Chapter One

Riot

I'm waiting to be booked at the police station when I see her, an angel dressed in an ill-fitting maroon suit that clashes with her hair, a cascade of long golden waves. My heart races as she passes, a distraction amid the chaos.

And what a distraction she is.

Her beautiful waves dance in the light as she moves. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of emerald, suck me in the brief second they lock on mine. Even with the distance between us, I catch the delicate blush that adorns her cheeks, giving her an innocent look that only adds to her ethereal beauty.

Who the hell is this girl?

She is a vision to behold, and in this hellhole of all places. I lean forward to catch more of her as she walks past the cops, who stop to ogle her as well. Jealousy burns hot and fiery when she flashes them a small smile in greeting.

The mysterious girl moves with the grace of a baby gazelle, bumping into everything on her way; it's awkward but equally endearing. Her pink cheeks flush darker, as she mutters "sorry" to everyone she passes, including an empty desk. Fuck, she's cute.

All the noise fades into the background as I focus on her beauty, which I can't help but be drawn to. Like a moth to a flame, I am too weak to resist, and when she disappears down the hall, I rise to walk after her without thinking but am stopped by a hand on my shoulder that forces me back into the chair. The handcuffs clink as I settle back down, the sound snapping me back to reality.

Right.

I'm at the police station, waiting to be booked. I'm not exactly in a position to chase after mysterious girls that grab my fancy.

"You again?"

A bored voice calls from behind me, and I turn am met by a familiar set of brown eyes. My lips stretch into a grin at the sight of the man, momentarily drawing my thoughts from the mysterious girl.

"Me again," I tell Officer Colin. He is a large man with a thick head of silver hair and a square chin. "I heard you were on holiday, Officer. Thought I would get someone new to attend to me for a change."

He ignores my jab and glares at me. "How many times has it been now? Ten, fifteen? I've lost count."

"How many times, what?"

"This is the fourth time you've been arrested this year. Are you lonely? Is that it? I can't think of any other reason why you'd be in that chair so fucking often."

I sense annoyance in his voice, which only makes me smile. Officer Colin likes to pretend I'm no better than the dirt on his shoe, but I think I'm growing on him, honestly.

"Just think of me as . . . job security," I snark, leaning back in the seat and watching with amusement as his face flushes to an angry red.

"Really, you're pulling that bullshit with me?" he rages, running his hand through his thinning hair before settling on the chair across from mine. "You know what, fine. Let's get this over with."

"Whenever you're ready, Officer."

I nod, waiting for him to tell me what I am being charged with. Officer Colin and I have done this so many times that it's become routine at this point. Heck, I've started to even think of him as family, like the uncle I never had.

Uncle Officer Colin, I like the sound of that. I should find out when his birthday is.

"You are charged with the assault of Mr. Henry Weaver—"

"Stupid name, don't you think?"

He glares at me, which makes me grin again. "You're one to talk. You're fucking called Riot." He spits it out like it's a dirty word.

"Touché."

"Now back to your charges."

I listen to him drone on about all the things Whitmore Weaver says I did to him. He reads me my rights, but I barely listen. It's all routine. I do something crazy, he arrests me, books me and all that jazz, then the charges get dropped and off I go, only to repeat the cycle a month or so later.

This time is different though. For once, I didn't actually commit the crime I'm being charged with.

The man accusing me of assault had his face punched in and shoulder dislocated by my very angry twin brother, Cash. The man in question kidnapped my brother's girl, and that, understandably, sent him into a fit of rage. I have seen Cash get mad, but never like that. He's always been the good twin, the one in control. Yet, he was willing to risk it all for the love of his life.

So, I am taking the fall for him.

Not only because I know the case won't go anywhere but I also owe my twin brother my life. Growing up, Cash was the responsible twin. He kept me out of trouble as a teen, and even as an adult, and this is my way of repaying him. A few hours cooling my heels at the police station is the least I can do.

Besides, I'm used to this. The cops here love me, I just know it.

"Are you even listening to me?"

I look up to see Officer Colin glaring daggers at me; the grin on my face grows, and I can tell how much he's holding himself back, but we both know he wouldn't dare touch me. Not only would that get him in trouble with his superiors, but I am a big guy with a reputation for more than holding my own in a fight. Sure, I like to joke around and rarely take anything too seriously, but I can be a mean son of a bitch when put on the spot. His jaw wouldn't survive contact with my fist, and we both know it, so he keeps himself in check.

"Of course, I am listening," I reply innocently, placing my cuffed hands on the desk. "Carry on, Officer."

"Is this a joke to you?"

He's fuming like a kettle on the stove. His face is red with anger, and I can see he's ready to bust when someone walks up to him. I smile at the newcomer, who seems to be a rookie, but the rude kid doesn't return my smile as he leans down to whisper something to Officer Colin. Whatever he tells the man must enrage him, and I watch with amusement as an angry vein pulses on his forehead.

The kid straightens up and walks away, leaving me alone with my favorite officer.

"What?" I ask in amusement as he glares at me, saying nothing.

"Is this a game to you people?"

By "you people," I assume he means my biker brothers in the motorcycle club. As an official member of the Steel Order Club, it pisses off the cops so much that they can't seem to make any charges stick, the club always getting in the way of that. We have the best lawyers in town, and what they can't fix, we handle ourselves using . . . other means. But Uncle Officer Colin doesn't need to know those details.

"Of course not, we respect and depend on the cops to uphold the law—"

"Oh, don't give me that crap," he hisses, getting up. "Your charges were dropped. The victim claims he was mistaken and can't remember what his assailant looks like."

"Victim, really? Is that what you are calling him?" I say, the smile dropping from my face. "That man and his insane family kidnapped an innocent woman and kept her hostage at a dirty motel. If anyone is the victim, it's the girl. He deserved whatever happened to him."

I read it in the cop's eyes, the urge to argue with me. To find some sort of retort, but he has nothing. For all my faults, I have never hurt an innocent person, and he knows it. When it comes down to it, I am not usually the person who throws the first punch, but you can be sure I'm always the last.

"Your lawyer is waiting outside," he says finally before uncuffing me and walking away without another word. I follow behind him and catch my lawyer talking on the phone. The man nods and directs me to wait for him outside.

I give him a small wave before heading to the exit, my hands already digging into my jacket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I notice a few cops glare at me as I lift one to my mouth, eyes locked on them as I light it up. I don't even smoke much. I mostly do it to annoy the people around me. Sure, it's at the expense of my lungs, but something in me just loves being a menace. It's what has always set my twin brother and me apart. Even as kids, Cash would be buried in books while I ran around the neighborhood causing havoc.

It was never a mystery which of us was the bad twin.

And yet, of the two of us, only Cash has actually been to prison. It shocked me and the entire neighborhood when my brother was arrested and imprisoned for three years for fraud. Everyone was so sure I was the twin that would end up in jail, but it was the opposite.

I might have turned out way worse if Cash hadn't gone to jail, though. Having the responsible twin disappear forced me to get my act together. I joined the Steel Order Motorcycle Club and worked as a mechanic for the club's repair shop. Cash joined the same club as the official accountant when he was released from prison, and suddenly, it wasn't just the two of us. We gained a whole family of brothers who would protect us as much as I would protect them.

Those same brothers are responsible for my release today.

Speaking of which, I should probably call Prez to let him know that I am out. I reach into my pocket to do just that when someone knocks into me from behind, sending my phone flying from my hands.

"Son a bitch—"

I whirl around, ready to tear into the person who bumped me when my mouth and throat run dry at the sight of the angel from earlier.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she cries out, blinking up at me. "I wasn't watching where I was going and didn't see you until I ran into you! Oh . . . my papers!"

I notice for the first time the sheets of paper scattered around us, and when the angel bends to pick them up, I follow her down, my eyes on her as she hurriedly gathers the sheets of paper around us.

I should probably help her, I think, but that would require looking away from her, and for the life of me, I can't look away.

She's beautiful.

No, beautiful doesn't begin to cover it. Everything about her from her pretty eyes and lips to her voice is so ethereal, I want to touch her. Heaven above, I want to tear away that ugly suit and explore her body, watch those emerald eyes grow dazed as I kiss a path down her body and—

"Sir?" Her sweet voice snaps me from my thoughts to find her staring at me. She nods at the sheet of paper lying between my legs, and I grab it, but I don't hand it back, causing her brows to rise. "Can I have it back?"

I stare at my angel and realize it would be so simple to act gentlemanly and help her collect her papers. Hell, I could even apologize to kill the weird tension in the air, but I am anything but a gentleman.

Besides, I bet she gets a lot of that. A pretty girl such as herself must be surrounded by men willing to bend over backward so she can have her way, and no, I don't want to be just another kind face that disappears from her memory.

I am no gentleman. A rogue, perhaps.

And I want this perfect girl to remember me. In her sleep, I want her to dream of the one man who told her . . .

"No."