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Shortly after I signed the papers and started talking about our future, Ryan dropped the bomb that he didn’t want kids. Then, six months later, he told me he’d had a vasectomy a year prior. That was the day my entire world shattered.
Five years of my life. Wasted. No marriage proposal on the horizon, definitely no kids. And I refuse to stay in a relationship that isn’t going anywhere. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m not going to let some man steal all of my dreams and my best years. So, I did the only thing I could—I broke up with him and kicked him out of my house.
That was three weeks ago.
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I stand at the back door of my small house and look at the fenced in yard. When Ryan and I were searching for places to rent in, we’d looked at several apartments, but then my brother recommended this place. I immediately fell in love with it. Ryan hadn’t. But I’d refused to give it up, and so, I’d bought the place myself, without his help.
The house is absolutely perfect. With two bedrooms and a rather large kitchen, which is good because I love to cook, the little bungalow is the perfect size for me. Ultimately, the backyard is what sold me, though. The moment I saw it, I imagined a child running around out there. The image had been so vivid; I’d even heard the laughter.
Shortly after I signed the papers and started talking about our future, Ryan dropped the bomb that he didn’t want kids. Then, six months later, he told me he’d had a vasectomy a year prior. That was the day my entire world shattered.
Five years of my life. Wasted. No marriage proposal on the horizon, definitely no kids. And I refuse to stay in a relationship that isn’t going anywhere. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m not going to let some man steal all of my dreams and my best years. So, I did the only thing I could—I broke up with him and kicked him out of my house.
That was three weeks ago.
My emotions are still all over the place. Sometimes, at night, when I’m all alone in this house, I miss him so much it physically hurt. Too many nights I cry myself to sleep, or just cry until I give myself a headache, and then I pop some pills and pass out. My beverage collection has dwindled considerably, too. As much as everything still hurts, the urge to call him and beg him to come back, to agree to live without marriage or kids, is getting less and less with each passing day. But some days are worse than others. Today is one of the worse days.
The doorbell chimes, startling me from my thoughts. I’m not expecting company tonight, but I’ll be lying if I say I’m not secretly hoping Ryan is here. He hasn’t once bothered to call or come over or even talk to me since I ended the relationship.
“Coming!” I go to the door and swing it open. “Oh, hey, Becca. What’re you doing here?” I stop and do a double take. “Why are you so dressed up?” She’s wearing a tight red dress and matching red stilettos. Her makeup is on point, and she looks fantastic.
“You’ve been crying again.” Becca walks inside, her heels clicking against the tile floor.
“Um, no.” I wipe my cheeks and am happy to see my hands come away dry. I haven’t been sleeping worth trash, though, so I’m sure my eyes are red and puffy. “You didn’t answer my question.” I close the door.
“I’m here to take you out.” Becca grins.
“Oh no.” I shake my head.
Becca’s been trying to get me to go out clubbing since the day I broke up with Ryan, and I keep refusing. I’m not ready to meet anyone new. Not yet. It’s still too soon.
“I’m really not in the mood,” I say.
“You’ve been saying that for weeks now. It’s time to stop crying over Ryan and get yoursef back up on the horse.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not dressed to go out. Besides, it’s a Tuesday night. You really think anyone decent is going to be out tonight? I highly doubt it.”
Becca sighs with frustration. “Listen, you need to get out of this house. I need a wing woman. And we need to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” I flop down on the couch and tuck my knees to my chest. As soon as I got home from work, I put on a pair of sweatpants and one of Ryan’s T-shirts that he’d left behind. My hair’s in a messy bun on top of my head, and I have no makeup on. I’m in no position—physically or emotionally—to go out.
“I got the job!” Becca squeals.
I jump off the couch and give my friend a hug. “Oh my god! That’s amazing, Becca. Congratulations!”
Becca laughs. “I’m so excited. There’s no way I can stay home tonight.” She pouts and bats her eyelashes in that over exaggerated way she always does. “Please?”
I hate when Becca does that. She makes saying no impossible. The fact we’ve been friends since high school doesn’t help, either. With a reluctant sigh, I nod. “All right fine. I’ll go out with you tonight, but promise me we won’t stay long.”
“Deal!” Becca shrieks with excitement. “Hurry up and get dressed.”
I take about half an hour to get ready, and as I study my reflection in the mirror, I smile. Maybe going out tonight is exactly what I need. Just getting dressed up makes me feel better than I have in days. I leave the bathroom and meet Becca back in the living room.
Becca whistles. “Oh girl, you’re a hottie.”
I laugh. I opted for my frayed denim skirt and my low-cut black top with sleeves that tie on my shoulders. A pair of black sandals complete my outfit. My clothes are nowhere near as beautiful as Becca’s tight, red dress, but at least I’m comfortable.
I grab my purse. “Let’s go before I change my mind.” I playfully shove Becca out the door.
We arrive at The Savage Cat, the only night club here, Michigan, and the line to get in is around the block. Lucky for us, I have a fast pass straight to the front of line. The popular dance club is owned by the Savage Bloods Motorcycle Club, of which my brother is the very proud President. I can’t stand that stupid club, or the lifestyle, and I go out of my way to avoid everything involving the Savage Bloods. Unfortunately, when you live in a tiny armpit of a town, you don’t have many choices for entertainment.
Becca, however, is fascinated with the Savage Bloods and will do everything she can to hang out with them. She won’t openly admit it to me, but I know she’s hooked up with several of the brothers. She swears she’s never so much as thought about my brother in that way, but I’m not sure I believe that.
At a little after ten, the place is already packed, as usual. I push way through the crowd and toward the dance floor. That is why we came here after all. Ryan hates to dance, and even though I always tell him he doesn’t have to get on the dance floor with me, he still refuses to take me anywhere that involves the activity. Memories like those make me grateful that I had the courage to leave him. I really need to learn to hold onto the bad memories and stop dwelling on all the great ones. Dealing with the hurt when I’m angry is so much easier.
The music is so loud it rattles the chairs and tables, and the floor is sticky from spilled beverage. But I don’t care. Being out with my best friend, cutting lose, not caring about anything or anyone is freeing. I can’t remember the last time I just had fun like this.
Becca grabs my arm and leans forward. “That guy.” Becca points to someone behind me.
I turn to see who Becca is pointing at, and I freeze. Leaning against the bar is a man. A very , very muscular, very dangerous looking man. Dark, shoulder length hair. Icy blue eyes. Jeans with a bulging crotch. Black T-shirt that stretches deliciously across his shoulders and chest. My heart races at the sight of him, but more so because he’s staring right at me.
But then I notice he’s also wearing a goddman kutte covered with the Savage Bloods insignia. Because of course he’s part of the club. A bottle is pinched between his fingers, and he’s standing there like he owns this place. Cocky arrogance radiates off him, and he clearly owns that. He’s 100 percent pure male. Pure trouble. And one million percent not my type of guy.
Yet, I can’t seem to stop staring at him. He’s everything Ryan isn’t, and that excites me in a way I don’t like. I don’t look away, and neither does he. There’s something familiar about him, though, and I narrow my eyes, studying him. Do I know him? That wouldn’t be so far-fetched considering I’ve met everyone in the Savage Bloods at least once before. Still, something nags at the back of my mind.
“He’s staring at you,” Becca shouts over the music, jerking me from my thoughts. “You should go talk to him.”
“No.” I shake my head.
Turning away from his heated stare, I focus on dancing with Becca, but I can feel his gaze on me, feel the way he’s undressing me with his eyes, devouring me.
Maybe Becca’s right. Maybe I need to take the plunge and go talk to him. Doing so will certainly get my… I’m not sure I can handle a guy like that. He’s so hard and rough and a tad scary. Not to mention, he’s part of the club, and I swore never to get involved with that life. Just because I’m nursing a broken heart doesn’t mean I need to go catch a raging case of the stupids.
And that man could make any woman stupid.
I fan my face with my hand, and Becca makes a hand signal that she needs a drink. I nod and follow Becca off the dance floor and toward the bar. Thankfully, when we get there, the uber hot but totally off-limits biker guy is gone. I sigh with relief, prop my arms on the bar, and lean forward, my hips still swaying to the music.
“What can I get for ya?” the bartender shouts over the music.
“One glass of water and a martini with no olives,” I order, shouting just as loudly.
“Hey!” Becca touches my shoulder and then leans close to my ear. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom. Meet you back here.”
I nod.
The bartender returns and sets the drinks in front of me. “Ten fifty.”
I pull out my credit card and handed it to him. “Start a tab.”
Becca’s only drinking water tonight because she’s driving—a declaration she made on the drive here because she thinks I need to get drunk and do something I’ll regret in the morning. Then again, that’s how Becca deals with problems. I, on the other hand, prefer to handle things with a tad more emotional maturity. So, I don’t plan to drink too much. I never do when I go out.
But still, as the bartender takes the card from my hand, my stomach clenches. Ryan hated when I would start a bar tab. He said it was stupid and not financially responsible. Not that I need to worry about what he thinks anymore, but without him living in the same house with me, my finances are a little tighter than they were last month. A few drinks won’t hurt, though. I push the concerns from my mind and sway my hips to the hypnotic beat.
It’s not every day my best friend lands a dream job. Plus, I’m leaving in two days to go spend several weeks at Whispering Creek, my parents’ cabin resort in the Upper Peninsula. I’ll be cut off from Becca and everyone else for close to a month. If that isn’t reason enough to go a little crazy tonight, then what is?
Seriously, what is taking Becca so long?
I grab the drinks and turn around, intent on meeting Becca near the bathrooms so we can easily spot each other in this crowd. Instead, I slam face first into a wall of hard muscle. Both of the drinks spill, coating my hands, but a majority ends up on the person I ran into.
“Oh.” I lift my head, and my heart stops.
The man who’d been staring at me now stands in front of me.
My face burns with embarrassment. “Uh, yeah, I-I’m sorry.”
Some of the liquid splashed up onto his face, too. God, how mortifying! I turn, set the cups on the bar, and grab a handful of napkins, which I then proceed to drop when I spin back around. Real smooth.
He shrugs out of his kutte, then strips off his wet shirt, using it to dry his face. The sight of his chest and abs makes my throat go dry. I know I’m staring, but I can’t help myself. Oh, every woman in this place is staring just as intently as I am. As I watch him rub the shirt across his chin, down his throat, and across his pecs, I can feel the lust pooling between my thighs, and I squeeze my legs together to ease the ache in my body .
Images of being in his arms—undressed, sweaty, and in the midst of doing things that will get us banned from Heaven forever—dance through my mind.
This man is gorgeous. Perfection. A true gift from God.
He’s very clearly a bad boy, too, which only adds to his appeal.
And he’s nothing like Ryan.
I haven’t thought about another man like this in years, not since… My eyes widen, and my heart beats against my ribcage. No. Please, God, no.
And then he speaks. “Enjoy the show?” His deep voice rubs against every nerve ending in my body, and my stomach clenches.
“Hello, Steven.” My voice is cold and sharp.
He blinks in confusion, and then I can see reality hitting him as hard as it hit me a second ago. I cross my arms and glare at him. His jaw drops, but he doesn’t speak.
“I see you finally figured out how to stage a successful prison break.” I frown.
His lips curl into that much too familiar smile, and my traitorous body reacts in ways I don’t want it to. Then, he laughs, the sound just as deep and masculine and handsome as I remembered.
“Good to see you again, Cassandra.” He reaches around me to toss his wet shirt onto the bar, then he slips back into his kutte.
The sight of him wearing that reminds me of every single reason why I hate him. Why I swore off the club and everyone involved—including my own brother. He’s the sole reason I got involved with Ryan in the first place, because Ryan’s safe. Practical. Stable. Dependable.
“It’s Cassie now,” I say.
He raises a brow. “Cassie, huh? I like it.”
“I don’t give a word.” I shake my head. “Does my brother know you’re here?”
“He’s the reason I’m here. Full pardon. Courtesy of Hothead.”
“His name is Harland,” I snap and narrow my eyes, rage boiling in my veins. Honestly, grown men running around calling each other by code names or nicknames or whatever they are is so dumb.
How dare my brother help Steven get out of prison and not warn me? Then again, Harland has no idea what happened between me and Steven all those years ago, and if I have my way, he never will. No one will. Not even Becca knows.
I take a deep breath, refusing to let Steven get to me anymore than he already has. “Guess that’s one less person on my Christmas list.” I shrug. “Anyway, sorry you invaded my personal space and got all wet.” I smile sweetly and incline my head toward his shirtless chest.
He simply stares at me with those eyes that had mesmerized me so much as a teen. They’re so blue, staring at me with an undeniable carnal knowledge. I shiver at the memory of just how much knowledge he has of me and my body.
Unable to face him any longer, I crouch down and pick up the napkins I dropped.
“Here, I got those.” He lowers himself to my eye level.
“Isn’t this beneath you?” I grab a handful of napkins and stand. “Don’t you have groupies back at the club to do this kind of stuff for you?” I slap the napkins onto the bar.
“You mean the club cats?” He smirks, and I have the sudden urge to slap that look off his face.
“No, I mean the group of strays that follow you guys around in the hopes you’ll toss them a scrap of trash every now and then.” I once again cross my arms, daring him to deny the truth.
The club can dress it up anyway they want, but there’s no denying what the club cats are—whores who do the brothers’ bidding and spread their legs with the hope of securing a marriage proposal someday. And I know this because Becca talked to my brother about becoming a club cat. He flat out refused her. Though, to this day, he’s never said why.
Steven doesn’t respond, which only enrages me more. I drop my arms to my sides. “Next time you see my brother, tell him to go himself. Courtesy of his baby sister.”
I shoulder past Steven, more than ready to find Becca and go home. But Steven grabs my arm, and I freeze.
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