Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day . . .

Jordyn

The bass from the speakers thrums through my veins as Blake and I sit in a corner booth at The Rusty Nail, the grittiest bar Billings has to offer.

My fingers drum against the sticky table, trying to match the rhythm of the music.

It's been a few weeks of late-night dates and whispered secrets with Blake, but tonight feels different.

He's insanely charming, not to mention good-looking. Plus, his family isn't associated with the club, so it's a win-win in every aspect.

"Another round?" he asks, already halfway through his beer.

His eyes flicker over me, scanning my graphic tank top and the skull tattoo peeking out from underneath.

"Sure," I reply, forcing a smile. I can't ignore the gnawing feeling in my gut. Something's off tonight.

Blake signals the bartender, a burly guy named Rick, who knows us all too well by now.

Rick doesn't even give a shit that I'm underage. He knows who my family is and wouldn't dare try to tell me no.

A couple of beers land in front of us with a clink, foam spilling over the sides.

I take a sip, the cold liquid doing nothing to ease the tension coiling tight in my chest.

Blake leans back, eyes narrowing. "What's on your mind, Jordyn?"

"I'm just tired," I lie, tracing circles on the worn wood of the table.

It's safer than digging into whatever's simmering in his gaze.

"Really? Because you seem distracted." His voice drops an octave, a hint of something dark slipping through.

"Just thinking about tomorrow. I'm supposed to go on a ride with the club. It's gonna be a long one, and I'm still a newbie," I say, hoping the half-truth will placate him.

"Right," he snorts, leaning forward. "More like you're thinking about which biker you'll hop on next."

I think he's fucking around with me until I realize how malicious his tone is. He wasn't joking. He wasn't fucking with me in the least bit.

I blink, taken aback as I still process this information. "Sorry, what did you just say?"

"Don't play dumb, Jordyn. I've seen the way you look at them. Like you're just waiting for one of them to scoop you up."

"That's not fair," I snap, my hands curling into fists under the table. "They're my family, Blake. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but don't I?" His words are slurred, venomous. The Blake I thought I knew slips further away with each passing second.

"You're drunk," I mutter, standing up.

The room spins for a moment, the mix of anger and alcohol making my head swim.

"Sit down," he commands, grabbing my wrist.

His grip is tight, too tight.

"Let fucking go of me," I hiss, yanking my arm free.

The bar seems to quiet around us, eyes turning our way. But I don't care. I need air. I need out.

"Running away again?" Blake taunts, but I don't bite. I push past him, heading for the door, the night air calling my name.

"Jordyn, you'd better get the fuck back here." His voice is sharp, cutting through the haze in my mind.

Against my better judgment, I stop and turn around. "Blake, what the hell do you want?" My patience is hanging by a thread, but his smirk slices right through it.

"Just wanted to let you know," he starts, leaning back against the bar like he's got all the time in the world. "You're good for nothing except being safe pussy to use and abuse whenever I want it."

My jaw drops.

Did he really just say that?

"Yeah, you heard me," he continues, eyes darkening with malice. "Not that I even know if you're safe. You're probably some biker slut anyway."

"Excuse me?" The words are out before I can process the full weight of what he's just said.

The room seems to close in on us, the rest of the patrons fading into a blur.

"That's right. Biker. Slut," he spits the last word like it's poison on his tongue.

"Fuck you, Blake." The anger is boiling over now. I've had enough. I turn to leave again, but before I can take another step, a blur of movement catches my eye.

Bam! A fist collides with Blake's jaw, sending him staggering backward.

What the?—

"Bama?" My voice is shaky, disbelieving.

I didn't even know he was here.

"Stay out of this," Blake snarls, recovering quickly and lunging forward.

"Like hell I will," Bama growls back, his ocean-blue eyes locked on Blake with a deadly intensity.

His slim, athletic frame moves with a lethal grace as he squares up, ready for more.

"Jordyn, get behind me," Bama orders, not taking his eyes off Blake.

"Why should I—" But I don't finish. Something in Bama's gaze tells me this isn't the time to argue.

"Stay out of it, pretty boy," Blake sneers, trying to look tough despite the blood trickling from his split lip.

"Or what?" Bama retorts, voice low and dangerous. "You gonna cry because you picked on the wrong girl?"

"She's mine," Blake barks, stepping closer.

"Not anymore," Bama snaps, and with one fluid motion, his fist connects again, harder this time.

"Enough!" I shout, but my voice is drowned out by the chaos.

Rick yells something, but it's lost in the commotion.

"Never touch her again," Bama says, his voice a menacing whisper. "Or I swear, next time, you'll wish you were never born."

Blake's fist swings wide, and Bama ducks, his golden curls bouncing with the movement.

Rick hollers over the counter, shouting, "Knock it off!"

But it's like yelling into a tornado—useless.

"Stay down," Bama snarls, landing another blow to Blake's gut.

Blake stumbles back, wheezing, but he's stubborn, coming at Bama again with wild eyes.

"Jordyn, get away from here!" Rick yells, trying to wedge himself between them.

I don't move; my feet are glued to the sticky floor with a mix of fear and adrenaline.

Blake roars, shoving Rick aside. "Get outta my way!"

He makes a desperate lunge for Bama, swinging but missing as Bama sidesteps smoothly.

"Big mistake," Bama says, almost too calmly.

His fist flies forward, connecting with Blake's jaw so hard that it echoes through the bar.

Blake's body lifts off the ground before crashing down like a sack of bricks.

"I meant what I said. Never look in her direction again," Bama growls, standing over Blake's crumpled form. "Or next time, I won't give you the opportunity to get up."

The room is silent, save for Blake's groans and the ragged sound of my own breathing.

Eyes follow us, whispers ripple through the crowd, but I can't care about any of it right now.

"The two of you need to get the fuck outta here." Rick's face is red with fury, pointing toward the exit.

I'm still frozen when I hear the familiar click of high heels against the wooden floorboards.

"Jordyn fucking Harold," Shelley hisses, her sharp eyes flicking between me and Bama. "Your fathers will hear about this if you don't do what Rick said and get the hell out of here right now. God, I have enough fights in my bar. What I don't need is more because of your damn club!"

"Come on, let's go," Bama mutters, grabbing my arm gently but firmly. He starts leading me toward the door, his touch warm and steady amid the chaos.

"Don't fucking come back here for a while," Shelley calls after us, her voice cutting through the din like a knife. "And Jordyn, you'd best tell your fathers they owe me for the damages!"

Outside, the night air hits me like a slap in the face.

My heart's still hammering in my chest, Bama's hand lingering on my arm.

Despite everything, I feel a strange sense of relief wash over me.

"Thank you," I breathe, looking up at him.

He meets my gaze, those ocean-blue eyes softening just a fraction.

"Anytime," he says, and I know he means it.

Bama licks his lips and arches a brow. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just . . . that was intense." I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the adrenaline that's still pumping through my veins.

"Blake's a piece of shit," Bama mutters, his jaw tightening. "You deserve better than that."

"Guess I should've figured it out sooner," I say, my shoulders sagging slightly.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Bama says, stepping closer. "Guys like him are good at hiding who they really are."

"Thanks for stepping in when you did," I say softly, feeling a strange warmth spread through me despite the cold. "I didn't even know you were here tonight."

"Was just passing through." He shrugs, but there's something in his eyes that tells me he's downplaying it. "Couldn't let him talk to you like that."

I playfully roll my eyes. "Well, I'm glad you stepped in for once."

I look up at him, really seeing him for the first time tonight.

His golden blond curls catch the light from the streetlamp, and those blue eyes seem to pierce right through me.

There's a fierceness to him, an edge that's both intimidating and incredibly sexy.

"Jordyn," he says, his voice serious, low, and rough. "I'll always be here to help you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do," I whisper, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

The way he stands here, so solid and strong, makes my pulse quicken.

He speaks so seriously, his gaze never leaving mine. "Good. I need you to know that. Whenever you need me, for whatever reason, I promise I'll be here."

He's close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the faint scent of leather and motor oil clinging to him. It's intoxicating.

"You're something else, Bama," I murmur, taking a step closer.

Something is different between us, and I can't quite put my finger on it.

Is it because he became my knight in shining armor out of nowhere?

"Guess you'd know." He grins, but there's a seriousness in his eyes that takes my breath away.

Without another thought, I grab onto Bama's leather cut and tug him close.

Fuck it. I'm going to follow my heart and be spontaneous.

His eyes widen for a split second before I crash my lips onto his.

The taste of whiskey and adrenaline mixes between us.

He responds instantly, his hands sliding around my waist, pulling me even tighter against his hard body.

The kiss deepens and becomes rougher as if we're both trying to say everything we can't with words.

My fingers curl into his hair, feeling the soft curls intertwine.

There's an urgency to our movements, a raw desperation that makes every touch electric.

His hand slides up my back, sending shivers down my spine.

I press myself harder against him, needing him closer, needing more.

It's like the world fades away, leaving just the two of us under the dim streetlight outside the bar.

After what feels like both an eternity and a heartbeat, I pull away, gasping for air.

My lips feel swollen, and my heart is pounding like I've just run a marathon.

Bama's breathing is heavy, too, and his eyes are dark with desire.

"Jordyn," he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. "We should get the fuck outta here. What do ya think?"

"Yeah." I nod, still clinging to his cut. "Let's go."

"Where?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"Not the clubhouse," I say quickly. "My fathers would have your head if they knew what I want to do with you tonight."

"Hotel then?" His lips curve into a knowing smirk.

"Yeah," I confirm, my own smile forming despite the chaos in my mind. "Just outside town."

"All right," he says, stepping back but not letting go of my hand. "Let's ride."

I squeeze his hand, feeling the shared understanding, the unspoken promise at that moment.

Tonight's about escape, about giving in to what we've both been denying, and maybe even about using each other for pleasure.

As we walk toward his bike, the night air cools my flushed skin, but nothing can douse the fire burning between us.

The roar of Bama's bike drowns out everything else as I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing myself against his back.

The world blurs into a rush of headlights and shadows as we speed down the highway, each mile taking us further from the chaos and closer to whatever tonight is going to become.

We pull up to a rundown motel just outside of Billings, neon sign flickering like it's on its last legs.

Perfect. Discreet. No questions asked.

Bama cuts the engine, and the sudden silence rings in my ears.

He helps me off the bike, our hands lingering longer than necessary.

There's an unspoken urgency between us, a need to escape more than just the bar.

We get a key from the night clerk, who doesn't even look up from his magazine.

Room 12.

We make our way down the dimly lit corridor, the scent of mildew and cheap disinfectant filling the air.

My heart pounds harder with each step.

The door clicks shut behind us, and suddenly, we're alone in this tiny, grimy room.

It feels like the walls are closing in, pushing us together.

Bama's eyes lock onto mine, and before I know it, we're tearing at each other's clothes like we're starved for each other.

He throws his cut on the dresser, and it lands with a thud, followed by my jacket.

Hands fumble with buttons, zippers, and anything that stands in the way.

His fingers brush my skin, sending electric shocks through me.

I yank his t-shirt over his head, revealing the tattoo of a snake wrapped around flowers on his chest.

It's mesmerizing, and I can't help but trace it with my fingertips.

"Jordyn," he breathes, voice thick with desire. "Come here."

I pull back just enough to slip out of my jeans and top, standing there in nothing but a black lace set I've been saving for God knows what.

His eyes darken, pupils dilating as they rake over me.

He steps closer, hands gripping my hips possessively.

"Fuck, Jordyn," he murmurs, voice gravelly. "You look fuckin' gorgeous."

Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't shy away.

Instead, I lean into him, feeling our bodies align perfectly.

His hands slide up my back, unclasping my bra with practiced ease. The fabric slips away, leaving me bare to his gaze.

"God, you have no idea how much I've thought about this," he whispers almost reverently.

"Shut up and kiss me," I demand, pulling him down toward me.

Our mouths crash together, desperate and hungry.

Every touch, every kiss is filled with the promise of what's to come.

The night is ours, and for once, I'm not afraid to take what I want.

Bama's hands are everywhere, rough and demanding.

His lips follow a frantic path down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

I arch into him, gasping as his teeth scrape against my collarbone.

The motel room around us fades into oblivion—it's just him and me now.

"Jordyn," he growls, voice thick with need, as he pushes me back onto the bed.

The old mattress creaks under the sudden weight, but I don't care.

All that matters is the feel of him between my thighs, the way his body fits against mine.

"More," I whisper, pulling him closer.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters, lips hot against my skin.

He's like a force of nature, all raw power and unrestrained passion.

My breath catches as he tears the lace panties from my hips, the delicate fabric no match for his urgency.

"You're so fuckin' perfect," he says, his eyes burning into mine.

He palms my breasts, thumb rolling over my nipples until I'm dizzy with desire.

My nails dig into his back, urging him on.

"Now, Bama," I demand, voice husky with want. "Please. I can't wait any longer. I need you."

"Whatever you want, sweetheart." He thrusts into me hard and deep, and I cry out at the sensation.

It's brutal and beautiful, each movement sending shockwaves through my body.

We move together, a wild rhythm that builds and builds until it feels like we're going to shatter.

His grip tightens on my hips, bruising but grounding me in the chaos.

His name is a mantra on my lips, a desperate prayer as everything else falls away.

"Goddamn, Jordyn," he groans, driving into me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

Sweat beads on his forehead, mixing with the glistening sheen on his chest.

Every muscle in his body strains with effort, and I can't look away.

"Don't stop," I plead, wrapping my legs around him to pull him deeper.

The world tilts as we lose ourselves in each other, nothing else existing but the burning heat and the heady rush of our connection.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head. I don't plan on stopping," he promises, his voice a gravelly whisper against my ear.

And then he's kissing me again, tongue tangling with mine as we spiral toward the edge.

"Fuck, Jordyn!" he gasps, breaking the kiss to bury his face in my neck.

The sound of my name on his lips sends me over, and I fall apart beneath him, clutching at his shoulders as wave after wave crashes through me.

"God, you feel so fuckin' good," he groans, following me into the abyss.

His body shudders against mine, holding me tight as we ride out the storm together.

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the faint hum of the air conditioner, and the pounding of my heart.

Then, slowly, reality begins to seep back in.

Bama rolls to the side, pulling me into his arms.

I nestle against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my cheek.

"That was . . ." Words fail me, but he seems to understand.

"Yeah," he agrees, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "It was."