PROLOGUE

TIMBER

Dog slobber clings to my hand after giving Grim's pitbull, Tiny, a treat from my pocket. I always keep them on hand for him because he's a good boy and deserves it, especially since strangers tend to treat him poorly because of his looks. Something I understand on a visceral level.

Tiny and I? We're two peas in a pod—bulky with muscle and preceded by a bad reputation because of it.

"Hey, are you free? Caroline's friend Lindy, the woman I mentioned in our last club meeting, will be here soon. We'll help move her things into one of the cabins." The president of the Reaper's Wolves MC, Logan Snow, passes us with a raised brow.

"Yeah, I'm heading that way now," I say, continuing down the hall.

When the motorcycle club first relocated to the small mountain town of Suitor's Crossing, this building was an abandoned metal warehouse, an empty shell waiting for us to put our stamp on it. It took a couple of months, but with all of us working together, we converted it into a comfortable clubhouse where most of the MC's members currently reside.

A barn and two log cabins also came with the property, and we quickly added more for families to have privacy—a wise forethought from Snow, since at the time we were all single guys.

He commandeered one for himself when he didn't want to bunk at the clubhouse with the rest of the guys, but I have a feeling the way Snow is acting with his woman means that the cabin situation will become permanent.

The front door creaks open as I step onto the porch where a couple of men are already waiting for our guest.

"You kidnapped my dog again," Grim grumbles, patting his thigh to encourage Tiny to his side rather than mine.

"I can't help it if he likes me better than you."

"It's the bribes. If the vet puts Tiny on a diet, I'm blaming you." Tiny trots down the porch steps to lean against Grim's legs and accept scratches behind his ears.

"Noted." A trail of dust kicks up behind a vehicle turning off the gravel road onto the MC compound. "I think that's our girl."

The SUV slows in front of the clubhouse before continuing down the rocky path to the first cabin—one of seven scattered on the property. It takes a second before the vehicle shuts off as if the woman inside is hesitant about her decision to move onto an MC compound full of men.

Not that I blame her.

Based on Snow's explanation, she's leaving an abusive relationship and needs a safe place to stay.

We probably weren't her first choice, but Caroline, Snow's woman, vouched for us because we're a legit motorcycle club—not a one-percenter dealing with illegal substances or weapons. All of us are military veterans who were looking for brotherhood out of the service, and that's what the Reaper's Wolves MC offers.

The car door swings open, and a riot of red curls are the first thing I notice.

Then the green eyes full of wariness.

And the remnants of a healing bruise on the left side of her neck.

She looks like she's been through hell, and I feel like I just got punched in the gut.

Lindy Thomas is beautiful and brave, and I'm a goner.

Fucking heart sparks …