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Sophie don’t come back.

She don’t call. Don’t text. Nothing.

I wait. One day. Two. She ain't ghostin’ me, she’s buryin’ me.

And the fucked-up part? I didn’t do a goddamn thing wrong.

Them panties weren’t mine. Weren’t hers either. Becki left ’em there on purpose. I know it like I know the feel of Sophie’s skin under my hands. Becki meant to blow the whole damn thing up.

But I ain’t chasin’ Sophie. She ruined that by showing her ass to the club, literally. I’m the Prez, and my woman better come back to me on her knees.

I already did the stupid noble bullshit, gave her up once to keep her safe.

I got nothing left to prove. Hell, cops already warned us to keep our patch-wearing asses away from Paradise Falls.

I’m still under the fuckin’ microscope for her kidnapping.

Like I’d sell her out to some cartel scum. Like I could ever let someone hurt her.

So, I do what I do.

Run Hell.

Ride out with the boys, like old times, and it feels good.

The breeze in my hair. The rumble of the road under me.

I shake down a supplier skimming off the top.

Meet with a local judge who owes the Kings favors.

Help Lex haul crates for the food bank, try to feel useful. Try to feel anything but hollow.

But my bed still smells like her.

Next morning, I’m halfway through a cigarette and a bottle of bourbon when I can’t take it anymore. I toss the glass across the fuckin’ room. Don’t even flinch when it shatters. I had her. I fuckin’ had her. And now?

Now I got jack shit.

So, I ride some more.

I burn through the back roads like the wind’ll take the pain with it. Then I circle around and head right next door. Pull up at Paradise Falls, already braced for trouble. Got my cut on, gun loaded, heart open and bleeding.

James answers the door.

Of course, he fuckin’ does.

Dressed to the nines already, he looks me up and down like I’m dog shit tracked across their silk rug. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Not here for you,” I grunt.

“Sophie doesn’t want to see you. Told me herself.”

“Yeah?” I shove my way past him anyway. “She can tell me to my face.”

“She’s with our father.” James follows me up the stairs. “You remember him? The man who built all this while you were out running drugs for the Dixie mafia.”

I stop at the top, turn slow. “Dixie mafia? You tellin tall tales.”

“You’re into illegal shit. I’ve seen the evidence.”

“You gonna call the cops on me again, James? Like you did ten years ago?”

“I’m glad they locked you up. You would’ve ruined Sophies life.”

“You done spittin’ your judgment? Or you wanna throw a Bible verse at me too?”

He glares. “She said you left bruises on her.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Her wrists. Rope burns. You think you can play rough with a girl like Sophie and still get to be her hero? When dad dies, she’ll become one of the richest women in the state. She’s not some club whore, Legend.”

My mouth sets in a grim line. I think of the way I bound her hands. Not to hurt. To claim. The way she begged me to. But the image’s twisted now. Tarnished by his accusations.

“Don’t show your face around here again,” James says.

I shove the door open anyway.

And there she is.

Sophie. Sitting by the hospital bed, hand in her daddy’s. His eyes are open, alive, and full of a world I was never meant to belong to.

She looks up. And I know. Before she even says it.

“We can’t do this,” she says softly. “It won’t work.”

I step inside. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Her voice wavers. “I have to run the farm. Carry his name. Secure the future he sacrificed everything for. I can’t tie myself to a club that’s knee-deep in illegal deals.”

“Sophie…”

“What I found in your room…”

“I told you that was planted,” I say, not spilling our business in front of her father.

“You humiliated me,” she whispers, hard, fighting tears. “Tying me up. Claiming me in front of them like I was a prize in a damn bar fight.”

I flinch. That was supposed to be power. Not shame.

“Keep your bikers away from my property,” she says, voice shaking. “Please.”

I nod once. There ain’t no fight left in me. Not when she looks at me like that. Like she’s hurt. And I’m the one that hurt her.

I turn to go.

As I step outside, Sam Worthington’s on the porch, bouquet of flowers in his hand, fake charm in his smirk. "For the old man," he says.

I don’t say a word.

I just walk back to my bike, fire her up, and ride away.

This time?

I don’t look back.