Chapter 1

1

Maddie Salvato

I 've never felt as free as I do riding on the back of a motorcycle, my arms wrapped tightly around the waist of the man I love. It's everything I never knew I needed. The morning sunlight warms us against the chill of the early fall winds whipping around us on the highway, carrying the salty scent of the nearby ocean.

The little beach town is a haven I didn't even know existed before I met Jordan over a year ago in a Las Vegas bar. That was the day my entire life changed.

I became his wife and escaped the confines of my father's prison when I hitched a ride to Rockland, Virginia, on a private plane with a group of bikers. Not just any bikers—Savage Kings, a motorcycle club that's closer than most families.

Jordan quickly became my best friend, my soulmate, my favorite person in the world from the moment we met. It was like fate brought the two of us together right when I needed someone the most. He loves me so much he would take a bullet for me in a heartbeat, without hesitation.

And I am a selfish girl who will never deserve such a good man.

Even though Jordan doesn't have to be at the auto shop until it opens at eight, he wakes up with me at five-thirty to shower and have breakfast together. Then he gives me a ride to Greer's bar. While he taught me how to drive a car, I still don't have a driver's license because that would require me to use my legal name, creating a paper trail my father could use to find me.

I can't go back to Vegas, not when Rockland, and Jordan, are now my home.

Since Rockland is a small town, we pull into the bar's gravel lot way too soon. I could ride around with Jordan all day on his motorcycle, but I'm also excited to get to baking.

For the past three months, I've been rising with the sun, heading into Greer's to use his wife's huge new kitchen. Celeste convinced Greer to let me spend the morning baking dozens of cupcakes before the bar opens in the afternoon. It's crazy how far I've come since I didn't even know how to turn on an oven this time last summer.

Not only do I bake without burning down the place, but people from all over the country actually buy my cupcakes. I sell them in little glass jars from my store's website—Wicked Delights Cupcake Company.

Jordan slows the motorcycle to a stop but doesn't turn off the engine as he lowers the brake. I easily throw my leg over to climb off.

"Thanks for the ride," I tell him like I do every morning, as I undo the chin strap on my helmet, freeing my long, brown waves.

He lifts his helmet's visor so I can see his handsome face and warm smile. "I'll miss you," he says, as he does each day, even though he'll be working just a mile away.

I lean forward just as his hand reaches up to cup the side of my face, bringing my lips to his for a searing goodbye kiss. The deep, sensual kind of kiss that makes me wish we were still in bed. But the money I stole from my father before leaving Vegas has dwindled down so that we both have no choice but to put in the hours to earn a living and keep paying the rent on our tiny, one-bedroom apartment.

"I love you," Jordan says when he finally releases my face.

"I love you too." It's the truth. I do love him, which is why I hate myself so much for lying to him.

I've convinced myself that if I tell him the truth about who I am and that we're not really married, that he might leave me. Jordan, the Savage Kings, and their wives, are all I have in this world.

Tucking my helmet under my arm, I dig the bar's key Celeste gave me out of my crossbody purse. It's sort of funny that people in this town even bother to lock their doors, since it's probably the safest city on the East Coast. Or at least one of them.

Wherever the Savage Kings rule, there's no crime, no poverty, just everyone living their lives trusting in the Kings to keep the peace, even if most are a little terrified of the men who wear the skull king patch. I've never been afraid of Jordan or any of the other gun-toting vigilantes, not when I was raised by a mafia king who is truly savage.

With a final wave of my fingers gripping my keys, I unlock the door and slip inside. The roar of Jordan's bike is drowned out when I shut and lock the door behind me, since you can never be too careful, even when you're the wife of one of the feared Savage Kings.

Like every other morning, I'm practically bouncing on the balls of my sneakers as I flip the switches for light after light, heading through the door behind the bar to the massive kitchen and storage room.

As soon as the florescent bulbs illuminate the pitch-black space, a scream rips from my throat.

No. No, no, no.

I blink at the sight before me a few times to make sure I'm not hallucinating. But the gruesome image doesn't disappear, no matter how hard I try to wish it away. It just becomes more grotesque as I notice even more details, like the retched coppery smell in the air. The scent of blood. A lot of it.

The bike helmet suddenly feels too heavy to hold as it slips away from my fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thud that startles me. I quickly scan the room for signs of anyone in the building with me as I back away toward the door, my purse clutched to the front of my body.

As soon as I'm clear of the kitchen, I turn around to sprint to the bar's front door. Jerking on the doorknob that won't turn has my panic ratcheting up a million notches. Trapped. I feel trapped. Imprisoned again.

I cry out in frustration when the doorknob won't turn before I remember through my panic that I just locked it when I came in.

My trembling hand fumbles with the deadbolt as I check over my shoulder once more before I'm finally free. I barely suck in a shaky breath of the salty air before I take off running.

My head swivels all around as I try to catch up to Jordan's bike, that's nowhere in sight.

Shit, shit, shit!

The sleeping town is too quiet, the road too empty, making me feel even more when alone. I push my legs to run faster than I ever have before, twice as hard as the leisurely jogs on the beach with Jordan.

Every time I glance over my shoulder, I know I lose momentum, but I can't not look, certain that I'm being watched, followed, chased.

God, I wish I carried my father's gun instead of keeping it stowed away in the closet.

Cell service is shitty out here, even if Jordan wasn't on his motorcycle, so I don't even bother trying to retrieve my phone from my purse to call him. I just keep running until my legs ache and my lungs burn.

As soon as the green and white Fulton Automotive Shop sign appears over the tops of the trees, I let out a sob.

Close. I'm so close. I make my legs churn faster.

Jordan Robertson

I'm a shitty husband.

I have the most amazing, perfect, gorgeous wife in the world, and sometimes, when I'm dreaming, or even when I'm buried inside of her, I'm thinking of someone else.

Not anyone in particular or anything, just the idea of someone else.

My head got fucked up by my mom's old husband when I was eighteen, and it hasn't been right since.

And I can't tell Maddie because, well, she's perfect.

My wife is perfect, and I'm all fucked up.

Is this just how it will always feel because I'm a closeted bisexual who has never willingly been with a man of my choosing? Like carrying around a fifty-thousand-ton gorilla on my back?

It's a good thing I know someone else who used to only date women and is now married to a man. I've wanted to ask him for months, but never had the guts to do it. This morning, since we're both still half-asleep, maybe he won't even remember it in a few hours.

"Hey, RJ?"

"Morning," my boss and former club prospecting sponsor says while kneeling on the garage floor in his blue coveralls, putting air in Mrs. Wilson's Buick. He usually beats me here in the mornings, even when I come in an hour early.

"Could I ask you sort of a personal question?"

"I guess," he says without looking up at me. "Well, yeah, sure, you can ask me a personal question, but I'm not promising you that I'll answer it."

"Fair enough," I agree with a grin. "So, um, you and Thane have been together for several years now, right?"

"Yeah. But you already knew that."

"Right. I did." Scratching the back of my neck, I force myself to keep pushing on. "I was just wondering, since you slept with women before you met Thane, do you ever...miss them?"

"Miss what?" he asks as he stands up to move to the front left tire and I follow him.

"Do you miss women?"

"Nah. I never really liked any of them all that much or took time to get to know them."

"Okay, so I don't mean any women personally. What I meant to say is, do you ever miss the female anatomy?"

"Female anatomy?" he repeats, his brow furrowed. It's as if he's having a hard time recalling the parts of the body the people have that he used to solely have sex with for years before he met his husband.

Trying to help him out, I go on to tell him, "I mean, since Thane is obviously male, and he doesn't have certain body parts like breasts or, you know, pussy, do you miss those things?"

Now he finally glances up at me like I'm crazy, his blond eyebrows raised. "That is a weird fucking question, kid."

"Could you just think about it and give me an honest response. Please?"

"Why?"

"I'm curious."

Standing up to his full height with the air gun in his hand, he stares off in the distance for several long moments. Moments that turn into minutes. "No," he eventually says before going around to the front right tire.

"No? Just no? You don't have anything else to say?"

"No."

"Are you only saying no because you don't want Thane to find out?" Leaning down, I whisper even though it's only the two of us in the shop. "Listen, your secrets are safe with me. I will never say a word to Thane, not even when I'm drunk, if you tell me you miss titties."

RJ chuckles and shakes his head. "Seriously, kid, I haven't thought much about titties in a very long time."

"Really?"

He stares at me a moment, then asks, "Do you think I only love Thane for his dick?"

"No, of course not."

"Good, because there's a lot more to love about him. That's just one little, one big thing, that I appreciate about him. And sure, he's also got a great ass. But even if he was like in a bad car accident and lost every part of his body from the waist down, I would still love him."

"You would?"

"Yes! For better or for worse. Those are the vows. I love the person he is, not the physical body he resides in."

"Ah, sure. Yeah. I get all of that, I do. But do you think it would mean that you love him less if you still dreamed about, say, boobs?"

"What's with all the tit questions?"

"I'm just curious," I repeat yet again.

"I don't think about anyone else's body parts ever, no man or woman's, because I love Thane. It would be like a betrayal to him if I did, right?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out." Trying a different angle, I ask, "What about horny dreams? Do you have those about women?"

"My dreams aren't usually sex dreams," RJ remarks.

Okay. That's surprising.

"Are yours?" he asks.

"Well, yeah. I thought everyone had sex dreams, especially men."

"I don't. If I'm horny, I just kiss Thane and ask for what I want, then we do it and I fall asleep content. Happy. There's nothing else I want or need, so I dream about fixing Harleys and riding on long road trips. Sometimes I dream my tooth fell out and I look fucking ridiculous, but then Thane takes me to the dentist, and makes them fix it."

"Wow. Okay. I'm sorry I brought any of this up. Could you just forget this entire conversation?"

"You don't normally ask me such personal questions, kid. Is everything okay with you and Maddie?"

"Yeah. Of course. She's gorgeous, smart, and sweet. I love her. All of her."

"But you wish she had a dick?"

"What? No!" I exclaim.

"They make strap-ons, right? You should just ask her for what you want."

"That's...no, I can't ask my wife to do… that to me."

"Why not? If she loves you, she'll probably give it a try. But if she's not into that sort of thing, then you could get you a dildo or whatever."

"This is...can we please talk about something else now?"

"You started it," he reminds me with a smirk.

"I didn't want to talk about me and my unfulfilled sexual fantasies!"

"So, you do have unfulfilled fantasies?" he remarks. "That sucks, kid. You should just try and be honest with your wife instead of freaking out or feeling guilty for worrying about how she'll take it without bothering to ask her."

I nod but know that I won't be talking to Maddie about any of this shit because...well, I'm embarrassed about it. I don't want her to think I'm gay or not attracted to her. Because I definitely am attracted to her. God, she's so fucking beautiful. Every inch of her, inside and out. I spend most days thinking that I don't deserve her, and that I'm going to wake up and the two of us, our marriage, will only have been a really great, really long, dream.

Or Maddie will realize that she can do better than a greedy, closeted bisexual and leave me for a man who never thinks about dick and only thinks about her.

The doubts about our life together have always been there, ever since I was enduring the worst hangover ever in Las Vegas a year ago last June, and she told me we were married. I thought that once we lived together for a while, we would grow closer, and that my yearning for something else would eventually fade.

Instead, it seems to have only gotten worse. So much worse.

I worry about every little thing, like if the way I chew my food gets on her nerves or if I snore too much and keep her awake at night. Or, worst of all, if I moan someone else's name, a man's name, in my sleep she might walk away from me forever.

"Ah, Jordan," RJ says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Why is your wife running toward us like she's being chased by the hounds of hell?"

"No fucking idea," I mutter through my frozen shock as I look out the open garage bay doors. "Wait. What? Maddie ?"

The woman is coming in hot, and she doesn't slow down before she slams into me, a gasp of relief escaping her. I stagger back a step in surprise because Maddie's a tall girl, even if I have eight inches on her. When I recover, I wrap my arms around her thin frame as she clutches at the front of my white cotton tee. "Safe. I'm safe," it sounds like she whispers between panting breaths.

"Jesus, baby. What's wrong?"

I think she tries to speak, but all I hear are choked sobs.

"Breathe, just slow down and take a deep breath," I urge her, rubbing my palm up and down her back.

A few more of those and she finally speaks. "He's…he's dead...his eyes..." Her fingers clutch my shirt tighter as if I'm her own personal life preserver and she would drown if she lets go.

Then her words hit me.

"Dead?" I repeat, glancing over to RJ who is wide-eyed and watching this all play out, air gun still in his hand. "Who is dead, Maddie? Where?"

She shakes her head either because she doesn't know who is dead or can't talk about it, then says, "Greer's…in the kitchen."

"Greer's dead?"

"No," she says, which is a relief. "Someone…someone else."

"You saw a dead man in Greer's kitchen?" I ask, and she nods. "Fuck," RJ and I both mutter as we look at each other. Keeping one arm wrapped around Maddie, I pull out my cell phone from my jean pocket with my free hand while RJ does the same, no doubt calling his husband.

"What?" the deep rasp on the other side of my call huffs, sounding annoyed, like he was sleeping.

"Sorry to wake you up," I tell Greer. "But, uh, I think we might have a situation at the bar."

"What kind of situation?" the gruff man asks.

"I dropped Maddie off like usual and she just ran all the way to the shop. She said someone's dead."

"Goddammit," Greer grumbles and then it sounds like he's repeating the information to his wife Celeste, who is no doubt sleeping beside him. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay, come by the shop and hopefully Maddie can tell you what's happened before you walk in on it."

I lower the phone from my ear just as Maddie looks up at me and shakes her head. "I can't go back. Please...please don't make me. I don't want to go back."

"Nobody is going to make you go back to the bar," I assure her, even though I don't think she's referring to the bar.

God, I've never seen her like this before, so…frightened.

She doesn't say another word, so I don't push her as she sobs. I just stand there and hold her while she keeps glancing over her shoulder her as if she's worried someone might sneak up on her. All I know to do is hold her tighter while RJ steps away to talk to his husband.

That's how Greer and Celeste find us when they roll up in the parking lot on his Harley.

"What the fuck happened?" he snaps as they both hurry into the garage bay. Like usual, the dark-haired man is wearing nearly the same attire as me—jeans and his leather Savage Kings cut over a black tee while his wife Celeste is still in her pink pajama shorts and top, as if she just rolled out of bed, slipped on her sneakers, and pulled back her brunette hair in a messy bun like Maddie wears at night.

"She's...I still can't get much out of her except that there's a dead man. I assume he's in the bar since there were no cars, nothing outside when I dropped her off," I explain to them. Smoothing my hand over the back of Maddie's long brown hair, I tell her, "God, baby, I'm so sorry. I should've walked you in."

Greer curses under his breath. "Well, I guess I better go see for myself."

"No," Celeste says as she grabs his arm. "You shouldn't go alone. I'll go with you."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

"Please don't go alone."

"I won't," he assures her. Then jerks his chin toward me. "Come on, kid."

"I don't think I can leave her yet."

Greer just frowns at Maddie, but Celeste comes over and rubs her palm over Maddie's back. "Maddie, how about we go into the office and sit down?"

"Thane's on his way," RJ says when he ends his call and joins us.

"I'll go with you when Thane's here to stay with RJ and the women," I tell Greer.

"When the fuck will that be?" he asks RJ.

"Minutes," my boss tells him.

"Fine. I'll call Remy while we wait. Better give our pres a heads up that shit might be going down."

Greer hasn't ended his call when I hear the rumble of another motorcycle in the distance. A few seconds later, Thane pulls right into the garage bay. He didn't even bother with putting on a helmet, just hopped on his bike and sped over here.

"What the fuck is going on?" the tatted up former Devil Hounds member asks as he dismounts and immediately pulls RJ to him for a kiss. I shove down my ridiculous jealousy.

"Something happened at the bar," Greer tells him.

"Maddie saw...something, maybe a dead man," I explain.

"He's definitely dead," is all she says again before she shakes her head.

"Can you and RJ stay here with the women while Greer and I go check it out?" I ask Thane.

"Yeah, sure."

Thane removes his gun from his shoulder holster under his leather Savage Kings cut and checks it as if he knows he might need it. "Don't worry. We'll keep them safe," he says. I tip my chin up at him in thanks.

Pressing my lips to Maddie's forehead, I promise her, "Will you be okay with RJ, Thane, and Celeste? I'll come back as soon as I can."

After a long moment, she sniffles and lifts her head, giving me a nod.

When I start to walk away, she jerks on the open sides of my cut. "Be careful."

"I will," I assure her, showing her my own gun is always nearby inside my cut too.

It kills me to walk away and leave her even if I'll only be a mile down the road, but since she found...whatever is at Greer's bar, I owe it to the man to at least have his back when we go investigate.

The grumpy bartender doesn't say anything as we both slap our helmets on but don't bother fastening the chin straps for the short distance we're going.

When we both kill the engines at the bar, hanging our helmets on the handlebars, he asks, "Do you think Maddie may have overreacted?"

"No. She doesn't ever get emotional like this," I assure him before considering it for a moment. "In fact, I think that's the first time I've ever seen her cry in the fifteen months that we've been married."

"Damn. Okay then."

Taking whatever threat there may be inside more seriously, Greer brandishes his own gun, flips off the safety, and pulls back the slide to put a bullet in the chamber while I do the same.

"Let's go in through the back," he suggests. I nod and follow him around the brick building where he takes out his keys from his jean pocket to turn the lock. He puts the keychain away so both hands are free again before he jerks the door open and slips inside. I'm right behind him, my eyes darting around the space to look for any threats.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters when his feet come to an abrupt stop. I can't see what he's referring to until I'm standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

And there are no fucking words to describe the sight.

None.

Now I get why Maddie could only say the words "dead" and "eyes."

The body of a large male is bent over her stack of new jars still in cases, the side of his head resting on them, his face toward the room, to us.

And there are nothing but bloody sockets where his eyes should be.

His mouth is the second thing I notice, still gaping wide open in a frozen scream of agony, as if he wasn't dead when his eyeballs were removed.

"Who the fuck is this?" Greer asks.

"No clue. At least he doesn't look like any of the Kings," I remark. And he's not wearing a leather cut. Instead, he has on a black cotton tee with a huge logo across the back that looks out of place, as if the shirt was put on him backwards. Taking a few steps closer, I hold my breath against the stench to read the design.

It's the famous Las Vegas sign that nearly every person in the United States would recognize.

"This is some fucked up shit right here," Greer mutters as he turns around and heads for the back door. "We're gonna have to call the sheriff. I'll wait for Remy to give the green light but...I don't think any of the Kings are responsible. Whoever did this needs to be found and fast because they are one sick fuck."

I follow him out the door, eager to get away from the scent of blood and rot.

Just as Greer puts his phone to his ear, I say, "Wait! Maddie can't be a part of this. You'll have to tell the police that you found him."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because she's...on the run or some shit. I don't know the details. She doesn't ever talk about it, but Celeste was in the same position, right?"

"Fine," Greer grits out, jaw ticking in annoyance. "I'll leave her out of it, so she won't have to give a statement."

"Thank you," I whisper in relief.

"Hey, man," Greer says into the phone when Remy answers. "It's bad. Worse than I imagined. You should get down here. I could take photos to send to you, but I don't want this nasty shit on my phone." He pauses as he listens to our president, then, "Yes, it's that fucking bad. There's a goddamn corpse in my kitchen, bleeding all over the damn place, no eyeballs in his head, just holes where they're supposed to be! No, neither Jordan nor I could identify him. I think this is one for the cops to handle after you put out the notice and none of the Kings take responsibility. I just don't see how it could be any of our guys, though. Why would they dump the body here inside my bar, my locked bar, without telling me? It was locked, wasn't it?" Greer directs that question to me.

"Maddie didn't say, but I know she used her keys. I waited until she was inside before I rode off."

"Well, then, we don't just have a psycho murderer on our hands; we've got a murderer who is sneaky enough to get in and out without destroying locks. I'll check my surveillance videos. Hopefully, they caught him. Oh, and the corpse was wearing a Las Vegas tee," he tells Remy. "Yeah, like a tourist would buy in Vegas. The same place where we picked up a hitchhiker over a year ago and brought her back on our plane," he adds while narrowing his eyes at me. "Remy says you need to talk to your wife and find out who the fuck would do this and if we need to step up security."

I nod and Greer ends his call with Remy after telling him he's sending out the message to warn everyone and will be on his way over.

My back slumps against the brick wall, head falling back while we wait, wishing I had a cigarette even though it's been years since I last smoked one. This murder isn't just gruesome, it's personal to Maddie.

"Look, kid, even if this is someone coming after Maddie, the Kings will protect her. She's not just your wife, she's one of our own."

"I know, I just, I'm not sure if she'll tell me anything. She doesn't ever talk about her life before..."

"If it involves some motherfucker who kills men and scoops their eyeballs out like ice cream, then I don't blame her. But we need to know what we're up against if we're going to take them down. Get her to talk, whatever it takes."

I nod my agreement, wishing it was as easy as just asking her. While I may be keeping a big secret from my wife, I know she has her own skeletons in her closet.

Greer takes a few steps away from the building, hands on his hips, before pacing back to me. "It can't be a coincidence that the dead man was thrown over Maddie's jars, either. It's like whoever this was knows how much her business means to her and wanted to fuck it up."

"I know," I agree. "I was just thinking about that, too. But who is it, and why take the dead guy's eyes?"

"Hell, if I know. Maybe he saw some shit he shouldn't have seen, or maybe it's a warning that he's watching Maddie."

I grit my teeth, not liking either scenario, but especially hating the second. "You keep saying he . You don't think it could be more than one person?" I ask Greer.

"No clue about that, either. But the Kings are going to need some back up, whoever it is or how many of them. For once, the worthless sheriff's office might be able to help us. Hopefully, they'll figure out who the fuck the dead guy is fast. And once we know that, we can figure out who would want him dead."