Prologue

JEREMIAH

I 'm sprawled on the couch, my fingers swiping through the screen's endless scroll with the kind of numb dedication you reserve for three a.m. The phone casts a glow that no doubt shows the creases under my eyes—tired, yeah, that's me.

I need this year to be over. I need to start my freshman year at St. Charles and get my brothers and me the fuck out of here. I know Dad has a house on campus for us, he's held it over our heads for so damn long. The caveat is that we all have to be in school and since Graham and I are a year behind grade wise because of some dumb shit called birthday cut-off from kindergarten, that means Linc and Penn have been unable to move out even though they are well into their freshman year.

Robert Blackwood was hell-bent on creating his own little army of sons and made sure we arrived months apart. The thought process behind that still baffles me. Each of us with different mothers, absent, whether by force or choice. My own mother is a free love, go where the music takes her type of person and had no fucking problem leaving me with the Devil of Whispering Ridge.

Bzzzt. I squint at the name lighting up my phone. Bunny. What's she doing up?

Bunny

Can't sleep

Her message reads. Concern licks at my insides, chases away the exhaustion clinging to my bones. The truth is, she's the reason I can't fall asleep. If I'm being honest, she's the reason for everything.

"Shit," I mutter, thumbing back a reply.

I'm coming to get you. Motorcycle ride might clear your head. Be ready

The air is brisk when I get outside and kick the bike to life; its growl eats up the silence and sends a shiver down my spine. I race through the streets under the night sky, the hum of my bike's engine vibrating through me.

Oakley's place comes into view, all picket fence perfection and quietness. She's just there, wisps of blonde hair and pale skin, bathed in the moonlight. My heart does this stupid little stutter-step when I see her, standing alone, vulnerable out here. I want to protect her. Fuck. I want to possess her.

You can't have her. She'll never belong to you.

"Hey," I call out, pulling up beside her. She jumps, startled, but relief blooms across her face when she sees it's me.

"Rem." Her voice skims over the nickname she gave me, sending ripples down my neck. No one else calls me that, just my bunny.

"How many times am I going to have to tell you to dress warmer?" I tease, killing the engine and swinging off my bike. I don't mind the view, but something inside me is feral at the thought another man might see her like this.

She shrugs, the action small and defeated. "My mind was somewhere else, I guess."

I peel off my hoodie without a second thought, tugging it over her head and watching as it swallows her up. It's an excuse to touch her, and we both know it. My fingers graze her skin, and something forbidden passes between us—we've been like this for the last year, since her sweet sixteen birthday. Oakley's only a year and a couple of months younger than me but it always felt like the age difference between us was vast. She's my best friend's little sister, but everything about her is woven into my very being. She's supposed to be mine, but it'll ruin everything for everyone if I cross that line.

"Thank you," she whispers, slipping her arms into the sleeves. The fabric hangs loose on her frame, no doubt my scent is enveloping her.

"Helmet on, let's go." I help guide it over her head, our faces inches apart. I can smell her shampoo, strawberries, and it twists my insides in knots.

"Where are we going?" she asks, her breath ghosting against my cheek as I fasten the strap under her chin.

"Anywhere but here," I say, climbing back onto the bike and then holding my hand out and helping Oakley get on the back. Her hands settle around my waist, her touch is tentative at first but grows bolder as if she's grounding herself to something solid in the midst of her restless thoughts tonight.

"Ready?" I ask, looking back at her.

"Always," she breathes out the word, and it's all the cue I need.

We take off into the night and it swallows us whole, the city pulsing under us as we cut through the streets. Oakley's arms tighten, her grip fierce, unyielding—like she could anchor me to her in this moment forever. I lean into the bike, and she follows, seamless, a part of me. She's been riding with me for so long, I don't worry about having to coach her on what to do.

"Too fast?" I shout over the engine.

Her laughter is light, almost like a fucking fairy. "Never with you!"

The cool air nips at my skin, but her warmth bleeds through my shirt, stirring something reckless in my blood.

"Tell me something good," I yell back to her, craving the sound of her voice.

"When I'm with you, nothing else matters," she calls out, and the simplicity of it kicks me in the ass.

"You're going soft on me, bunny."

"No, I'm just me but pretty boy, your pocket's having a seizure or something," Oakley teases, her breath hot on my neck.

"Damn technology," I mutter, the spell breaking, reality creeping in with its sharp claws and jagged teeth.

"Trouble?" There's an edge to her voice, concern lacing it. My sweet little bunny who cares about far too much. This world will eat her up and spit her out.

"Probably nothing," I lie. Who the hell bombards someone with messages at this hour? My gut twists, intuition screaming that something is wrong.

"Let's head back." I hate the words as they leave my mouth, but curiosity is a hungry beast.

"Back? But we just…" Disappointment colors her tone, yet she clings tighter.

"Trust me." Two words, heavy with meaning.

I downshift, the motorcycle growling beneath us, almost like a living thing that echoes my frustration. As we turn around, the tension coils between us, thick and suffocating.

We roll up to her house, the bike's hum dying into silence. I can't shake the feeling that we're stepping right into the middle of a shit storm. I dismount, pulling off my helmet, and run a hand over my head—anxious, already gearing up for whatever comes next.

The world shrinks to the beat of my heart, a dull thud against my ribcage as Oakley's brother and my best friend, Royce, materializes from the shadows of the house. His stance, rigid and unyielding, cuts through the night.

"Jeremiah fucking Blackwood," he spits out my name like its poison on his tongue, "I should've known you'd stab me in the back—you and Penny?"

"Royce, man—" My words choke in my throat, disbelief has to be painting my features. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He moves closer, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. His scorn is almost palpable, mingling with the tang of impending rain.

"Stop." Oakley's voice slices through the tension, small but mighty. Her hand lands on my arm, something to anchor me while my best fucking friend stands there accusing me of fucking with his girl. "He hasn't done anything."

"Like hell he hasn't!" Royce roars, muscles coiled, ready to strike.

"Royce," I say, steadying my voice, "I swear on my brothers, there's nothing between me and Penny." If he only knew that his little sister has had me wrapped around her pretty little finger for some time now.

"Your word ain't worth shit right now." His accusation hangs heavy in the air, a razor blade slicing into me. I may be a fucking Blackwood, but to me, my word fucking means something.

"Your trust issues are your own damn problem, not mine," I shoot back, anger lacing my words. My hands ball into fists at my sides, itching for an outlet.

Oakley steps closer, her crystal blue eyes fierce with conviction. "Ro, listen to me. Jeremiah's been with me, okay? Just me—no one else."

"Always jumping to defend him, huh?" He sneers, a wild glint in his eye that says this is far from over.

Royce doesn't bother to mask the disdain in his voice, throwing accusations like punches I couldn't dodge. And somehow, Oakley is caught in the crossfire between us, her delicate frame trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance as she stands her ground. "You think this is some kind of game?" he advances, the night seeming to curl around him.

"No," Oakley's voice quivers but doesn't break. "But I won't let you bully me into believing lies about Jeremiah."

The air grows thick with unsaid words, laden with distrust and betrayal, a storm ready to burst. Royce's nostrils flare, his voice is a low growl now, "You're his alibi? How convenient. How many times has he pulled the wool over your eyes, little sister? You're a joke to him."

"Don't talk to her like that," I warn him. My blood boils; it's one thing to come at me—I can take it. But Oakley? That's crossing a line.

Royce's laughter dies in his throat, transforming into a low growl. "You've got some nerve, Blackwood."

He turns on me then, his every sinew alive with fury and something else—something wounded lurking beneath the surface of his rage. We stare each other down. "Stay away from my sister. "

"Like hell I will," I retort without missing a beat, fueled by anger and adrenaline. The fragile thread holding back my own aggression snaps. "She's just as much as part of my family as you are, you're just being a fucking dick right now."

He steps forward until we're practically breathing the same hostile air. "Everything's connected when you screw with my life." His fist clenches at his side like he's fighting every instinct to throw a punch.

I take a step forward, opening my mouth to speak, when suddenly that same fist flies toward me with the force of every accusation he's hurled. The punch lands square on my jaw, a sharp jolt that radiates through my skull.

"Royce!" Oakley cries out, but her voice is distant, drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

I taste copper on my tongue as I stagger back. Pain and anger mix together like venom in my veins. For a second—just one—I consider letting loose the fury building inside me.

In that heartbeat before chaos erupts, Oakley slips between us—her softness a stark contrast to our hard edges. "Stop it!" Tears streak down her cheeks as she pushes against Royce's chest. "This isn't you!"

Royce's gaze flickers from Oakley to me—the fire in his eyes giving way to confusion before he blinks it away.

He grabs Oakley by the arm, none too gently. "Get in the house," he orders gruffly.

"No," she defies him again, her spirit unyielding even while her voice cracks.

"Now!" Royce yells, dragging her behind him.

I lunge forward instinctively but stop dead as Royce pins me with a glare that could cut steel. "Leave it be, Blackwood." His words are a final warning—a line drawn deep in the sand between us.

"Look, Ashford," I try again, desperation creeping into my tone. "Whatever you think happened, didn't. We can figure out what the fuck is going on together, though."

"Together?" His laugh is sharp and cold. "You think some pretty words will fix this?"

"I think you're seeing red and not fucking thinking clearly," I counter, every muscle tensed, ready for whatever comes next.

Oakley wriggles free from his grasp and whirls on me; her blue eyes pools of turmoil as she mouths ‘sorry.'

"Rem?" Oakley's voice trembles slightly, pulling me back from the edge of rage. Her tears are silent as they carve tracks down her cheeks.

"I'm okay, bunny," I assure her, but my voice is thick with my own anger and hurt. She doesn't need to see how close I am to unraveling. How one fucking moment in time has just ended a friendship that was supposed to be thicker than blood.

I watch as my best fucking friend and the only girl a Blackwood gives a fuck about turn and walk up their wraparound porch and the blue front door closes behind them. A picturesque setting of the quintessential American home.

Heading back to my bike, I pull my phone out to check what the fuck is going on and why it's been ringing nonstop. Countless missed calls and unread messages show up in my notifications.

Exhaling harshly, I pick one to open. It's Lincoln—my brother who has never met a party he didn't love or a rule he didn't break—with dozens of frantic texts asking where I am and why I'm not answering him.

Linc

Jere, shit has gone sideways. It's Penn and Dad. Come home now.

The words send a shiver straight to my core, different from the sting still radiating off my jaw. I take one more look at the Ashford house and vow to myself to fucking tackle that issue tomorrow.

My brothers can't wait.

There is nothing more important in my world than a Blackwood brother and duty calls, even when all I want to do is check up on Oakley.