park?” What kind of shit is this? “They work for us.” He drags the last word out on a moan as he tries to push himself into a seated position against the wall. “They fuckin’ what?” They’re kids. Grade-school age. What the hell? “They carry packages onto the cruise ships that come in.” He wriggles about to be able to face me better. “Nobody suspects a kid walking on with a backpack. Kids fucking enjoy it, too. He buys them lots of toys and stuff each time they pull a job off.” I stride across to the guy’s gun and kick it into the next room. “Who does? Who fuckin’ buys them shit for doin’ that?” A sick feeling ripples my spine at the grin this asshole’s sports. “Your boss—Carlos.” Suddenly, those kid’s heads we delivered on the first run make a hell of a lot more sense. Job gone wrong, perhaps. “Let’s get one thing straight—he ain’t my fuckin’ boss.” I jab the bastard in the injured shoulder to get my point across, earning me a slap to the arm to try and get me to leave him alone. “Carlos was the one who ordered the hit on us?” The guy shakes his head, his hand pressed to his arm. “Nah, man. That was our choice.” It’s that very movement that draws my attention to the tattoos that show from under his tank. Feathers. He struggles against me, but I pin him to his stomach with a knee on the back of his head and tear the fabric away to reveal the Blood Eagles patch. “You fuckers,” I roar, standing and placing a bullet to his head. Fucking Carlos. Fucking Blood Eagles. They’re in fucking bed with each other. Bet Apex doesn’t know that. Or does he? Is our prez the rat? Motherfucker. I turn for the door and stand in the open space to stare down at Twig’s body. I pull my phone out to find a missed call from Gunner. Hitting redial, I drag a hand over my face. How are we going to tell Twig’s old lady, let alone his kids, about this? Gunner ’s phone rings out. Trying the only other number I have programmed in for the people on this run, I get an answer from Judas. “Where the fuck are you?” he asks in place of ‘hello.’ “At the drop-off.” Duh. “Shit’s fuckin’ going south. We bailed, dropped the kids at the hospital and high-tailed it back to the clubhouse.” Shit. “The Blood Eagles arranged this.”

“We know. Those cunts think they can fuckin’ put us to ground? They have another thing comin’.” “What now then?” “Those of us left are meetin’ at the clubhouse.” Those of us left. This shit keeps getting worse. “Who’s down?” “Gunner. Callum managed to ride off and place a call to us. We found him lying in the grass with two to the thigh on our way here.” “Send the crash truck here after Gunner.” “You’re fuckin’ kidding.” He curses again under his breath. “Fuckin’ wish I was. Twig’s been taken down, too.” “Fuckers,” Judas roars down the line. “They’re goin’ to pay for this shit.” “That they are.” I disconnect from Judas and jog down the steps to move Twig’s body to the side of the driveway— leave him a little more dignified for when the brothers get here to pick him up. My gut twists leaving him behind, but shit’s just blown up in our face in epic proportions. I can’t in good conscience sit around while who knows what else goes down. I left Elena amongst this. I sent her back to live with this crazy motherfucker who set us up to be taken out. I knew what he’s like, and still, I told her it was the better thing to do. What the fuck have I done? I do the quick math as I mount my bike and walk it back to face the road. She said the dates worked out for me, when I saw her, and back then her stomach was just starting to show. Fuck. It’s been two weeks since then—no way she’s still hiding it from him. And if he figures out it’s mine . . . Shaking my head clear, I turn the key. I flick the kick-start out, feeling the need for a little release, and boot it hard. The bike growls as I tear out the driveway and hook a left to head in the opposite direction to the clubhouse. Got shit of my own to sort out before I even think about going back there. See you soon, baby.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS It’s been a tough year—I won’t lie. Ask any author and they’ll tell you that 2015 was the hardest year yet to gain exposure and, therefore, sales. But nothing was ever achieved by wishing for it, right? So I kept writing, kept publishing, and wrapped up my second complete series—the Butcher Boys. I was excited, because I knew King was next. And I knew how much you loved his cameos in the Butcher Boys. Second to Sawyer, he’s got to be my favourite character to date. I love him. And I hope you still do too ;) Unrequited was initially meant to be one title, and I tried, I really did. But Elena and King’s story is so epic, spanning over such a long time, that there was no way I could condense it enough without you missing out. So along came Unbreakable, and I’m so amped to show you how their story ends. There’ll be heartbreak, tension, and moments where you’re thinking ‘what the fuck?’ But overall there’ll be a HEA. It’s the acknowledgements, Max. Why aren’t you thanking anyone yet? I guess what I’m rounding out to say is that without your support, without those messages telling me how much you love my guys, how real their struggles are, and how much you can relate personally to some of the things they go through, this last year might have been too much. I don’t hide the fact that I live with mental illness, and most days, I’m my own worst critic. It can be pretty rough. That two minutes you spent sending me a PM or posting on my wall? It helped, it really did. It made me smile, made me proud of what I’ve achieved, and made me write you the next book. So thank you first and foremost to you for reading, and for keeping the stories coming. Just as important, is ‘Mr Henry’. Thank you, babe, for putting the kids to bed even though they cried their asses off because Mum wasn’t reading the story. Thanks, babe, for cooking dinner without being asked because you could see I was stressed and behind on deadlines. Thanks, babe, for being my own HEA every damn day and giving me something beautiful and real to draw from. Thank you for being you <3 To my babies (who aren’t so little anymore after two and a half years of this). I know you wish I didn’t work as much, and I wish I didn’t have to either, but you’ll understand one day when you’re making your own dreams come true, and I’ll be there right beside you cheering you on. ‘You’re braver than you think, and smarter than you know.’ To my editor, Lauren, and my PA and beta reader, Abbey. You guys . . . Honestly, I’m so damn lucky to know you two. This book wouldn’t have been half as good without you both. You get me, and most importantly, you know when to push me. All those 2am finishes while I was ‘tweaking’ are totally worth it. Sara, dude. You’ve been fantastic, taking my vague instructions of ‘I want it to look MC, but not like all the others’ and giving me something unique and beautiful. I can’t wait to see how the whole series looks all together when we’re finished. Valentina, and NeroArgento. Guys. That image is King in every way. I saw it on Instagram and I had

to have it. Thank you for working with me through endless PMs, and the pesky language barrier, to bring King to life. <3 Kylie and the team at Give Me Books. Thank you again for organising another great release. You guys are always such a pleasure to work with—keep that shit up, ladies ;) And to the bloggers—where would I be without your help? Thank you all so much for supporting me and sharing the word. If you would like to be a part of any future sign-ups and exclusive content shares, then hop on over and join my Blogger only group on Facebook here. I’m sleep deprived, short of caffeine, and hangry, so if I’ve missed anybody, just know that I love you and thank you. Onto the next . . .

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Originally born and bred in Canterbury, New Zealand, Max now resides with her family in beautiful and sunny Queensland, Australia. Life with two young children can be hectic at times, and although she may not write as often as she would like, Max wouldn’t change a thing. In her down time, Max can be found at her local gym, brain-storming through a session with the weights. Or, she may be out bumping, and jostling her way along a dirt track with the family in hubby’s 4WD. FOR ALL UPDATES AND ANNOUNCEMENTS – SIGN UP TO MAX’S NEWSLETTER: http://eepurl.com/6bb6f BE SURE TO FOLLOW HER AT: Facebook - Profile Facebook - Page Goodreads Twitter & Instagram: @maxhenryauthor FOR EXCLUSIVE NEWS AND EXCERPTS - JOIN MAX’S FAN GROUP, THE MADHOUSE! Find us here!

CONTENTS Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Twenty-Five Twenty-Six Twenty-Seven Twenty-Eight Twenty-Nine Thirty Thirty-One Thirty-Two Thirty-Three Thirty-Four Thirty-Five Thirty-Six Thirty-Seven Thirty-Eight Thirty-Nine

Forty Forty-One Forty-Two Pre-order Unbreakable Also by Max Acknowledgements About the Author