Page 49

I swear off women.

Every last one of them.

After Sophie rips my goddamn heart out and leaves it on the hardwood floor of Paradise Falls, I tell myself I’m done.

Cold turkey. No more softness, no more chasin’ dreams that don’t belong to me.

I’m an anarchist, president of a one-percenter outlaw club, and I need to start fuckin’ acting like it again.

But fuck if it don’t gut me.

Weeks bleed into months, and I throw myself into the only thing I could still control, the Kings.

I ride hard, drink harder. Run guns through the back roads of Kentucky like the devil’s on my tail.

But no matter how many deals I close or how many miles I put between me and her, Sophie still haunts me.

Every turn of my bike, every echo of her laugh, every goddamn reminder of horses and horse racin’, which is fuckin’ everywhere in the great state of Kentucky, is like an ad with her face attached.

It makes me want to lose it.

The boys notice.

"You're pissin' vinegar, Prez," Oaks says one night at the club, cracking open a beer as I sit silent at the bar. "You used to throw chairs. You’ve not been in the ring. Now you just sit there brooding like some mean... I don’t even know what to call it. Gonna start callin’ ya’ Royal. You’ve gone all dark and gloomy. "

Darla chimes in, laughin’. “He’s like a black Care Bear with a sad bottle of bourbon on his tummy. Daddy Drinks A Lot Bear.”

Royal calls from the corner, flipping his knife between fingers. "Heard Becki's back on the leash. Shouldn't she be keepin' you warm at night, or is she just here to start fights again?"

"Shut the fuck up," I snap.

But they were right. Becki had slithered back into the fold like smoke.

I'd been too numb to care, too angry to stop her. She brought some damn good weed, her family’s famous moonshine, and easy pussy for my brothers.

Said she missed me, said we could get back to how things used to be.

I told her to fuck off more than once, but the truth is, I didn’t shove her out the Lockup’s door either.

Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m weak.

Maybe I just need to feel something again, taste it, even if it’s poison.

The night I let Becki back into my bed, I ain’t drunk. I ain’t high.

I’m just hollow.

The Kings is throwing one of our typical Friday bashes, music loud enough to shake the paint off the walls, girls grinding on pool tables, the stank of weed thick in the air. Bourbon flows like water. Laughter cracks like lightning.

I’m sitting on my stool at The Lockup, half-watching, half-waiting for something to pull me out of my skin.

She walks in wearing nothing but a leather vest and cutoffs so small they make every brother in the room forget what he was saying. She has no "Property of Legend" patch, but she still looks at me like I’m the king of her fucked-up world.

"You wanna keep punishing me," Becki says, sidling up beside me, brushing her fingers over my crotch. "Or you wanna remember what it felt like to own something?"

I stare at her for a long beat.

Then I stand.

She follows me to the back like a lamb to slaughter.

I don’t kiss her.

Don’t whisper sweet nothings.

I fuck her hard and fast, the way an empty man does, and leave her asleep in my bed while I go to the couch out in the club.

Next morning, I’m straight back in my room. Becki’s still there, warm and wet, so I’m in her again when Sophie comes callin’.

Fuck. The look on her face rips me open and stabs my heart.

But I don’t even chase after her. Caught in the act. It’s no use. I do wonder if I’d just held out a bit longer if she’d have told me she wanted me back.

Chance is gone now.

That night, I drown my sorrows. I find a different club bunny to bury my heartache and my dick.

Night after that? Another.

And the boys stop looking at me like I’m a pussy.

Back to my old self, I’m in the garage, wrench in hand, under Whip’s old Triumph when Lottie burst in, breathless, phone clutched in her grip like it’s a live wire.

"You seen this shit?"

I wipe my hands and take the phone.

Sophie.

Diamond on her finger, Sam Worthington standing beside her like he’d been born with a stick up his ass and a six-figure smug grin.

"Congratulations to the future Mrs. Worthington," the caption read.

My heart fuckin’ stops.

Then it fucking’ detonates.

I throw her phone across the garage, shattering it against the wall.

Oaks looks up from the barbell bench. "Whose neck am I breakin’, brother?"

"Get the bikes ready. We’re riding to Paradise Falls."

I don’t knock.

Don’t call.

Don’t wait for a goddamn invite.

The engagement party is in full swing. White tents. String lights. A damn jazz quartet. Waiters with silver trays and bow ties. A cocktail bar shaped like a bourbon barrel. I hate all of it.

And then I see her.

Sophie.

Glowing.

Fake.

Laughing with that PR bastard like he hadn’t just stolen my world out from under me.

I stalk across the lawn like a storm made flesh, cut through the crowd, and shout her name.

"SOPHIE!"

The music stutters. People gasp. Sam turns.

She does too.

Eyes wide.

Mouth parted.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks, voice tight and high.

"Telling you I love you."

A ripple of whispers tears through the crowd.

"You can’t do this," she hisses.

"I just did."

Sam steps forward. "You need to leave."

"Not before she knows the truth. I never stopped loving you, Sophie. Not for a second."

Her hands shake around her wine glass. Her eyes well. From anger, from sorrow. I don’t know and I don’t give a damn.

"Why now?" she barks. "Why come here now?"

"Because you’re my Horse Princess. And I don’t care if this whole goddamn town hates me, I needed you to know."

She looks away.

I turn.

I’m halfway out the goddamn entrance when that polished prick opens his goddamn mouth.

“Always nice when the trash takes itself out,” Sam Worthington says behind me, real slick-like. “No wonder she chose peace over... Hel… Heck.”

I stop cold.

Laughter from the other guests fades to whispers. I don’t turn around right away. I just stare at the archway like it’s the only thing holdin’ me back from murder.

Then I pivot, slow.

He’s standin’ by the punch bowl, one arm still around Sophie like he wants to mark her in front of me. She’s stiff beside him. Her eyes don’t meet mine.

I give her a look. One last time.

She turns her head.

That’s all I need.

I close the distance in three strides, fists ready, the roar in my ears.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say to me, rich boy?” I growl.

Sam’s smile doesn’t move. But his hand on Sophie’s waist tightens, like he’s makin’ a point.

But she steps away from him. Leavin’ him alone with me.

“Yeah,” he says. “I said she don’t want to be queen of your doublewide trailer. And I don't blame her. She outgrew your brand of crazy, Legend.”

“What did you just say about me?”

“What we all know. The monster Sophie said she saw?” He laughs at her. “The only monster in these parts is you and your kind.”

I hit him.

Hard.

My fist smashes into that arrogant jaw of his with a crack so loud it silences the whole fuckin’ party. Glasses clink. Somebody shrieks. He staggers backward, slams into the table, and the fancy-ass engagement cake tilts, lands frosting-first into his chest.

He don’t get up right away.

I step over him, lean down real low. Grab a piece of the cake off his suit and take a bite.

“You don’t talk about her like that. Not now. Not ever.”

He groans, blood at the corner of his mouth.

I straighten, shoulders rollin’.

Then I turn to Sophie.

She’s pale. Shakin’. But her eyes burn when they meet mine.

“I told you I’d always love you,” I say. “That don’t change.”

I lick the cake from my fingers. “This is some damn good cake,” I say to the crowd. Trying to lighten the mood a bit.

And then I walk out.

Leave that whole fuckin’ room with their fancy clothes and their fake-ass smiles behind. Let ’em whisper. Let ’em call me a monster.

They’re half right.

But I only bite when pushed. And that son of a bitch just begged for teeth.