Page 3

I pull my truck into the edge of Main Street, tires crunching the gravel, and just sit there for a minute.

Hell. The sign actually says Hell now.

Someone spray-painted it in thick red letters right over “Welcome to Paradise.” The wooden board’s still splintered where I remember James running into it with Daddy’s truck when we were kids. But now it’s weathered and worn, the red dripping like blood.

Swear the town even smells different. Less like honeysuckle and horse feed, more like burnt rubber and cheap tobacco.

I swallow hard and push open the truck door.

The second my boots hit gravel, I feel it.

Vibration in the ground. Rumble in the air.

And then I hear it. The roar of engines. Low. Menacing. Coming straight down Main like a goddamn parade from hell.

Four motorcycles roll by first. Then ten. Then at least twenty. Chrome gleaming. Leather cuts flapping. That logo stitched on every back, Kings of Anarchy MC, Kentucky, complete with a crowned skull bandit with an anarchy symbol between its eyes. It turns my stomach.

The last few bikes slow up at the square, the courthouse, and the tiny memorial garden Mama and I planted when Grandma June passed.

It’s still there.

Or… was.

I storm toward the edge of the brick walk.

They tore it up.

Trampled pansies and black-eyed Susans, broken garden stakes. The rosebush we transplanted originally from Grandma’s wedding bouquet is half crushed beneath tire tracks. There’s a goddamn boot print in the mulch. They rode through it.

And in the middle of it all. Him.

Hudson.

He leans against his Harley like he doesn’t have a care in the world, arm flexed as he takes a pull from a mason jar. His cut’s open at the front, sun glinting off the chain around his neck. He’s bigger now. Broader. Ink crawling up his arms. A horse and roses. Roses, just like the ones he stomped.

And when he looks up, that cocky smirk almost makes me forget I’m furious.

Almost.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I bark, shoving past a scrawny prospect with a nose ring and a face tattoo.

He looks right at me.

He tilts his head, dragging his gaze down my jeans, my blouse, the fire in my face. “Horse Princess returns.”

“Don’t you dare,” I snap.

“See you’re still a midget,” he laughs, towering over me.

“Am not. I’m four eleven.”

“She’s fun sized,” he quips, and winks at his friend, poking fun at me.

“That garden. Those flowers. You destroyed them. ”

He squints over at the mess. “Ain’t like we set fire to it, Horse Princess. Just a little dirt.”

“That dirt was for my grandmother. You know that.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t see a fence.”

“You shouldn’t have been here at all. ” My voice cracks like a whip. “This is Paradise . You don’t belong here.”

He straightens slowly, steps off his bike with that heavy, predatory grace. The patch on his chest reads “LEGEND,” bold white block letters over black leather. His boots chomp the dirt as he closes the space between us.

“It’s not yours anymore, Sophie,” he says low. “That abandoned stretch past the rail line? All those foreclosed shops? That’s King's territory now.”

“You take over the strip mall, too?” I scoff.

He leans in, just enough that I catch the scent of gasoline, shine, and something illegal. “We raised Hell ,” he whispers. “Folks don’t like it. We give ‘em Hell.”

I clench my fists. My whole body shakes. “You don’t scare me.”

He grins. “Liar.”

“Don’t come near me again.” I poke a finger at his chest, jabbing it hard enough to rock him back a step. “Don’t come near my father. Don’t come near the farm. You better not show your face around Paradise Falls again.”

Something shifts in his face. Not fear. Not shame. Just a flicker of something darker. “You think you can still boss me around, Montgomery?”

“No,” I hiss. “I know I can.”

He studies me a moment before he barks, “Nobody fucks with the Kings.”

“You mean no one wants to fuck you?” I bite back.

“You begged me to take you with me last summer, remember that? If I had, you would’ve been mine that night, legs wide open. But I left you behind, 'cause I didn’t need some high-and-mighty little princess thinkin’ she could own me.”

His words hit too close to home. My words stumble. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t ruin my life.”

Then, like I don’t matter at all, he flicks his cigarette butt into my grandma’s memorial, turns and throws a leg over his Harley.

The engine roars to life.

Over the thunder, he calls, “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble one day, Princess.”

“Try me,” I snap.

And then he’s gone, tires peeling over the graveled road like he owns it.

James comes running up, red-faced and breathless. “What the hell was that ?”

“That,” I say, staring after the smoke trail. “Was a warning.”

“His daddy, Legendary Mike, is back in town. Stirring up trouble,” James says and mutters something about calling our daddy, but I don’t hear him.

Because my chest is a war zone.

And I don’t know if I’m more furious that Hudson is gone…

Or more heartbroken that Legend is what’s left.