Prologue

PROLOGUE

1 YEAR AGO

S elene "Angel" Matthews stared down at the battered and bruised teenage girl in the hospital bed. She was so small, vulnerable. Angel hated to use the word weak , but that was what she was. Bree. Brianna Faux. Foster child and former sex slave of a dead man.

Because he was dead. He might not know it yet, but his days were numbered. As soon as Keys found the information, a name, a description, anything, Angel was going hunting.

No woman, let alone a child, should have to suffer as Bree had. The little that Bree had disclosed was horrible. Angel knew the reality was so much worse.

Glancing down at her tattooed wrist, Angel realized she'd been subconsciously rubbing the hidden scar there. The butterfly that covered the long scar with its wings circling her forearm, palm, and the back of her hand had been her first tattoo. She got tired of people looking at the scar and assuming she'd cut herself. Not that a scar on a wrist wasn't telling or an indicator of attempted suicide. It just wasn't her story.

A shadow moved. Angel stiffened, her hand going for her gun, before she recognized Scar. The VDMC's Enforcer had a way of just appearing out of nowhere. Angel didn't know much about Scar's history and even less about his present. The silent man was dependable, though, and Angel had always admired his stoicism.

She couldn't help but wonder if Scar could speak and was disciplined enough not to or if those scars on his throat meant that he could no longer speak. Bulldog, the club's SAA, swore that Scar could speak but didn't. Angel wasn't sure she believed that. But, if he could, what did he sound like? Did he have a deep, dark voice that matched his personality or maybe a raspy voice that indicated years of smoking?

More than his voice, Angel wondered about his scars. The long one that ran from his left temple, down his cheek, and over his lips looked like it had been painful. If the man did smile, it would no doubt be crooked. His hands were scarred too. Some looked older than others, making Angel wonder if they were leftover from his childhood.

Unlike the other brothers, Scar had never come to her for a tattoo. With his signature black long-sleeve shirt, black pants, and boots always worn, she had no idea if he had tattoos at all. It wasn't a requirement to get the VDMC symbol tattooed once patched over, but most of the members did. She understood why Jumper didn't. He had severe PTSD and it was a concern that the pain of getting a tattoo, while manageable, might trigger him. Even Angel could admit that getting a tattoo wasn't worth that. Some found the needle of a tattoo soothing—she certainly did—but that didn't mean there weren't times that it was painful too.

Scar walked over to Bree's bed. He didn't acknowledge Angel in any way. Just stared down at the sleeping teen.

The excitement of the blood drive had understandably worn Bree out. Angel had never been so grateful to be a patched member of the Via Daemonia MC as she had been that day. The way they'd rallied for Bree was beyond admirable. Only two members had not participated in the blood drive: Grumpy, due to getting a tattoo less than three months ago, and Scar. Angel hadn't gone down to the drive—having had a nurse come up to Bree's room to take her blood and test her as a viable donor for Bree—but she'd heard through the grapevine that Scar hadn't even shown up to the event.

Generally, at parties and fundraisers, Scar could be found with Sissy, Lucky's daughter. She was probably the only one who could hold a conversation with Scar too, even if it was one-way. Angel suspected there was something romantic between the two, but Sissy denied it every time she was asked and claimed Scar was just a friend.

Angel started to dose off. She'd been only sleeping in short bursts when someone else from the club was present. She needed to remain on guard to protect Bree. Scar was a mystery to her, but she trusted him. In fact, there was no one she trusted more to protect Bree in her stead.

Scar was, at his core, a protector.

A hand on her shoulder jolted Angel awake. Her hand automatically went to her gun hidden under her jacket. The light streaming in from the window indicated that she'd slept longer than she'd meant to. A quick glance around the room confirmed that Bree was still asleep. Scar was no longer in the room.

It was Cage standing next to her. Angel felt her heart leap as the stupid organ always did in his presence. Like most of her club brothers, she had been told Cage's legal name but had long forgotten it. Both had been members of the club for nearly four years and it was considered rude to call a patched member by their legal name. She knew it was something weird and hard to remember, though. The man was Greek, from his blonde hair, blue eyes, olive skin, and high cheek bones.

Angel had gotten her moniker when she'd been in the Army. As her platoon's sniper, she'd been dubbed the ‘Angel of Death'. They would say she had the face of an angel with the trigger finger of death. While others might look down on her for her MOS, Angel had been proud to be one of the few female snipers of her rank. She even had a replica of the Remington-700 rifle she'd used tattooed down the back of her entire right leg from hip to ankle.

Cage, on the other hand, had been given his moniker by the club when he'd been patched over. Unlike Pumpkin, who hated the road name he'd been given, Cage didn't mind his. Despite being a member of a motorcycle club, Cage had a Mustang convertible he loved more than his Harley-Davidson hog. The members had started calling him ‘Cage' even before he'd gotten his rockers because his legal name was so hard to pronounce. By the time Angel had become a prospect, Cage had been about to be patched in.

She still remembered that first day. She'd been prepared to have to earn her right to be there, just as she had with the Army. Equality was not a thing in the military, no matter what the commercials said. It was rare to find a man who was honestly pleased and willing to fight alongside a woman and not feel threatened by her. Worse was when the men tried to be ‘chivalrous' or sweet to her.

Bulldog hadn't been like that. When she'd been transferred to his platoon, she'd been ready to prove her worth. Bulldog hadn't even batted an eye. It was like he didn't see her as a woman, only a fellow soldier. Not once had he treated her differently because she had boobs and a vagina.

When Bulldog had invited her to prospect for the motorcycle club he'd help create, he'd assured her that there would be no gender bullshit that she'd dealt with in the past. She hadn't completely believed him but had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Civilian life had not been an easy adjustment, especially when her father wanted to use her military career for his political agenda. The idea of being surrounded by her own people, veterans, had sounded amazing. Her parents had never understood her desire to join the Army, to prove she was more than she'd been, and, more so, did not understand her art. They hated that she had tattoos even more than they hated her lack of makeup or unwillingness to wear a dress. Despite her repeatedly telling her father that she was not gay, he wanted to use his lesbian daughter as a campaign ploy to gain votes with the LGBTQ+ community.

Angel had been hoping that going home after her time in the Army had changed her parents. It had not. Her older sister had tried to warn her, but she hadn't listened. Bulldog had saved her sanity the day he'd reached out to her.

Angel had never ridden a motorcycle before but had been intrigued by them all her life. She'd been more than willing to get one while prospecting. Bulldog had even found a storefront for her to open her own tattoo shop in.

Her parents had been appalled that she'd joined a motorcycle ‘gang' and refused to speak to her as long as she was a member.

That first day, Cage had nearly stopped her heart with his wicked smile and smoldering eyes. Only years of discipline had kept her from blushing like a virgin bride.

It hadn't taken her long, though, to realize that Cage did not see her as a woman and only as one of the guys. Angel should have been thrilled by that…but she wasn't. Not when it came to Cage. Rather than admitting to being hurt, Angel had done what she'd always done: put on a front. She was as sarcastic, as vulgar, as crass, as any of the guys. Hell, they soon learned that Angel could drink most of them under the table.

Four years later, and many carnal encounters on Cage's part, Angel's damn heart still reacted to him. At least she had an excuse for her racing heart this time, having been woken up as she'd been.

Angel ran her hand down her face. "What time is it?" She kept her voice low because Bree was still asleep.

"Just after six." He handed her a large coffee in a Styrofoam cup.

Angel let out a sigh of gratitude. She immediately took a huge gulp, not caring if she burned her tongue. Surprised, Angel pulled the cup away from her mouth.

"What?" Cage's face scrunched up in confusion. "Did I get it right? Two creams and five sugars?"

Angel swallowed the liquid in her mouth and slowly nodded. She couldn't recall a time when she'd ever told Cage specifically how she took her coffee.

He cracked a crooked smile. "That's diabetes in a cup, not coffee. Maybe I should start calling you ‘Sweet Angel'."

There was no hiding her blush that time. "I've seen you around the holidays, boyo. You've got a sweet tooth of your own."

Cage's grin was wicked, making Angel's heart flutter. "Guilty." He nodded his head towards the bathroom. "I've got her. Go take a shower and freshen up. You're starting to smell a bit rank."

Angel's eyes narrowed into a glare. "I'm armed."

He opened his cut to flash her his own weapon. Carlos, Mount Grove's Deputy Sheriff, had pulled some strings to get the VDMC permission to carry in the hospital. The small town's hospital did not have enough security guards to guarantee protection. As far as administration was concerned, Bree was under the Mount Grove PD protection. Carlos had temporarily deputized the VDMC to allow them to remain armed and help protect Bree. It had shocked them all that Sheriff Hannigan had allowed it, given his history with the club.

Taking her coffee into the bathroom with her, Angel had to admit she was looking forward to the shower. She felt grimy, and to be honest, she needed some time alone to process the last couple of days.

She'd meant it when she'd told Bree that the teen could come home with her. In truth, Angel couldn't remember having ever meant anything more. The fact that Bree had been willing to die, had wanted to die, nearly killed Angel. Memories of her teenage years had flooded back, and Angel could not allow that precious girl to give up so easily. She couldn't. The very thought had broken her heart.

Looking in the mirror, Angel stared back at her own reflection. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. She slammed her eyes closed, embracing the darkness. Her nostrils flared as her chin trembled. Angel put a hand over her mouth in an effort to muffle her sobs.

She needed to be strong. Bree could not see or hear her break. Bree needed Angel to be her rock, the one person she could lean on. To know that Angel would fight to the ends of the earth and beyond for her. If she saw Angel falter, she might too.

Angel could not risk that.

Arms came around her from behind. Angel's eyes flew open. She must not have locked the bathroom door.

Cage was slightly taller than she was. He pulled her back against his hard chest, his tattooed arms encasing her. Angel glanced at the door, taking note that he'd closed it behind himself.

She wanted to ask what he was doing in here. He shouldn't have come into the bathroom, even if he had heard her crying. What if she'd been naked or on the toilet?

Angel turned to protest, but he caught her face. He swallowed her surprised gasp as he claimed her lips.

"Sweet Angel," he murmured against her mouth. "I'm here. Lean on me, sweetness."

She shivered, desire replacing her pain as he deepened the kiss. She knew then that she would not be showering alone.

Vasileios "Cage" Georgiou couldn't believe he finally had Angel in his arms. Angel had been the star of his spank bank material for nearly four years. If it hadn't been for him overhearing her tell Ranger she would castrate any MC brother who tried to hit on her with a dull spoon, drop his severed bits into a deep fryer, and then force feed them to him, Cage probably would have made a move sooner.

But, in a way, he was glad he didn't. If he'd tried to date her or fuck her, it would have been messy—and he would have lost the opportunity to meet and get to know and care for one of the most badass, selfless women he'd ever met.

He'd grown up the youngest son of twelve in a Greek household—he knew a lot of strong women.

Angel, though, was in a class all of her own. She was tough, yet gentle. She was curt, yet sweet. She was muscular, yet feminine. She was blunt, yet artistic. She was a contradiction that had woven Cage under her spell without her even knowing it.

He was willing to acknowledge what he was feeling was more than lust when he heard her weeping through the bathroom door. It was like his heart—which was already hurting for the traumatized teen asleep in the room with him—shattered. He knew he couldn't allow Angel to suffer alone.

Was it love? He didn't know. He'd never loved anyone but family before. The endless string of nameless, faceless women was utterly forgettable.

She kissed him back with a ferocity he craved. He was taller than her five-eight frame by several inches, and he was strong. He'd earned his bulk through his time in the Navy and his civilian construction job. Cage picked her up with ease, placing her ass on the countertop.

Her legs spread for him automatically. But Angel was no docile female who allowed him to take the lead. No, she hooked her legs around his hips and drew him closer to her.

Cage's blood felt like it was on fire. His cock raged in his dark jeans, begging to be released. He could not recall a time—and certainly not recently if there was one—when he had wanted a woman more than he wanted Angel right at that moment.

Angel reached for his cut at the same time that he touched hers. They were both dropped unceremoniously, even though they weren't supposed to touch the floor. Cuts were the American Flags of the MC world. They were supposed to be treated with the upmost respect.

But Cage wouldn't tell if Angel didn't.

Both of their guns, though, were placed carefully side by side on the counter.

He loved Angel's style and her self-assurance. She didn't dress masculine or feminine but instead always wore outfits for convenience. The shirt he was desperately trying to get off of her was black with a yellow sun wearing sunglasses that said Girls Just Want to Have Sun. Underneath was a black sports bra.

Fuck, Cage's mouth watered at the sight of her tits when he finally wrestled the tight material over her head. He took one pert nipple into his mouth. Angel wound her fingers through his dirty blonde hair, moaning.

He pushed and she pushed right back. Cage loved her strength and, even more, that he didn't need to hold back. The last word anyone would use to describe Angel would be fragile .

They broke apart long enough for Angel to pull Cage's shirt off. She'd seen him shirtless plenty of times, having done most of his after-service ink, including the large VDMC logo that covered his back.

She undid his belt and button of his jeans. Realizing he still had his boots on, Cage had to step back from her to undo the laces enough to toe them off. He took advantage of the space and took everything remaining on him off. Though he did pause to take a condom out of his wallet before throwing that onto the counter next to their guns.

Angel hopped off the counter. "Turn on the shower. Since I smell so badly."

Cage grinned widely. He wanted to watch her undress, but he also knew they had to hurry this along. Bree was not completely unguarded. Bear and Scar were around the hospital. Still, they shouldn't leave her alone for long.

The shower was a walk-in with bars. While the water wasn't the hottest, the pressure was great. He placed the condom wrapper on the soap tray. Generic shampoo and body wash dispensers were attached to the wall.

He turned to see an equally naked Angel walking towards him. She placed two white towels on the closed toilet lid.

Cage wasn't sure why he was surprised to see that Angel was completely shaven. Her bare pussy called to him like a beacon. He wanted to get on his knees and devour her—but they didn't have the time.

Angel put her hand flat on his chest and pushed him backwards under the water. He smiled, took hold of her wrist, and brought her under the spray with him. Their lips collided.

"Fuck, sweetness, I need inside you."

Cage spun them and pinned her up against the wall that had a vertical grab bar. His fingers slipped between her bare folds to find her clit as his mouth once more latched onto her nipple. They needed to be quick, but he was not risking hurting her. He wasn't exactly small.

Angel writhed and shook against the polymer wall. She had one hand gripping the grab bar and the other twisted in his hair.

Her orgasm barely took her when Cage frantically shifted position to get inside her. He had his cock notched at her entrance, but she suddenly gasped out, "Condom!"

Right. Fuck. Cage had to shake his head to clear his lust filled thoughts. What the fuck had he been thinking? He'd never not used a condom before. His need for Angel wiped all logical thought from his brain.

He tore open the foil wrapper with such haste that he nearly dropped the latex roll. Angel grabbed it and then his cock. A tremor nearly had him coming at just the touch of her hand. Fuck, he needed to get his head in the game.

As soon as the condom was rolled down his dick, he pinned Angel against the wall again. He claimed her mouth and drove inside her in the same moment. He swallowed Angel's gasp, her inner walls gripping him like a vise.

The heat and the feel of her around him nearly had him coming like a teen watching his first porno. She felt too good, too—Cage stopped that train of thought. It was far too soon to be thinking of Angel as anything more. No matter how much he craved the idea.

It was quick and fast. They were both coming too soon under the hot spray of water. Angel shuddered against him, her nails digging into his tattooed back. He held onto her tightly and, even knowing he shouldn't, wondered if this was their first moment of forever.

They dried off and dressed in silence. A quick peek into the room showed Bree was still sleeping soundlessly. She hadn't noticed a thing. Which was very good.

Angel was not one for games. She was adopting a teenage girl who had been through hell. She did not need a man to complicate her life—either of their lives. Moreover, she did not need Cage to complicate her life.

She knew what was coming and she also knew the score. She was just another notch on his bedpost. Nothing more, nothing less. Angel didn't need more. She was strong enough to handle whatever came her and Bree's way on her own.

But there was a part of her, a bigger part than she cared to admit, that couldn't help but crave more . What would it be like to not have to face the world alone?

"Angel, I?—"

"It's fine," she interrupted. She was not the type of girl who needed to be let down easy. "Thank you for the coffee and the fuck. Really helped to clear my head."

His eyebrows scrunched down. "Not exactly the reason I'd been going for. Listen, I was thinking I could ask Bear to come up and watch Bree for a bit since she's comfortable with him. I know you don't want to go very far. I thought we could go down to the cafeteria and?—"

Angel was already shaking her head. "No, I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

"Still, it would get you out of here for a bit?—"

"Not necessary. I'm fine here."

"Angel, I?—"

"Cage, just stop." She crossed her arms over her chest, trying for nonchalance. "We fucked. It happened. I'm not a flowers-and-chocolates kind of girl. I don't need to be coddled and I don't need to be romanced. You clearly are not a one-woman kind of guy. That's fine with me. We scratched an itch. That was all."

Angel forced herself to stop talking, hoping her words didn't come across as babbling.

Cage stared down at her.

Starting to feel uncomfortable with his staring, Angel gestured to the door behind her. "I appreciate you stopping by."

He continued to stare. "Do you actually mean all of that or are you just saying it because it's what you think I want to hear?"

Angel's lips twitched into what could only be described as a smirk. "Are you saying that you aren't trying to make some excuse so this doesn't turn awkward or I don't cry and fawn over you fucking and leaving me?"

His stare was so intense. It was unnerving. "I am trying to ask you out on a date, but you keep making assumptions about what I want and what I'm about to say."

Angel blinked. A date ? Had Cage , probably the most womanizing man she knew, just said that he wanted to take her out on a date ?

"Cat got your tongue, sweetness?" He was still shirtless and crossed his arms over his bare, muscular chest. "Why is it so hard to believe that I want to date you?"

"Because…you're you." The cockiness drained from his face at her blunt reply. "Look, Cage, I have a lot going on in my life right now. I really do appreciate the quick fuck. It got me out of my head for a bit, which I needed. But I can't date you. You're… Well, you're a great guy. You really are. But you're not a relationship type of guy." Needing space, Angel took a step back towards the closed door behind her. "I'll never be okay with an open relationship or a partner who can't be faithful. And, let's face it, you'll never be a one-woman kind of man."

Angel opened the bathroom door and made to step out. She paused, feeling bad for her honesty, but not really knowing what to say. "Thanks again…for the coffee."

Bree's doctors came in shortly after Cage's quick and silent departure. Angel took vigorous notes, making sure to ask questions. The doctors were still stressing caution. Finding a non-familial living donor was rare. Finding one that was eligible and willing to donate was even rarer.

Bree, though, did not have time to be added to a waiting list. She needed a miracle—and she needed it now.

After the doctors left, Angel sent a text message to Bear and his girlfriend Tessa, who was also a doctor at this hospital and pregnant with Bear's "cub", giving the details of the meeting she'd just had with Bree's doctors. Some of the more advanced medical jargon needed to be explained to Angel and she didn't want to seem incompetent to Bree's doctors, who already thought Angel was nuts and was giving Bree false hope.

Then, miracles of miracles, had happened. A donor had been found. Angel thought her heart would burst from excitement—and then stop all together when she learned who the donor was.