Chapter One

Cade

" W e need to talk about January."

As soon as Roman Gregory says her name, pain blasts through me, ripping me wide open. Goddamn. It hurts.

I slam my hand down on the conference room table, jumping to my feet to glare at the massive ATF agent seated across from me.

"Don't fucking go there," I warn him in a growl, donning rage like armor. It's the only thing that keeps me breathing most days. I'll smile in your face, laugh at your jokes, slip a knife between your ribs, and not feel a goddamn thing except fury so cold it's turned to ice.

"She needs you." Roman meets my gaze, his expression level. He's a stoic motherfucker. I don't think anything scares the big bastard.

He's been working with cartels and gangs for ages, snatching guns out of the hands of some of the most dangerous men in California.

I guess he forgot, though.

I'm the motherfucker who haunts their nightmares.

"Kincaid, chill." My best friend, Tristan Riley, wedges himself between us before I can lunge across the table at the big bastard. His blue eyes meet mine, rife with empathy. "Chill, brother. He's trying to help you."

Help me?

"Then don't even fucking speak her name," I snarl, my voice raw with emotion. It's been seven years since I last set eyes on her. Seven years since I destroyed her and ripped my own damn heart out. Even after all this time, it's still bleeding. I don't think it'll ever stop.

I've loved that girl since the moment I met her. We were just babies.

Then - Age Seven

"Who are you?"

I lift my eyes from the tire swing to see a boy my age standing in Ma Lucia's backyard with his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side as he studies me, frowning. He's almost the same height as me, but he's bigger. He looks like a football player, but he's probably too young for that like I am.

"I'm Michael Kincaid." I drag my foot through the dirt until the swing stops. "Who are you?"

"Titan James." He has a cool name and cool hair. It's shaved on the sides and spiked on top. His skin is lighter than Ma Lucia's but darker than mine. It reminds me of leaves when they start turning brown. They're always prettiest then. "Why are you on Ms. Lucia's swing?"

"I live here now," I mutter and cross my arms. Ma Lucia was my mom's nanny when she was little. She came and got me from the group home last week and said I'm going to live with her now.

Titan purses his lips, his dark green eyes narrowed like he doesn't believe me. "You do? Since when?"

"Since the other day."

"You don't have a family?"

I shake my head.

"Oh." He's quiet for a minute. "What happened to them?"

"My dad left. He didn't want me and my mom. My mom died in a car wreck."

"Oh. I don't have a dad, either. He died when I was a baby. I used to have a stepdad, but he left a long time ago." Titan studies me for another minute and then offers me a smile. "You're going to be my best friend," he says then. "I live right next door."

"Cool," I say, still watching him. Marcus used to be my best friend even though he didn't like to race with me, but I guess I won't see him anymore. He doesn't live where Ma Lucia lives.

Ma Lucia's neighborhood isn't very good. The houses are all old and kind of sad. Ma Lucia keeps hers nice, though. She has flowers all over the place. She says she's been here for longer than anyone else.

I like it here with her even though her neighborhood is scary. Being here isn't the same as being with my mom, but Ma Lucia is nice to me.

She's going to be my family now since I don't have one.

"Titan!"

I look over at Titan's house to see a tiny girl running toward us, her blonde hair bouncing as she runs toward us. Her blue dress flutters around her chubby legs, and the buttons on her black shoes shine in the sunlight. Even though it's cold outside, she doesn't have on a coat. Her little legs are moving too fast for her body, and she keeps stumbling.

I take a step in her direction, worried she's going to fall. Before I can tell her to slow down, her feet tangle on a tree root, and she loses her balance. A scared cry leaves her lips, and then she hits the ground hard, landing on her knees.

"That's my baby sister, January," Titan says as the little girl throws her head back and starts to cry. He starts walking toward her. "She's four, and she follows me everywhere ."

She's really little, and her knee is bleeding.

I jog over and then crouch down beside her before Titan gets there. She looks up at me. Her eyes are a brighter green than Titan's, but they're filled with tears. She's pale, like those pretty dolls with the big eyes. Her and Titan have different skin colors, but they still look a lot alike.

There's a smudge of dirt on her nose and another on her dress, but she's still adorable. She really does look like a doll.

I bet my mom would have liked her.

"It hurts," January whimpers, two big tears running down her cheeks.

The sight makes my heart feel funny. I don't like that she's crying. It makes me feel like I should watch out for her and make sure she doesn't get hurt anymore. I decide that I'll take care of her like I do Ma Lucia. I'll keep her safe cause she's too little to do it by herself.

"It's okay, baby girl." I'm not sure why I call her that, but it fits her. Once I stand up, I pick her up off the ground. She's a lot smaller than me, but it's still hard to carry her. I'm not very strong yet, but I will be one day. Then I can carry her all over the place so she won't fall anymore. "I'll take care of you."

She wraps her arms around me and lays her head on my shoulder. "Okay."

Jesus.

I shake off the memory, shoving it down into a dark corner of my mind—the same one where I store all my memories of January.

"She's in trouble," Roman says, ignoring my warning. He speaks softly, his voice level. It's like he knows he's picking his way through a minefield, but he's determined to fucking do it anyway. "Thought you might want to handle it while you're in Los Angeles."

I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white, worry for her rushing through me. The stitches on my arm pull taut, the fresh cut threatening to rip open. I welcome the pain, letting it ground me. "What kind of trouble?"

Tristan keeps a hand on my shoulder, though I'm not sure if he's trying to console me or keep me from launching at Roman. He's my fucking ride-or-die, but this isn't our city. It's Roman's. We both know damn well if I hit him, it'll be my badge they pull.

I want to plow my fist into his face anyway for talking about her like he has some fucking right.

"Curtis Kaleo wants her block, and she's fighting him on it." Roman's eyes don't leave my face. "There have been a few accidents. Nothing major yet, but he's getting impatient. She's going to get hurt if she keeps refusing him."

Curtis Kaleo. I should have killed that motherfucker when I had the chance. I warned him seven years ago to leave her alone and stay out of my territory. I guess he's decided the rules no longer apply.

He's wrong.

Fuck.

I knew this fucking city would keep me alive long enough to make me regret bringing my sorry ass back. It's not like I had a choice—Tristan's wife was kidnapped by a cartel. I couldn't leave him hanging. But I know damn well that seven years isn't long enough for January to have forgiven me. I'll be waiting a fucking eternity for that.

"Fuck," I mutter, dropping my head in defeat.

"She won't listen to anyone else," Roman murmurs, his voice still soft. "I can try if you want me to do it, but I figure with your history, you have a better chance of convincing her to let it go."

Yeah, right. No one convinces January of anything she doesn't want to do. She was stubborn as hell growing up. And I'm guessing she's even more fucking stubborn now.

The only thing I'm liable to do is piss her off to the point she sets my ass the fuck on fire. But it's January. No one threatens her, least of all Curtis motherfucking Kaleo.

I'll burn his world to the ground before I let him take another goddamn thing from her.

"I'll deal with it," I growl.

"You sure?"

"I said I'd deal with it."

Roman jerks his chin in a nod, letting the subject drop.

"Why the hell is she fighting so fucking hard to keep this place?" I mutter two days later, staring at January's house, genuinely mystified.

The once vibrant yellow paint is chipped and faded, revealing the worn wood underneath. Pits and cracks in the driveway stand in testament to the years of abuse and neglect it's endured. The street out front is even worse.

Except for Ma Lucia's place—the neat white bungalow next door where I grew up—every other house on the block is in an appalling state of disrepair. Frankly, the entire neighborhood is a shithole that should have been razed long ago. Only a few of the homes are still occupied.

Why the fuck hasn't January left yet?

Goddamn, January.

I place my hand over my chest, trying to rub away the pain just thinking about her brings, but it doesn't do any good. It hasn't in seven damn years, but I keep trying anyway.

The thought of seeing her after all these years has me rattled.

Hell, just being back in LA again has me so amped up that I'm ready to explode. After spending the last two days dragging my ass all over the city, tying up loose ends on Tristan's case, my entire body aches. I desperately need a shower and about fifteen hours of sleep, but I'm not holding my breath on getting the last.

I barely sleep as it is, managing to snatch a few hours here and there. Since touching down in this city, I've slept even less than that.

Every memory I have of this place is so tied up in her thatI can't think straight. I'm still so fucking in love with her it's pathetic. I never got over her. I never even tried. Just like I'm sure she never stopped hating me.

Not that I blame her or anything.

Sometimes, I'm pretty sure I hate myself enough for the both of us, but she's earned the right to hate me, too, so I'm not taking it from her. I'm the one who destroyed her life. Me and my goddamn need to control everything.

"Fuck," I groan, dropping my head back to stare up at the sky. My fingers graze the patch in my pocket. I clutch it as if it'll grant me peace. It certainly didn't seven years ago.

Nothing does anymore, not since she kicked my ass to the curb. But that life is over for me. It was over seven fucking years ago. I'm just here to find Curtis Kaleo, remind him who owns this block, and then dip the hell out.

January won't even know I'm here.

Easy peasy, right?

Right.

I climb off my bike and grab my shit from my saddlepack.

Halfway up the sidewalk leading to Ma Lucia's front door, a shadow in my peripheral shifts, drawing my attention. My gaze travels along the side of January's house, trying to identify it.

I quickly home in on the motherfucker creeping through the bushes dressed in all black. His head whips from side to side, the jerky, nervous movement making it obvious he's trying not to get caught. Classic sign that he's up to some bullshit that's going to get him killed.

As if on cue, he goes for a bedroom window, trying to pry off the screen.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," I growl and set my bag in the grass. Pulling my phone out, I shoot a quick text to Roman, telling him to send a squad car over here, and then I pull my gun.

At six-five and two hundred and eighty pounds, I'm a big son of a bitch, but the would-be burglar never sees me coming.

Before he even knows what hit him, I kick him in the back of the knee, sending him plummeting to the ground. Within seconds, he's on his back with me straddling his hips, both of his hands caught between our bodies.

"Surprise, motherfucker," I growl and snap my arm back, ignoring the way the stitches in my forearm pull taut from where a cartel member sliced it open a few days ago.

The burglar's nose breaks with a crunch, blood splattering all over me.

"Fuck!" he cries out, his voice a nasally whine.

I haven't even gotten a good look at him, but I already think he's a little bitch. He doesn't try to fight back. He lies beneath me, whimpering and crying. My hands move over him as I quickly pat him down, yanking a buck knife and a baggie of crack from his pocket.

"Well, well, well," I mutter, yanking him to his feet. "Looks like you're going to be catching all kinds of charges tonight, you dumb son of a bitch."

"I didn't fucking do anything," he says.

"Right." I shove him up against the side of the house. "What's your name, asshole?"

"L-leo Gemini," he stutters.

If the name wasn't a dead giveaway that he's bullshitting me, the stutter is. He's lying out of his ass.

"You want to try that again?" I ask, holding my arm across the back of his neck to keep him still while I finish patting him down. I find his wallet in his back pocket. "Seriously, dude? You brought your fucking wallet to an attempted home invasion?"

"I wasn't trying to invade nothing," he says, still whiny and petulant.

"How about you stop bullshitting me, tell me who sent you, and save us both a little time?" I ask, smacking him on the back of the head hard enough to push his face into the side of the house.

"I don't know anything," he says, trying to yank out of my hold. That shit's not happening, though. He's maybe five-seven and one-forty on a good day. He's not going anywhere I don't want him to go. But I need to get him the fuck away from January's house before she hears him. That drama is the last thing I need to deal with right now.

I shove all of his shit into my pocket and then press my gun into his ribcage. He immediately goes still and whimpers. He knows what's up. He's probably been down this same damn road often enough to leave ruts.

"Here's how this is going to go," I growl in his ear. "You're going to walk real slow to the house next door. If you try to run, I shoot you. If you piss me off, I shoot you. If you don't stop whining, I shoot you. Got me?"

"W-who are you?" he asks me, his voice shaking with real fear now.

"Your worst fucking nightmare." I pop him in the back of the head once more—just a little love tap, really. "Now start stepping, or I will shoot you."

"Okay, man," he says and holds up his hands. Surprisingly, he's smart enough to realize I'm not fucking around with him. He just tried to break into January's house with a big-ass knife in his pocket. He'll be lucky if I don't kill him for that. All I need is a reason.

He doesn't give me one.

He shuffles toward the front of January's house before crossing into Ma Lucia's yard, his hands in the air the whole time. Once we're on the porch, I kick his feet out from underneath him, making him land hard on his ass on the worn wood. He cries out and then immediately clamps his jaws shut.

I keep my gun trained on him while I fumble with my keys and unlock the front door. Once it's open, I reach in to flip on the porch light and then curse loudly.

He looks about twelve or thirteen. Greasy blond hair hangs in tangles around a face his big, dopey ears don't fit. Genuine fear widens his blue eyes. Acne mars his sweaty face in bumps and scars. His nose is definitely broken. He's bleeding all over the place.

"How old are you?" I ask him.

"Seventeen."

"Jesus fucking Christ." I holster the gun before shoving a hand through my hair. "You realize I almost shot your stupid ass?" Reaching into my pocket, I grab the baggie of crack and hold it up. "And what the fuck is this shit? You're using at seventeen?"

"Man, I ain't using that shit," he says, his lip curling in disgust.

"You're dealing?" I cock a brow.

He shrugs, refusing to meet my gaze. That says all I need to know. I grew up in this neighborhood. I've spent my entire adult life dealing with gangs and their bullshit. I know exactly how the fuck they operate, pulling in kids too goddamn young to know better and involving them in heavy shit.

The only reason I managed to stay out of their hands growing up around here was by starting my own crew. I was fifteen. But we ran this neighborhood and kept drugs off our streets. Anyone who wanted in on that kind of shit wasn't welcome in my MC.

"You running with Kaleo?" I lean up against the front of the house and cross my arms.

Curtis Kaleo was a pain in my ass back then, and he's turning out to be an even bigger one now. He thinks his crew runs these streets, but he's wrong. When I catch up to him, I'm going to correct his misconception.

If he's lucky, I might let him live again this time. If he's not, well, this city will have one less piece of shit to worry about.

The kid refuses to meet my gaze.

"Of course you are. Fuck. I'm guessing he sent you to January's tonight to try to scare her into leaving?" I don't know why he wants this block so fucking badly, but it's not his for the taking. It wasn't his then. It isn't his now. So long as she wants it, I'll do whatever I have to do to ensure she gets to keep it.

The kid doesn't say anything.

"What's your name? Your real name this time, not some bullshit you think up on the fly. You suck at that, so don't bother pissing me off by trying," I warn him when he opens his mouth.

"Trey Carver," he mumbles, holding the sleeve of his hoodie to his nose.

"Trey, you live around here?" I take pity on the kid and scoop up my bag before grabbing a T-shirt. I toss the shirt to him so he can deal with the blood pouring from his nose, and then throw my bag inside the house and pull the door closed.

"A few blocks over."

I grunt and drag my phone out of my pocket to call the kid an ambulance. They can deal with his nose before he goes to jail, because he's definitely headed there tonight. I learned a long time ago that jail is the only thing that gets through to these kids.

They think they're big and hard and untouchable, that guys like Kaleo will have their backs, and no one will step to them. They learn quick that shit doesn't work that way in juvie and jail. There's always someone bigger and badder willing to teach them that lesson.

Sometimes, it's enough to scare them straight.

Most of the time, it's not.

Too damn many kids like Trey get off on the fear they cause. They like the money the drugs bring in. They love the pussy thrown their way. There are a thousand reasons why kids like Trey turn into guys like Curtis Kaleo. I've seen them all, and at the end of the day, it's all bullshit. They're little boys playing at being men when they have no clue how to be either.

But you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. I stopped trying a long damn time ago. It's my job to keep people like January safe from those who don't get their heads out of their asses and wise up before they cross a line they can't come back from. No more and no less.

"Who are you?" Trey asks me once I put the phone away.

Who am I? Like I told him, I'm his worst fucking nightmare. I eat kids like him alive. For the last seven years, I've chewed up and spit out enough gangs, cartels, and MCs to make guys like Kaleo shit their shorts. When I'm around, they walk softly and carry a really fucking big stick.

Those who don't? Well, they learn quickly that I'm not someone you mess with. They may think they rule the streets, but they all answer to me.

"Why were you at January's?" I ask instead of telling the kid that.

"I wasn't going to do nothing," he says, the same shit he's already told me. "I was just going to scare her a little."

"For Kaleo?"

He averts his gaze, which is all the answer I need.

"Why does he want this block?" I curse when he doesn't answer me. "Are you really going to take the fall for some stupid son of a bitch who won't spend two seconds thinking about you once you're hauled out of here? Kaleo doesn't give a fuck about you, Trey. You're just another lapdog for him to use. As soon as you're gone, he'll have someone else to take your place."

"He'll kill me if I talk," he mumbles.

"Not if he doesn't know. Do I look like I run my mouth?"

Trey thinks about that for a minute and then answers my question. "Don't know what he wants," he says with a shrug. "Says this should be his territory, and it's time for him to take it."

"You believe him?"

He shrugs.

"He's wrong," I mutter as a squad car pulls up on the curb, take-down lights flashing through the dark. "This is my fucking territory. When you get out, you tell him Michael Kincaid is coming for him. And tell him to stay the fuck away from January. You got that?"

Trey nods, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. "You're Michael Kincaid?"

"Yep," I confirm and then pin him with a hard glare as an officer hauls himself out of his cruiser. "Don't even think about moving from that spot."

"Okay," the kid whispers.

"Agent Kincaid?" the LAPD officer calls out, jogging up the sidewalk toward me.

"That's me." I fish my badge out of my pocket and flash it at him, meeting him halfway down the sidewalk.

"He's a Fed?" Trey says behind me, his voice high-pitched.

Yeah, you little shit. I'm a fucking Fed, and the girl next door belongs to me. Told you I was your worst goddamn nightmare.

"What do you have?" the officer asks, glancing between me and the kid.

I quickly fill him in on the situation and then pull Trey's shit out of my pocket. By the time I'm finished talking, another squad car and an ambulance roll up the street. The patrol officer takes the kid's stuff from me and then shakes his head.

"I knew Kaleo was up to something," he mutters, narrowing his eyes on the boy. "We've been keeping an eye on Miss James for a while now. His gang keeps showing up around here, causing trouble."

"You know January?" I practically snarl at him, not liking the way he talks about her like she's his to watch over.

He glances up at me and smiles, too slow to realize he's walking into a no-go zone. I don't give a fuck if he does have a badge, I'll rip his throat out if he tries anything with her. "Everyone around here knows Miss James ," he says, emphasizing her name like I'm being disrespectful or some shit by calling her January. "She was my son's kindergarten teacher."

Shit. I forgot she's a teacher. Well, that's not true. I've refused to let myself think about her for so goddamn long that I blocked that shit out. But I know she teaches kindergarten. It's what she's wanted to do since she was barely out of grade school herself. She's so good with kids. She always wanted a bunch of her own.

It hasn't gone unnoticed that she still lives in her old house, alone.

What? So maybe I think about her more than I should. More than is good for me. Sue me.

"Kaleo won't be a problem for her much longer," I mutter to the officer as he hooks Trey up and pulls him to his feet.

"Good," he says, rubbing a hand over his crewcut hair. He pegs me with a considering stare. "You're the kid who used to live with Ma Lucia, aren't you?"

I think about telling him no but shrug instead.

He shoots me a speculative glance and then nods—whatever that means. He marches Trey down to the ambulance waiting on the curb and then helps him inside so the paramedics can deal with his nose.

I should probably feel bad for breaking it, but I didn't know he was just a fucking kid when I clocked him. And it's not like he didn't earn that shit trying to break into January's house to scare her. Who knows what the fuck he was planning to do with the knife he had in his pocket? He's lucky all he got was a broken nose and a few smacks. Just thinking about what might have happened has my blood boiling all over again.

"What's going on out here?"

I freeze as soon as I hear that dulcet voice. I don't even have to turn around to know it's her. She hasn't spoken a word to me since she told me to leave, but the cadence of her voice is ingrained in my memory, embedded so deeply that I don't think I'll ever forget it. I remember the exact resonance of her giggle and the sweet melody of her laugh. I know how that angelic voice turns sultry when she's begging me to fuck her…and how she growls and hisses like a little lioness when she's pissed off. I also know that her voice shakes when she's scared.

It's shaking now.

"Nothing. Go back inside, January," I say, planting my feet to keep myself from turning around to look at her. If I see her, if I look into those bright emerald eyes…it's going to tear me apart. All those still festering wounds are going to break wide open, and I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it this time. It's been so fucking long since she ripped my heart out, and I'm barely surviving as it is.

"Cade?" she gasps.

Fuck.

She's the only person who has ever called me Cade.

I never let anyone else use the nickname she gave me. It was just for her. Hearing her say it now is like a goddamn dare, taunting me to turn around and face her. And I want to do exactly that. I want to turn around and look my fill, ease the pain that's been riding me every single day since she kicked my ass to the curb, but I don't have that right anymore. I lost it when I destroyed her life.

Like the bastard I am, I turn around anyway.

She's still the prettiest little thing I've ever seen in my life; only she's more beautiful now than ever. She's short and curvy, those luscious tits pressing against her tank top so hard her nipples are visible. Her red shorts cover nothing. They're so goddamn short every inch of those thick thighs and tanned legs are on display. Her round belly drives me fucking wild. She's so fucking thick and soft everywhere.

With one glimpse at her, I'm rock hard, my dick pressing against my zipper so insistently he's about to split the seams. Even after all these years, he still knows who he belongs to. January.

"Cade," she whispers this time, her bright green eyes roving all over my body. She hasn't changed at all. She's still a perfect little angel.

But I'm bigger, harder, comprised of muscle and aggression. I'm also covered in tattoos that hurt to look at more than my scars do. With small gauges in my ears, a piercing in my nose, and a decade of ruthless decisions weighing on me, I look a hell of a lot like the gang member I so often portray.

She seems to like what she sees now as much as she did back then. She pushes her long blonde hair away from her heart-shaped face and licks her lips. Her nipples get harder. The pulse in her throat flutters.

I take a step toward her, unable to stop myself from moving in her direction. She's like gravity…a natural phenomenon I'm not strong enough to withstand. I never have been. My every instinct clamors for attention, screaming at me that I need her to survive.

She throws up a hand and takes a step back.

My heart cracks, but I stop moving toward her. Of course I do. My body is hers to command as much now as it ever has been.

"Don't," she says. Her gaze flickers past me to the squad cars and ambulance parked on the curb. Fear slides through her expression, tearing at my insides. I know what she's thinking about, what she's remembering. It fucking kills me to know she's still bleeding over it too.

"It's okay, baby girl," I whisper, willing to say or do anything to ease the haunted look on her face. "Everything is okay."

"It's not," she snaps, glowering at me. And there it is. The look that annihilates me. The one that haunts every goddamn nightmare I have.

Hate.

I'd sell my soul to take back what I did to earn her hatred, but I can't. I did the crime. I'll do the time. Every excruciating second of it until someone puts me out of my misery.

Even then, it won't be enough to redeem me.

Some souls are so dirty, so black, there is no redemption. No salvation. There's nothing but blood and pain.

Mine is covered in so much of it I'll never wash clean.

"What happened?" she asks, glancing from me to the roadway.

"Caught a kid trying to break into your place." I shove my hands into my pockets to hide the way they shake. "I took care of it."

"How? By beating him up?"

I hate that that's what she thinks of me…and I hate that she's right. I don't even try to defend myself. What's the point?

Once upon a time, I was her hero. And then the blinders came off. She saw me for the monster I really was. Nothing I say will change her opinion now.

"What are you doing here, Michael?" she asks, weary and wary and so fucking sad, it kills me.

It kills me even more that she's calling me Michael like she doesn't know me at all. Like she doesn't own me. I've been Cade to her since she was four years old. I've belonged to her for just about as long. She's always been my world, but I'm not her world anymore. That ship sailed right into an abyss a long fucking time ago.

"Taking care of a few things." I don't elaborate any further. If I tell her the ATF's Gang Unit asked me to convince her to let Kaleo have this block before she gets herself killed, she'll fight me. I don't have it in me to fight her right now. I need to get the hell out of here. Now. Because the longer I stand here not touching her, the more it hurts.

"Agent Kincaid," the LAPD officer calls from behind me.

January gasps.

Yeah, baby girl, I'm a cop. Too damned bad it doesn't change a fucking thing. I'm still the monster at the end of this book. Only this one doesn't end happily like the storybook I used to read you, sweetheart. Not for me and not for you either.

"Go inside, January," I mutter over my shoulder, walking away.

I leave my heart on the sidewalk in the same place it's always been—at her feet.