Chapter 1

ONE

GNAW

I climbon my bike and rev the engine as I head toward the compound"s exit. The dirt road beneath me leads straight to the highway.

I need to get away.

I don't know why, but I feel it in my bones. I need to ride. There is a shift coming. I can feel it. I've always had a sense when shit is shifting, at least as an adult. Maybe not so much as a kid. But I can tell that something is about to happen.

Nobody will question me leaving the compound in the middle of the day. They never do. Mainly because they are all the same way—restless souls on the fringe of society. Needing a taste of freedom when the mood strikes.

Once I'm on the road and surrounded by piney woods, I can finally breathe. I don't know why, but sometimes, I just need to be free. I've always been this way, even as a teenager. I'd get in trouble for ditching class, but it wasn't because I was necessarily drinking or smoking—although I did that, too—it was usually because I just needed to breathe.

The wind washes over my face, and if I weren't the one riding this bike, I'd close my eyes as it does. The freedom, the wind, the scent of the pines, it's exhilarating.

Taking a route that I know is the road less traveled, I make my way toward my spot at the lake. It's a long ride, but it's exactly what I need. It's calming, and it's the only place where I can truly think.

Once I'm in front of the water, I park my bike and throw my leg over to disengage. There's no cell service out here, which is probably the main reason for me coming out this far regularly.

It's not that I have a specifically highly intense, demanding position when it comes to the Dark Horse MC, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the stress and pressure on a regular basis.

Being the secretary of the club is not without its drama. I do the scheduling and give it to Atomic, our president, to confirm or send it back with changes. Sometimes coordinating a whole fucking group of men can be… tiring.

Standing in front of the water, I watch as it moves slightly, the wind causing ripples along the top. If I were a poetic kind of man, I would probably find this serene moment something, but I'm not that.

I just want to breathe the fresh air and reset.

So, I do that.

Something is in the air, swirling around me, even out there. Maybe it's just the fact that King just had a baby and Atomic is getting ready to have one. Those could be the changes, but something feels bigger.

There are no distractions, no phone, no women, no brothers out here. Just me and the quiet space around me. I'm not sure how long I stand at the water's edge, but as my thoughts shift and move around, they take a dark turn.

Usually, I wouldn't let myself go to this place, but considering the date, I don't have control over myself. Maybe this is what I'm feeling. This could be what's bothering me. This is the day, twenty years ago, when my mother took her own life.

And it was all my fault.

My father was a founding member of the Dark Horse MC. He's still alive and lives in Corpus Christi with some of the other OG members. They have a branch of their own Dark Horse MC down there.

They're doing well, as far as I know, starting a strip club and keeping busy. Although it seems like their president, Nash, is always here for one reason or another. My father doesn't join him. Mainly because he hates me.

He's hated me since I was a kid. Since I was the reason my mother killed herself. It's my fault that my mother committed suicide. Or at least to him, it's my fault, and he's never let me forget it.

I'm the one who told her that I saw him with a clubwhore. Fucking her. I wanted to go to a party at the clubhouse, and he wouldn't let me. So, I snuck in anyway and watched him fuck someone who wasn't my mother.

The sight of my father with another woman wasn't what I was angry about. I was a pissed-off kid who didn't get what he wanted. So, what does a pissed-off kid do first thing? I wanted to hurt my father for pissing me off.

I ran to my mother.

I told her what I saw… in detail. I wanted to get back at my dad, and that was the best way I knew how. At the time, I didn't know that my mother's mental health was struggling. I didn't know that she'd caught him cheating on her countless times, that he'd promised it would never happen again, yet it did over and over again.

But what I really didn't know was that she'd had a miscarriage a few months earlier. I hadn't known that he'd been with a clubwhore when she went through that. That he'd ignored her calls for help.

He'd ignored her calls, not responded to them, and not shown up at home for two days. He'd been on a bender, and she'd already been released from the hospital by the time he bothered to make an appearance.

That was all hidden from me. She sent me to spend a few nights at a friend's house. I hadn't known that I was sent there because my mother was in the hospital. She never told me. Nobody ever told me shit back then.

In fact, I didn't know a lot of things.

I didn't need to know them. I was just a kid.

And so, hearing the news of my father's infidelities again, just a few short months after what I would assume was a pretty fucking traumatic incident, sent her fragile self over the edge.

Had I known, I wouldn't have said shit. I would have kept that secret until the day I died, not to protect my father in any way but to keep my mother.

I loved her.

There were many nights of lying in bed, alone in my house, when I wished it were him and not her who was dead. A lot of fucking nights. Hell, I'm not going to lie. I still think that sometimes. But now that I'm older, I try not to let myself think about either of them often, especially her, because it makes me sad, and I don't like that shit at all.

But today, in this moment by myself, I allow it—at least for a minute or two.

When the sun begins to set, I turn my back to the lake and make my way toward my bike. I shove all the thoughts of my parents, of my past, back down to the depths of my soul. I've felt sorry for myself long enough, and now it's time to go back to my club and take care of business.

Work never ends when you're the secretary of an MC, especially one as busy as the Dark Horse MC. They're my family. I've known some of them my entire life. They are my brothers. And even though my dad hates me and blames me for my mother's death, they never have—they never would.

KYLE

Shovingthe key deep into my pocket, I reach for the front door handle, gently turn it, and tug it open. I try not to make a single sound. If I do, my life could be over. I've never needed to be as quiet as I am right now.

He's asleep.

He's found me again.

But if he thinks I'm going to take it, that I'm just going to accept whatever he has planned for me, he's got another thing coming.

I don't know if it's the booze he drank, maybe it's the drugs he took, or what, but he was too exhausted to beat the shit out of me after he found me today, which is the only plus I have going on right now.

It doesn't make me less scared—I am, indeed, scared shitless.

Taking one step outside, I feel the warm sun beat down on me. It's sweltering. Summer in Louisiana is not for the weak, and I think there might be a storm brewing because it's beyond humid.

I don't run.

Because if I do, someone is bound to stop me to ask me if I'm okay, and I can't risk that. So, fighting every instinct in my body, I force myself to walk. Keeping my head down, I shove my hand in my pocket and walk down the street.

My car is parked about ten blocks away. I didn't park it there on purpose. It's where he made me stop after he was waiting for me in the back seat. He sat up, held a knife to my throat, and made me park the car. Then he forced me to walk beside him the ten blocks to a motel where he'd been staying.

But I can't stay here. I won't stay here. With what little money I have in my belt bag, I am driving until I run out. I've been on the run for so long, I don't know how else to live, but I refuse to be with him. I refuse to give up.

Because I refuse to be Xavier Reyes' punching bag for one moment longer. I've already been that since I was sixteen years old. After ten years, I was certain he was never going to change. He'd been getting worse with each passing year.

I've been on the run from him for four years, and I can attest that he is indeed never going to change. He is who he is, whatever that may be, but I want absolutely no part in it at all whatsoever.

Xavier is two years older than me. He was eighteen to my sixteen when we met. I thought he was beautiful, and he was until he showed me his true self. I forgave him over and over, and I made excuses for him for a whole decade.

But the fact of the matter is that he's on drugs, he's an alcoholic, and he's abusive. He's everything that I was running away from in my childhood home.

He hasn't gotten better.

Every apology and every promise was as empty as his bank accounts. He spent years using and abusing me a million different ways. It's me who"s been working for all these years. It's me who was paying the rent.

It's me who was the constant.

And it's me who can't take it anymore.

No more fractured wrists, no more cracked ribs, no more black eyes, no more bruises. I haven't been living. I've been surviving, and when I decided I was done, I left.

But Xavier wasn't done with me.

Instead of just letting me go my own way, he decided he couldn't allow that. Everything always has to be on his terms, and that includes us splitting up, too. So, he's been hunting me down, dragging me back to wherever he's staying, over and over again the past four years.

But I'm not going to give up.

He may just have to kill me.

I refuse to accept the abuse and control. Not anymore. Not from him or anyone else. I've made up my mind. I am going to try and live my life, not just survive it.

I've spent the first half of my life in complete chaos, trying to grasp anything that gave me a semblance of normalcy, which usually came in the form of a job and not much else. Considering I didn't have a calm, normal home life, and obviously, being with Xavier wasn't that either.

But one day, I hope to have a life where I work, fall in love with a nice man, get married, and have children. A simple life that is a good one. I don't need fame and fortune. I just want to live in peace. What I have with Xavier is the exact opposite of peace. What I had with my parents was the same.

I thought Xavier was going to save me from my childhood trauma. At only sixteen, I couldn't make an informed, mature decision about myself and my relationship, and unfortunately, I chose wrong.

But what was really my downfall was expecting that someone else could save me from my own trauma. The reality was that I needed to save myself.

I chose a man who was exactly like my parents. And I've regretted that decision for fourteen years.

I'll probably always regret it.

My feet move swiftly, my body on high alert as I walk as quickly as I possibly can. The ten blocks to my car feel like they take a lifetime. I just need to make it to the vehicle, start it, and drive.

I have to get out of Louisiana.

I don't know how much gas I have left, but I know I have enough to at least take me over the border and into Texas. And I know I don't have enough cash to get a hotel room and fill up my tank again, let alone eat.

Sweat drips down my spine as I move closer and closer to my car. Finally, I see it in the distance. That's when I start to run. Fuck the world around me. I need to get to that car. I can feel something behind me, but I don't look back. I can't. I don't want to know if he's coming after me.

Because I already know what it is… or rather who.

As long as I reach the car first, start the engine, and drive, I'm good. Then I hear my name being called out from behind me. Fuck. It's him. My feet move faster. Sweat doesn't just drip. It now pours down my face, but I don't look back.

Shoving my hand in my pocket, my heart pounding, I reach for my key as I approach the car door. He's chanting my name now. Tauntingly. He knows how to terrify me. He's been doing it long enough.

Fumbling, I slide the key into the lock and turn it, opening the door before I jump into the driver's seat.

Thankfully, I have an old piece-of-shit car that still has a key entry. Locking the door first, I start the engine. Only then do I look back in the direction I came from. It's him, and he"s coming for me, all right.

He's close, too.

Too close.

Shifting the car into Drive, I press my foot against the gas pedal, and I hear the sweet sound of my tires squealing as I get the hell away from Xavier and whatever hold he thinks he has on me.

The reality of it is that he has nothing over me—not anymore. I was over him years ago. I'm ready to move forward with my life, to heal completely from what he's done to me. What I've allowed him to do to me.

Never again.

Not ever.