Chapter 1

one

Nevaeh

He’s here. The man I promised to spend my life with when I let him slide his ring on my finger, the man who betrayed me in the worst way, is here.

My heart slams in my chest before shooting into my throat. I have to swallow the lump of it down, nearly choking on fear as I turn my back on the predator that hunts me through the crowd of sweat-glistened bodies grinding to rough music that plays through pulsing speakers.

How did he find me?No one knows I’m here. I didn’t tell a soul, because the one soul I would have told is dead to me.

Cradle to grave, girl. The sound of my best friend’s voice, my soul sister, the woman I thought I’d walk to the bitter end of this hard life with is the very same woman I stood stunned stiff as I watched her choking on my fiancé’s cock in his kitchen after he’d cancelled his dinner plans with me because he’d had a sore throat—poor baby.

It looked more like he was giving the sore throat, dipshit.

Silly me, I’d whipped up a pot of Mom’s chicken soup to personally deliver to his sorry, sick ass.

I still feel like a fool. The image of Kate falling to her butt on the tile of Antonio’s kitchen floor as he shoved his half hard cock into his slacks—I saw it every time I closed my eyes. Burned there against the black.

They hadn’t even noticed me rooted in place by shock until he’d groaned, emptying his load down her throat. That had been the moment I’d gasped, the sight I’d been seeing, my best friend and my fiancé—the betrayal—that had been the moment it sunk its talons in. Reality.

Like a throat punch.

When Antonio lunged for me, I’d tossed the entire hot pot of soup at him. It hadn’t been my intention to burn him, although looking back now, it’s a bonus I can’t help but grin at.

Pushing the thought from my mind, I push deeper into the crowd.

I’m here for work. Designing media for artists of all kinds has me keeping my finger on the pulse of the entertainment industry, specifically, the self-selling artists deep in the middle of the bump and grind. Tonight, I’m at a club because I’d heard an up-and-coming band was playing. These bands tend to attract others that cling, bloody, to the rungs of the ladder, trying their best to make their own climb up the impossibly steep mountain to stardom.

As a media designer, albums and logos bring in decent money, and places like clubs and book signing events in the indie world are gold for people like me. Networking like this usually leaves me with at least a handful of new clients, which would be great right about now—now that I’ve lost my roommate. I kicked her out the same day I found her bobbing for little Senator babies on my fiancé’s dick.

The now ex-fiancé who is currently hot on my tail.

In the last six weeks, I’ve learned just how not nice, and not calm, my ex really is.

I don’t want him to catch me. I don’t want his hand to wrap around my arm, where tomorrow there’ll be another set of fingerprint bruises. Those aren’t easy to hide during a Los Angeles August.

Besides, the idea of his hands on me, touching me in any capacity makes my skin crawl.

I don’t want anything to do with him. Nothing. Ever.

Why won’t he take the hint?

A quick glance over my shoulder has him not far behind. Two, maybe three bodies if I count the couple dancing so close, they’re probably screwing, that stand between us.

The tight band of fear snaps inside me, and I make a snap decision. Turning away from the crowd and stage, I head for the bar. For the group of big men with tattoos and heavy black boots. Mom and Dad might be run-of-the-mill American middle-class, with their blue-collar jobs that pay enough to allow for life and just one annual vacation to somewhere sunny and salty, but Uncle Miguel is anything but standard middle-class. As a member of a motorcycle club, Mom’s brother stomps to the beat of his own drum. He’s got a smile wider than the freeway, and a spirit as untameable, uncut, and probably even as dangerous, as the Grand Canyon. When warranted, his streak of mean is sharper than a blade. I’ve never seen that mean, but I know it exists. I’ve heard the stories, even some of the ones he’s tried to shield me from. I’ve always been close to Uncle Miguel. Without any kids of his own, I’ve always been his girl.

Uncle Miguel always told me if I’m in trouble and I’ve got bikers in my sightline, that’s where I go. They’ll stand and face whatever is coming as a team. They’ll protect. It’s basic honor. A code they live by.

You might be wondering why I haven’t gone to Uncle Miguel yet regarding my little problem with my ex-fiancé? Well, because if Uncle Miguel knew how Antonio broke my heart, he’d give him a solid beating. If he knew how he put bruises on my body in the weeks since I broke off the engagement, he’d kill him. Without doubt.

I don’t want blood on my conscience. I don’t want Uncle Miguel to have to make a call like that, with the risks that come with that call, because I made a bad choice about the man I let enter my life, my bed, and my body.

I don’t want Uncle Miguel to pay for my mistakes. Considering the fact Antonio is the son of the California State Senator, Andre Diaz, the price of my mistakes would be far too high. Sure, Uncle Miguel has connections into the underworld of L.A. I’m confident he not only could, but has unalived more than one bad someone’s without the boys in blue ever finding the—um—evidence. But offing the son of a State Senator is unlikely to go quite as unnoticed as the average run-of-the-mill bad guy who—um—requires offing.

Anyway, it’s because of Uncle Miguel that I’m headed for the group of rough and tumble looking men. I doubt they’re bikers, because as rough and tumble as they appear, they’ve got a polished edge about them. Still, they’re big. And they look like they could be mean, if mean was required—which is exactly what Uncle Miguel would tell me to look for. It’s also on Uncle Miguel’s advice that I veer a sharp right as the biggest, baddest, most heavily tatted of them parts from the group.

“Nevaeh!” Antonio shouts, and chills erupt like spikes along my spine.

The man’s eyes drift to the sound of Antonio’s angry voice, and I see a brilliant, frosted blue land on me a moment before I collide with him.

“Please help me,” I beg as I push to my tiptoes, stretching to loop my arms around his thick neck. This guy is even bigger than I thought. He could crush me like a bug under his boot and no one would be the wiser. Still, he feels safer than the monster that lurks under the fancy suit behind me. “Play along.” I beg against his neck when he bends for me, body curving around mine like a shield. “Pretend you’re my boyfriend. Please.”

To my utter shock and surprise, a big hand lifts from where it’s settled against my hips to spear my hair, fingers curling in the wavy mass to tug my head back just enough he can look in my eyes.

His face is close, so close as he inspects me. I can’t help but do the same to him, Antonio almost, but not entirely forgotten as I do.

I think my belly just flipped.

He’s ruggedly beautiful, all angular cuts and jagged pieces fitted together to concoct this menacingly, sinfully beautiful specimen of man. A new thrill pulses along my spine, entirely owed to him—and not bad at all.

Still, there’s no time for feelings as Antonio catches up to us, and I push deeper into the big man, letting my voice project over the music as I exclaim, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Frosted blue eyes sweep my face, and my heart pounds.

Please play along. Please, please, play along.

The hand that stayed on my hip moves to band around my waist, and he tugs me flush against his body. He’s hard everywhere. No joke, I can feel every rock-hard angle of muscle against his torso and in his arms—and it’s a lot. The man is built for violence.

“Sunshine.” He dips his head so his firm lips brush against my ear, but I can sense his eyes are on Antonio at my back. “Who is the asshole?”

Good Heavens, the man has an accent. Russian, I think.

It—tickles me. Warms me.

I shake off the thought, because I’m not here to grow a crush for a man I’ll never see again. I’m here to ditch a man I never should have been with in the first place.

Head. In. The. Game, Nevaeh.

“My ex,” my voice rattles, even though I give it my all to keep it steady. “The one I was telling you about. The one who won’t leave me alone.”

The band of iron that is his arm around the small of my back gives a dangerous little pulse that has my own pulse skittering to a stop before resuming at breakneck speed.

“Is that right?” Danger curls around his words. His accent only accentuating the dark threat that lurks just below the surface, ready to devour whole if Antonio doesn’t heed it. This man is like a sea beast lurking in the black waters of the open ocean at night, a strike away from total annihilation.

I think even Antonio, with his ego bigger than the whole State, senses he’s skating over thin, cracking ice.

Still, because he has an ego bigger than sense, I hear his voice demand, “Who’s the joke, Ne?”

I don’t look over my shoulder. “My boyfriend. Move on, Antonio. I have.”

“Six weeks ago, you wore my ring on your finger,” he reminds me hotly, and I feel my big protector stiffen just a bit. I’m not sure if it’s at Antonio’s words or the fact I’ve spun around in his arms to face my despicable ex.

With the big guy at my back, I throw back at Antonio. “Six weeks ago, I walked in to find your dick down my best friend’s throat.” A growl rumbles from the deep of my big protector’s chest, and I shiver. “I haven’t worn your ring since, and I won’t wear it again. Go. Away.”

“This isn’t over⁠—”

“It’s very over,” my big protector clips roughly. “You had her, you were an idiot, and you lost her. Now, she’s mine.” His voice gets lower, more threatening. I’m still stuck on the rough ‘she’s mine’ that has somehow knocked over my jar of sensibility to spill every marble of it on the floor because, I like the sound of that. Big guy continues, “I know when I’ve got a good thing, and I don’t share. So, you take the hint now and fuck off, or I’ll explain things in a way I’m confident you’ll understand.”

“Is that a threat?” Antonio demands, his shoulders stiff under his suit jacket.

I feel Big Guy shrug. “If it needs to be.”

“I’m the son of Senator Diaz.” I can’t help rolling my eyes. Antonio has always loved playing this card. “You can’t threaten me.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. Only that you’re harassing my woman,” Big Guy says icily. “She’s made it clear she doesn’t want you. You don’t respect that; it’ll be my job to show you how to respect that. Understood?”

Antonio looks between me and Big Guy, disgust curling his lips in the moment before he spits, “You’ll regret this, Ne. It won’t be long before you come crawling back to me⁠—”

Big Guy chuckles a dark, decadently sinful sound. “Only man she’ll be crawling for is me.”

Oh my.

A muscle jumps in Antonio’s cheek, and his hands ball into fists that probably aren’t even half the size of Big Guy’s fists. He cuts his eyes to me, something ugly and hateful bubbling behind the sharp brown.

“You think this gangster can save you from me?” He shakes his head. “Wrong. You’ll crawl, and when you do, I’ll make you beg for forgiveness on bruised knees.”

He doesn’t wait for my reply before he turns and walks away. Big Guy at my back shifts forward, like he’s going to act on his veiled threats here and now, but I spin around to place a hand on his chest.

It’s almost laughable; the sight of my slim, tiny hand on the wall of his muscled chest. There isn’t a world in which I possess the physical strength to stop this man from doing whatever it is he wants to do, and yet at that simple act, he freezes dead in his tracks. Ice blue eyes snap from Antonio’s retreating back to me, and a little of the ice in his eye’s thaws.

“Thanks for that.” I’m the first to speak, and when I do, his eyes drop to my mouth. They linger there for so long, I feel something warm and totally unexpected ballooning inside my belly. Inside my core.

“Anytime.”

“I’m—uh—I’m gonna go now that it’s safe to go.”

“Are you here with someone?” he asks. I shake my head. “You drive yourself?” When I nod, he adds, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I don’t argue as I lead him from the club to my car in the parking lot. It’s not a total dump, but it’s nothing crazy, which kinda sucks because if I don’t find a roommate fast, I’ll either be forced to move back home with Mom and Dad or make my trusty girl my main residence. Neither of which is something I want to do.

With my hand on the handle, I turn to him. I suck a big gulp of night air into my lungs and breath out. “Thanks again for tonight.”

He nods, assessing eyes never leaving me even when I pull open my door and slide inside. I’m stopped from closing the door when he drops a big paw covered in ink on the top, holding it open and leaning in. “Your ex—” He starts and rolls his lips before he continues. “He ever knock you around?”

I think of the bruises Antonio left on my arm the last time I’d seen him and tried to walk away. He’d held me back, but he’d never actually hit me. Never really put his hands on me like that, intending harm.

I shake my head. “No, he hasn’t.”

Frosty eyes narrow as he rises to his full height, no longer holding my door open. “You be careful, now, Sunshine. Yeah?”

I dip my chin. For some odd reason, I’m blushing.

No one’s ever called me Sunshine. I think I like it.

“I will, Big Guy. Thanks again.”

With that, he closes the door gently and stands back with those large, inked arms folded over that large spread of chest that is covered by a tight black t-shirt. I try not to note how strong his jaw is cut, or the scruff of shadow growing there, or the tat that climbs out from the neck of his t-shirt to crawl over a thickly corded throat. I try not to note the way his sharp eyes seem to take it all in, with the potential to cut and burn like the Siberian ice fields— just as frosty blue.

But the guy is hard to ignore, because I note it all and store all that is him into the vault of my mind. I have every faith I’ll meet Big Guy in my dreams in both the near and far future. He’s just one of those people a girl doesn’t easily forget. If I weren’t fresh out of a relationship—an engagement—I might have asked him for his name. His number.

As it is, I’m a little bummed he didn’t ask for mine.

I don’t blame him, can’t blame him, really. My life is clearly a mess. I’d connected with him like a bomb of chaos falling into his arms, a damsel in distress he’d had to man-up to save. Way too complicated.

And, really, it’s better this way. Like I said, I just severed my engagement to one of L.A.’s most sought-after bachelors. I’m not mentally, emotionally or even, hell, physically ready to dive head-first into another relationship. Especially since I haven’t totally shaken off the last one.

Antonio, I was finding, was like stepping out into brisk morning air, a peach sunrise kissing the horizon, a feeling of accomplishment and wonder and hope ballooning for the day ahead—only to step in dog poop. Antonio, like the scent of shit, clings.

But I remember how I’d felt when I first met him. How he’d swept me off my feet. He’d been such a charmer, and I was such a fool.

I tear my eyes from the rear-view where Big Guy stands, and exit the parking lot. Then I give Big Guy a firm shove from my mind.

Live and learn, Nevaeh. Live and learn.