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Chapter

One

LUNA

M y life is controlled by one man: God.

It’s not the religious figure. It’s my own God. The man who speaks to me through the speakers in my lighthouse.

He brings me food. He talks to me at night. He tells me he loves me. He provides for me.

And yet I’ve never met him.

That’s all right. I have everything I could ever need.

My feet slide over the worn wood of the second floor of the lighthouse. I’ve spent my entire life alone in this lighthouse. I’ve never seen another human being. I know they exist from the few books I’ve read. God brings me the occasional book to read here and there. I always ask for more, but he usually denies me.

I wonder what it would be like to see another human. From the pictures I’ve seen, there are pretty people and ugly people. God tells me I’m very pretty.

My favorite thing to do in the lighthouse is to dance. I don’t have any music. That’s the one thing God will never allow me. He thinks music is crude. But I’ve read about it. I know that music makes people move, so I move.

I’m not sure if I’m dancing like the people I’ve read about. I really have no idea. I just let my body move in a way that feels normal. Natural.

My red hair whips into my face as I fling my body around. The wood is soft on my feet. I tend to dance in the same spot over and over again. It’s my comfort spot.

I spin so fast I get dizzy. Falling onto my bed, I laugh. The sound echoes through the lighthouse. I wonder what it would be like to hear another person laugh.

I’ve never heard God laugh.

A ring of the doorbell makes me get up. That’s the sign that God has brought me food. When I go down the spiral staircase and reach the bottom floor door, I find it unlocked. Sure enough, waiting for me in a basket is today’s food.

I look outside to see the ocean before me. It’s windy today, and my hair is whipped into a frenzy. God likes for my hair to be smooth, so I always make sure to comb it. I’ll have to comb it again because of the wind.

God doesn’t want me to leave the lighthouse. He’s told me all about the scary, terrible things that exist outside of it. How I would be hurt. I’ve never thought to leave when the door is unlocked to give me my food.

Except, deep down, there’s a tiny flicker inside me that wonders what I would do if I just ran. Right now. Right toward the ocean.

But then I shut the door, and it automatically locks behind me. I’ve tried opening the door myself, but I can’t. Once it’s locked, it stays locked. I’ve been stuck in here all my life.

I bring the basket of food over to my small table in the little kitchen. God has told me that it’s important for a woman to know how to cook. Since I’m eighteen now, he calls me a woman. I went from being a girl one day to a woman the next. I asked God about this, and he only told me it was because of my age.

But I don’t really feel any different being a year older.

I just feel like me.

The food today is chicken breast and broccoli. I get to work on cutting up the broccoli and sprinkling spices onto it.

A thought occurs to me as I cook. Who fed me when I was too young to cook? I’ve never known anything besides the lighthouse and God, but I don’t remember anyone caring for me when I was younger.

I finish cooking and sit down to eat, smoothing out my long skirt. It’s pink. My shirt is a white tank top. God has taught me what the different colors are. I know that the sky is blue and the grass is green. I only ever see them from my window or when I get the food, but for some reason, those colors feel the most important. The sky is blue. That thought steadies me, and I cut into the chicken breast and take a bite.

The sound of the intercom turns on, and God’s voice filters through the air. “How is your dinner tonight, Luna?”

“It’s delicious. Thank you for bringing it to me.” I take another bite. “But, God, I have a question. Where does the food come from?”

“You know, silly. It comes from me.” His voice is not exactly warm. There’s a smooth quality to it that I like, but sometimes, his voice can make me uncomfortable. I’m not even sure why.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He’s silent for a long moment. “Then what did you mean?”

“Where does it come from? I know this is chicken and broccoli, but what does that mean exactly?”

“Well, a chicken is a bird. People eat it. You eat it. And broccoli is a vegetable.”

I think back to all the times I’ve seen birds fly across my window. I shudder at the thought of eating them. “How can people eat this?” I whisper. “It’s an innocent animal.”

“It’s what I bring you, Luna. You will eat what I bring you.”

Properly scolded, I nod. “Yes, God. Thank you.” I know what will happen if I refuse to eat. He’ll let me go days without food. It’s happened before, and I don’t want it to happen again.

“God, I have another question.”

He sighs. “So many questions today. Why can’t we just chat? You’re eighteen now, Luna. You know what that means.”

It means I’ll soon meet God in person.

“I’ve been waiting for you to become an adult for years. I love you, my dear. My sweet Luna.”

I shift around in my seat. For some reason, I don’t like it when God tells me he loves me. It means I have to say it back, and I’m not sure I love him.

In one of my books, a man and a woman fall in love, and how love was described, I don’t think I have those feelings. I’m in awe of God. I want to meet him.

But he also scares me.

“Why have you waited to meet me until I turned eighteen?” The question is out before I can stop it.

He laughs. “Why would you ask me such a thing?”

“Because why does the number eighteen matter?”

“Because you’re an adult now, Luna.”

“But what does that mean?”

“Stop asking questions,” he snaps, and I flinch. It’s when he speaks to me like this that I get scared.

“Please,” I whisper. “Just explain it to me.”

After a long moment—during which I squirm in my seat, my heart beating faster—he finally speaks. “In our world, there are laws. A human legally becomes an adult when they turn eighteen. So, legally, you’re an adult now. Which means we can finally be together. You were made for me, Luna. Your body. Your mind. I will finally touch you. You will like it.”

“How do you know I’ll like it?” I’ve never felt the hands of another person on me. I’m curious to know what it’s like.

“I just know,” he says, sounding exasperated.

“Someone taught me to read. Someone fed me when I was little. Why do I not remember any of this?”

“Luna, I much prefer the days when you don’t ask me a million questions. Why can’t we just talk? I want you to tell me how your body is developing.”

“But you can see me.” I know God has cameras watching me. He’s told me so. It’s partially why I’ve never tried to run.

He would just see it, and he would find me.

“I know I can see you. But I want to know how your body is developing. Touch your breasts for me.”

I cup them both in my hands. “They’re lumps of fat.” I know this from one of my books.

“Luna, just cooperate. Are they firm?”

“I guess so.”

“They fill out your hands nicely.”

I look down at my hands on my breasts. I guess they do. God has asked me about my breasts before, and I never understood why. They’re just fat. They’re just my body.

Why is he so fascinated with my body?

I’m not even fascinated with my body. I have legs and arms and feet and hands. A face. Breasts. A vagina. I know this because I bleed once a month, and the blood comes from my vagina. It’s always uncomfortable. I cramp and get headaches, and the blood just keeps coming out of me until it suddenly stops.

God has given me soap to wash my body and lotion to put on my body and deodorant to use on my body to help with smells. I like smelling nice.

“I can’t wait to touch your breasts myself,” God says. There’s a trembling in his voice. He moans softly. I’ve asked him about it before, but he always deflects. What does God do when he speaks to me? Is he sitting down? Is he walking? Is he dancing?

I’ll never know because he never tells me.

I lower my hands from my breasts and rest them in my lap.

“I can’t wait to touch your pussy,” he says next.

I frown. “My pussy? What’s that?”

“That sweet spot between your legs.”

“Oh. My vagina.”

“Yes, sweet Luna. I will touch you there. I will claim you there. You will be officially mine.”

“But I don’t want to be claimed there.”

His moans suddenly stop, and the quiet makes me uneasy.

When he finally speaks, there’s an anger I’ve never heard before. “I will claim you, Luna. Why do you think I’ve kept you in this lighthouse your entire life? I was making you just for me. So, yes, I will take your virginity. I will make your body mine because you belong to me.”

“Don’t I belong to myself?”

“How can you ask that?” His voice is so loud as he yells the question that it makes the speaker squeak.

I lower myself deeper into my seat. “I’m sorry, God. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“But you have upset me, Luna. Just imagine this. You make someone into your perfect partner, and then they don’t want you. How would that make you feel?”

“Bad,” I whisper.

“Exactly. Bad. You made me feel bad, Luna. You are mine. I will claim you. And you will like it, and you will be grateful to me for making you mine. Because I have given you everything, haven’t I? I feed you, and I clothe you.”

“You do.”

“So, you should be grateful.”

“I am grateful.”

“Then you need to show it more. I will come tomorrow. We will meet for the first time, and then I will claim you. You will like it. You will love me for it.”

I nod once. “Yes, God. I understand.”

“Good. And when I arrive, you understand: You can’t leave the lighthouse. It’s a dangerous world out there. Men will want to hurt you. They will want to abuse you. They will hit you. They will rape you, Luna.”

“Rape?”

“When a man forces his cock into a woman without her consent.”

“ Into a woman?”

“In her vagina,” he snaps, sounding even more annoyed that he has to explain these things to me. I want to remind him that it’s not my fault I’m kept in this tower. But I know that saying those words won’t get me anywhere.

“That sounds horrible.”

“It is. But I’ll protect you from all of that. So, just be my sweet girl and wait patiently for me. Until tomorrow.” The intercom clicks off, and God is gone.

“Until tomorrow,” I repeat into the quiet of the lighthouse.

MAXIM

“All the guns are there,” Sal tells me, jumping out of the large van.

I nod at Nikolai Petrov—one of my Bratva business partners. “We’ll take the guns. Make a profit. You get a cut.”

Nikolai shakes my hand. “And I’ll do the same for you.” Once upon a time I tortured this man I’m now shaking hands with. How times have changed.

I motion for Sal to follow me over to our bikes, which are parked against the side of the abandoned warehouse. That tends to be where our deals go down. Nikolai had one of his men bring the guns to New York, and it’s our job to make sure everything is there.

Things have been going smoothly ever since Nikolai and I went into business together with another Bratva boss, Dimitri Ivanov. We’ve all been earning money, which in turn has made all of us happy. I know it’s made my men happy. When they have money, they can afford women and booze. While I don’t fuck with prostitutes, a lot of my men love to, and I’m not going to begrudge them that.

I straighten my leather cut. On the back is written, “The Knights.” That’s the name of my MC, and I’m the president. I’ve been the president for a couple of years now. I do a good job of keeping my men out of trouble.

Unlike our previous president, Lev. He was killed by Nikolai. We went to war, and now, we’ve made amends.

Thanks to me.

Nikolai drives off with the van full of guns following him while Sal and I ride toward our clubhouse. It’s in Queens because that was the cheapest place we could find after our previous clubhouse was blown up. Although it happened years ago, we still haven’t upgraded. We have the money to do so. I just haven’t bothered. It’s a nice enough place we have, and my men are happy.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on Tracy,” Sal says once we arrive at our clubhouse. It’s a shoddy building that leads straight into a bar. The upstairs is where a lot of the men sleep or fuck if the need arises. I have my own apartment, but I tend to spend more time at the clubhouse. It’s my home.

I hand my helmet to the prospect, Colin. He’s been with us for years now but still hasn’t made the cut to become a full Knight.

Colin nods and hurries outside to clean my bike. My Harley Davidson is the only true prized possession I have.

“You’re not gonna get your hands on Tracy,” I tell him, leaning against the bar. The bartender, Rose, slides me a beer with a smile. I give her a smile of my own. We’ve fucked occasionally, but it’s nothing serious. I’m riding a high, though, after the gun deal with Nikolai, and I could go for some pussy. Rose is always good in bed.

But it’s ultimately up to her. I have no desire to force a woman into my bed. And I’ve never needed to. It’s not because of my looks. It’s because I know how to treat a woman with respect. Compared to how a lot of the men in the MC treat women, I’m a breath of fresh air.

“Why not?” Sal asks as he slumps against the bar. “She’s hot. I wanna fuck her.”

“Tracy hasn’t given you the time of day ever. She’s not going to start now.” I sip my beer.

Rose comes over, throwing a rag over her shoulder. “You boys need anything else?” She’s attractive in a hardened way. She’s in her forties, but you’d never know with how much she works out. I’m only thirty-two, but already, I feel older than her. Even though we’re in a time of peace, a lot has happened over these past few years. Being president hasn’t given me much time to sleep.

“I need you, Rosey,” Sal says, eyeing her over.

She scoffs. “You’re never gonna get me, Sal.”

“Why? Because I’m not a pretty boy like Maxim?”

“Exactly,” she says flatly. “And I hate how you always stare at my tits. Maxim looks me in the eye. I appreciate that.”

I smile into my beer.

Sal’s jaw drops, making his double chin look more pronounced. “So, just because I appreciate your nice form, Rose, you think it’s sexual harassment?”

“I never said that. You did. And yes. I love you, Sal, but you’re never getting in my pants. And Maxim is right. You’re never getting into Tracy’s pants either.”

As if on cue, Tracy walks down the steps into the bar with Jasper behind her. Given their state of undress, it’s obvious what they were doing upstairs. Sal notices right away and turns red in the face.

“Tracy, how could you sleep with Jasper?”

Tracy, who’s a young, pretty blonde, laughs as she wraps her arms around Jasper’s shoulders. “Because Jasper’s hot.”

“Get to the gym, Sal,” Jasper says, smiling at Tracy before kissing her.

“Ugh,” Sal mutters, putting his head in his hands.

“It’s not all about looks,” I tell him.

“Easy for you to say. You look like a male model, Maxim, and everybody fucking knows it.”

I catch my appearance in the mirror behind the bar. Dark hair, stubble over a strong jaw, and blue eyes. Yeah, ok. I can admit it. I’m no ugly motherfucker. But I don’t obsess over looks like Sal does. I’m too focused on being president to deal with much else.

I pat Sal’s back. “Learn to talk to a woman without expecting sex. If you can do that, you’ll attract a lot more women.”

“But all I want from women is sex.”

“There’s your problem,” Rose says.

Sal groans and taps his head to the bar. “This is hopeless. Tracy is over there right now, flaunting her hot little body in front of me, and she doesn’t even see me.”

I shake my head and take another swallow of beer. Getting through to Sal is pointless. He never fucking learns.

A man enters the clubhouse. Instantly, he looks out of place in his suit. The clubhouse is a place for jeans and leather, not slacks and ties.

“You lost?” I ask him.

“Are you Maxim Baranov? President of the Knights?”

“I am.”

He walks over to me with his hand extended. “I’m Jack Clark. Businessman.”

Sal snorts. “Businessman? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Ignore him,” I say, shaking Jack’s hand. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve heard that your particular … MC is capable of retrieving stolen objects.”

“Like a robbery?” I shrug. “I mean, we’ve done shit like that in the past, but nowadays, we mostly deal in the gun trade.”

“That’s what I heard. But I didn’t know who else to go to. You see, there’s this prized possession I need brought to me, and I was hoping you’d be the man to help.”

“What’s the possession?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Never mind on that right now. I can offer you a hundred grand to do this.”

An extra hundred grand is never a bad thing, but … “Is this a dangerous mission?”

“No. It’s relatively easy.”

I run my hand down my face. “Listen, if you want me to steal something for you, you have to offer me more money. I don’t want to put my men at risk for just anything. Because even though you say it’s relatively easy, that means it’s never easy. Something always goes wrong. So, if you want me to retrieve … what was it again?”

“Something worth hundreds of dollars. A statue.”

“A statue,” I state.

“Yes.”

“And you can’t get this yourself?”

“No. I need a team of men to retrieve this … statue for me, and I think the Knights are capable. At least what I’ve been told about you.”

“Fine. We can get a statue for you. But it’s going to cost five hundred grand.” I can put that money aside to really help the club.

Jack’s eyes widen as he rubs the back of his neck. “Well, you see …”

I turn away from him. “If you don’t have the money, then?—”

“No! I do. I can get it for you.”

“First half upfront. Second upon completion. Sounds fair.”

“That’s fair.” Jack nods and extends his hand again. “We have a deal.” We shake on it. “I’ll call you with the details. Thank you so much.” He quickly leaves.

“We’re really going to go steal some statue for that fucker?” Sal asks.

“If it gives us easy money, then I’m all game. But I’m going to look into Jack Clark first. Can never be too careful.”

Turns out, there’s nothing sketchy about Jack Clark at all. In all honesty, I’m more of a criminal than he is. So, I call Jack and tell him we’re on, and he gives me the address of the statue.

It’s on the coast a couple of hours away from New York. I bring Sal, Jasper, and Colin with me. Jasper is a good shot. Colin needs to learn. And Sal needs to be kept away from Tracy before he does something stupid.

I leave the clubhouse in good hands with Lucas, the vice president.

It’s a long drive, but we arrive in the afternoon. At least it’s a beautiful day.

I’m confused when we arrive at the address Jack gave me. It’s a lighthouse.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Sal grumbles.

“To steal a statue, dumbass,” Jasper retorts.

“Both of you, shut up,” I growl.

Colin raises his hand. “Um, sir?”

I sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you, Colin, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ You can just call me Maxim or Prez.”

“Right.” He nods, making his wispy blond hair float in the air. The wind is strong by the ocean. “Can I be honest? Something doesn’t feel right.”

I stare up at the imposing lighthouse. It’s white and black. A typical lighthouse. Nothing special. But Colin is right. There’s something ominous about it.

“I’m not sure we should go in there,” he continues.

“Scared baby?” Sal asks.

I give Sal a look. “Stop taunting Colin. I agree with him. Something isn’t right.” I dial Jack’s number, and he answers after several rings. “You said we’re here to steal a statue, correct?”

“That’s correct. A prized possession. The statue looks like a … girl. Bring me her to me, and I’ll pay you the rest of the money.”

“And it’s at a lighthouse?”

“That is correct.”

I shrug and hang up. “Jack says this is the right place. Have your guns ready, just in case. Come on. Let’s go in.” After sliding off my bike, I slowly walk up to the lighthouse. My men follow right behind.

I try the door handle, but it’s locked. Not surprising. “Stand back.” They do as I say as I line up my gun to the door handle. Then I fire.

The lock breaks from the force of the bullet, and I push the door open. It’s dark inside. That’s the first thing I notice. The second thing I notice is the food on the table in a small kitchen in the corner. Someone lives here.

I point to the food, and all of them nod in understanding.

I take in the room, but there’s no statue I can see. Upstairs. I hear a creak. I put my fingers to my lips, telling my men to be silent.

Then I take the stairs slowly, but my footsteps creak. There’s no getting past that.

I reach the top of the stairs and find I’m in a small bedroom. A bed is pushed into the corner of the room. A rack of clothes—feminine clothes—stands on the other side of the room.

And on the bed, huddled in a blanket, is a young woman.

She looks up at me with wide eyes. “God?”