Prologue

TWENTY YEARS EARLIER–

Sirens grew louder. Jagger stared down at the man who'd killed his dad, Bruce "Baller" Corbin, last month. The hole in the man's forehead was only a dot, while a river of red flowed out the back of his skull and painted the asphalt.

"Come on. We need to get out of here." Ruger smacked Jagger's shoulder. "Shake it off, and let's get the hell out of here."

He'd seen men die. But he'd never taken a life before.

"I hear them coming." Ruger pulled the nine millimeter out of Jagger's hand. "It's done, man. Let's go."

He'd stood at the door of the crematory while his dad was incinerated, swearing vengeance on the one who had shot Baller on his way home from the clubhouse.

The man went by the name Trader. He sold women and drugs and had a vendetta against Havlin Motorcycle Club for kicking him off the streets of Beaverton. Now, he was dead because Jagger shot him.

Ruger yanked Jagger by the back of the vest. "Come on."

A wave of relief swept through him. He'd done it.

He turned away from the body and jogged, keeping up with Ruger.

"They're close," shouted Ruger.

"Keep going." He looked behind him as he ran.

It was his crime. Ruger came with him because he was the one man he trusted with his life. He also knew Ruger would let him take the man down for killing Baller without talking him out of it. An eye for an eye.

A police car rounded the corner ahead of them. Red and blue lights flashed, urging them on. Their bikes were another block away. They'd never make it.

Ruger pointed, cutting down an alley. Jagger followed, knocking down garbage cans as he weaved between the two buildings to slow the police.

The cop car ran over the cans, not stopping.

"I'll stay back. You go," he shouted.

Ruger caught Jagger's gaze. "I don't leave a brother."

"We're not going to make it."

"We'll make it." Ruger panted. "I have to make it."

Jagger ran faster. He had no one depending on him. Ruger had Katrina. She was just a baby who needed her dad.

A patrol car careened to a stop in front of them, blocking their escape. Jagger turned, prepared to run in the opposite direction, and found every exit blocked. He looked up at the sides of the buildings. There were no ground-floor windows.

"We're fucked." Ruger grabbed Jagger's vest. "You think they found the dead body?"

He never answered. Someone had to have seen them. That was the only reason the cops would be after them.

"Stop and put your hands in the air," came over the loudspeaker.

The driver's side of the cop's car opened, and a pistol barrel pointed at them. It was the end of the line. They weren't going to get out of here.

Jagger put his hands up. "Tell 'em you weren't here. Tell 'em you walked up on me afterward."

Beside him, Ruger raised his arms. "Too late. I'm going down."

Jagger looked at him and frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about? I shot him."

"You might've done the deed, but I have the fucking gun."

Jagger's heartbeat echoed in his head. He hadn't remembered giving the gun to Ruger.

"Go down on your knees," shouted the cop. "Move slow. Don't try anything. We have you covered."

Jagger looked behind them. There were three policemen aiming weapons at them. He had to think fast. Ruger couldn't go down for the crime.

"Don't even think about causing a scene and getting yourself shot." Ruger kneeled. "If I reach down into my vest, they'll kill us both. I'm not leaving my daughter that way. I need to get back to her."

Dread filled Jagger. He'd do anything for his MC brother. Over the years, he and Ruger had grown close. Ruger was the brother Jagger never had.

When his MC brother arrived at the Havlin clubhouse, lost and looking for somewhere to live, Ruger lived with Jagger's mom and dad while he prospected for Havlin.

"I'll tell them—"

"No sense in both of us going down. I've got the gun," said Ruger.

"Down on your stomach, spread your legs, and put your hands behind your head," shouted the officer.

Jagger followed the directions and looked over at Ruger beside him. "Tell them I did it."

"They're not going to believe me." Ruger's gaze intensified. "Promise me you'll take care of Katrina."

His pulse raced. He had to figure a way out for both of them.

"Promise me, damnit." Anger filled Ruger's tone.

"On my life," said Jagger.

"Keep her safe." Ruger grunted as a cop twisted his arms behind his back. "Don't let her forget me."

Jagger's arms were pinned behind him and cuffed. "I'll take care of her."

Hauled to his feet, he watched them frisk Ruger and find the gun. Guilt filled him. It should be him.

Taken to a different patrol car, he lost track of Ruger. The satisfaction of killing the man who'd shot his father darkened by the outcome.

Ruger was going behind bars, and there wasn't a fucking thing Jagger could do to stop him. He owed his MC brother his life.