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PROLOGUE: ATOM

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

S weat trickles down my temples and the side of my neck as I check the hay to see if it’s ready for baling. I lift my Stetson and wipe my forehead with the blue-and-white bandana before stuffing it back in the rear pocket of my jeans.

You gotta measure and monitor the moisture content for four days before baling. My grandpa taught me that lesson when I was old enough to follow him around the Oakum Ridge Ranch that has been in my family for over a hundred years.

He also quotes Marcus Aurelius.

A lot.

Accept the things to which fate binds you.

He says that one all the time. Through bad winters or wet summers. When the hay goes moldy or wild animals kill expensive cattle.

As I look towards the mountains, I consider the difference between fate and destiny.

Some people think they’re opposites.

Fate can’t be fucked with. It’s predetermined before you’re even a twinkle in your old man’s eyes.

Destiny, on the other hand, is the sum of all the twists and turns and decisions you make in life.

But as I look out over land that will eventually be mine one day, I don’t really care whether it was destiny or fate or free will that brought me here.

The truth is, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

I’m only twenty-five, but I already oversee the majority of the ranch because my father likes giving orders and has no concept of a hard day’s graft. And I’m a patched-in member of the Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club that has a clubhouse on a small corner of the acres we own.

The relationship between the ranch and club dates to the founding of the Outlaws, and a time in ranching history when your land wasn’t your own if you couldn’t protect it. The club needed a safe place to carry out their business, the ranch gained built-in protectors.

My grandpa’s road name was Breaker. Back in the day, there wasn’t a man alive who could stand up to Grandpa’s style of interrogation. In contrast, my father got his road name, Wheeler, because he was a schemer, a wheeler-dealer who always had some scheme on the go to make a fast buck. Always hustling rather than working.

When I have more say in the long-term strategy for the ranch, I want to propose we combine the two more. We have land we can grow more weed in without prying eyes. We can launder money through the ranch in return for a fee. But I’m worried about my dad’s ambitions. The man sees cash everywhere he looks.

I’ve got a strong suspicion he’s hankering for a different kind of life.

Flashy trips. Flashier car. A life outside this slice of heaven in Colorado.

He doesn’t know this, but I saw him two weeks ago at a resort across town when I did a weed drop-off for the club. He was sipping whiskey with men I didn’t know but heard mention they were some of the biggest developers in the country.

Technically, he’s a member of the motorcycle club, like Grandpa and me. But I don’t feel like his heart was ever truly in it. Or maybe it was twenty years ago, but it’s not now.

All he wants is money.

The hay is bone dry, zero moisture, ready for baling, which means tomorrow will be hard work. But there’s something rewarding about earning an ice-cold beer at the end of the day.

I feel the thud of horseshoes on the parched dirt alongside the field before I see the horse.

Lemmy, a dark bay Holsteiner, lives in our stables, though he isn’t ours. I take him out for a ride every now and then. But he’s a thing of beauty when he’s ridden by his owner.

The strawberry-blonde hair that flies behind the rider can only mean one thing: she’s back.

Ember Deeks is home from college for the summer.

And I can tell that she missed Lemmy as much as he missed her.

They practically soar when they jump to clear a fallen tree stump, moving in such synchronicity that it’s sheer perfection.

I raise my hand and watch as Ember brings Lemmy around and trots along the edge of the fence. Once there, she dismounts in a way that gives me a view of that perfect peach of an ass clad in tight denim. Even in her well-worn riding boots and a faded T-shirt, she’s a fucking picture.

She’s self-conscious about her curves, but I love them, her thick thighs and generous tits that would spill out of any man’s hands.

And she’s utterly off-limits. The president of the Iron Outlaws Colorado chapter is her father, Nolan “Butcher” Deeks. A man with little patience and an iron-clad promise that he’ll chop the hands off any biker who touches his twenty-two-year-old daughter.

She ties off Lemmy to the gate post, then walks towards me, the late-afternoon sunshine behind her, casting a halo through her hair. The number of times I’ve wished I could run my fingers through those silky strands to see if they’re as soft as I imagine.

“Hudson Addams,” she says in that throaty rasp of hers that’s guaranteed to make my cock pay attention. “I should have known I’d find you out in the pasture on a day like today.”

I force myself to not stare into those wide eyes of hers that split the difference between gray and blue.

“And one day, you’ll remember it’s Atom now,” I say, trying to create distance with my words as she closes the gap between us. In the past five years, my whole identity has shifted. I went from being a fourth-generation rancher in line for custodianship to being a prospect biker. Even though my grandpa and dad were bikers before me, it didn’t make the path any easier. You become an Outlaw based on merit. And I’m the first enforcer in our family. In the club, I stand for myself. “You just get home?”

“First, I’ve known you as Hudson a lot longer than I’ve known you as Atom. Second, I’m not a biker, so I don’t need to call you by your road name. And third, yeah. It was nice to go to the Hamptons for a little while with Chloe after school finished, but to be honest, I was bored shitless.”

I smile at that. Ember has always been definitive about what she likes and doesn’t. She’s not a big shopper because she hates crowds. Her face is free of makeup, revealing freckles that get stronger every summer, because she hates the feel of it on her skin. And loves nothing more than camping out down by the river.

The girl is happier in a sleeping bag and tent than high-end silk in a fancy hotel.

“Thought you’d gone to the beach.”

She rolls her eyes. “I did. But the beach is boring if all you do is lie around in a bikini on towels and try to spot cute men. I read three books, swam every day, and endured more sand in private creases than any woman should ever have to.” Her nose crinkles in disgust.

I try not to think about how good her tits probably looked in that bikini. Even better than that fitted T-shirt she’s wearing right now for sure, which is saying a lot because it reveals an inch of skin above her denim.

“Sounds fucking awful,” I say, sarcastically. Can’t remember the last day I had a true vacation beyond the annual trip to Sturgis for the bike festival. Even that feels like work sometimes. My responsibilities to the ranch and the club don’t leave much time for anything else.

She sticks her tongue out. “I probably sound ungrateful.”

“You sound very you, Ember.”

“Plus, I missed this place.” She opens her arms wide and twirls in the pasture. “No sand. No pretense. Just good old-fashioned clean air, wide-open spaces. And only one good-looking man.”

I raise an eyebrow in warning at her flirting and tip my chin in the direction of Lemmy as a distraction. “He missed you. I took him out a few times, but he doesn’t enjoy himself as much when it’s not you riding him.” I grab my water bottle and take a large gulp. Can’t decide if it’s this arid air or the woman standing in front of me making my mouth dry.

She flicks her hair over her shoulder, dramatically. “He has good taste. Wouldn’t you like me riding you best too?”

When I cough and splutter and choke on the water, she laughs, the sound of it fluttering through the air as if it has wings.

The laughter lights up her face, all the way to the corners of her eyes. “I love teasing you, Hudson.”

“Well, please don’t. If you do it again, I might have a heart attack. And if I don’t die from that, your dad will make sure he puts an end to me. So, for both our sakes, don’t.” The final word comes out a little firmer than I intended it to.

Because I’ve never been more conflicted.

When Ember was young, we’d hang out together at clubhouse events. And as soon as Lemmy moved into our stables, I’d see her every day.

It was impossible to miss the way she loved that horse. But it was more than that. She respects the land. Laughs too loudly at jokes. And while it’s a cliche, her smile makes everything better.

She’s intelligent, hardworking, and never minded getting her hands dirty.

But in a world where my opinion has previously counted for little, where I’m the younger brother to three sisters who know I’ll inherit the ranch just because I’m male, where my father’s style of communication is a one-way flow of orders, Ember listens to me.

Becoming an Outlaw was one of my happiest days, until Butcher took me to one side and made it crystal clear his daughter wasn’t for me. And it was easier to uphold that when she went to college.

But she went away to college a girl, and she’s come home a woman.

A woman I could see myself building a life with. If she were anyone else’s daughter, I’d fight for a chance to make it happen because we love so many of the same things. Have since we were kids growing up in the shadow of the club.

But, unless I’m no longer an Outlaw, something I’ve dreamed about being my whole life, I can’t be the man for her. And in no world would I ever be worthy of Ember.

It doesn’t matter how you define destiny and fate.

Ember Deeks can’t be mine.

I hate the hurt I put in her eyes, but every summer she comes home a little braver. A lingering glance here, a soft touch that warms every part of me there. And I’ve been stupid, welcoming it, knowing it can never flourish into what both of us want. “Sorry, Ember. But I think we need some new ground rules.”

Her plump pink lips pout, and it takes everything I am to not step over to her and kiss the damn pout right off her mouth. “What rules?”

“This.” I gesture between the two of us. “You know it can’t lead anywhere, right?”

She steps forward, taking both my hands in hers, and foolishly I let her. “Hear me out, Hudson. What if we tried? What if we talked to Dad together? We could ask your dad to help us. I’m not asking for forever, Hudson. I just…” She blows out a breath, then returns her gaze to mine. “We’ve danced around this whenever I’ve been home. I just want you to take me on a date. Away from here and the club and the world you’re part of. Take me dancing or take me to dinner. Even better, take me camping, and we’ll cook steaks on an open fire and listen for the nightjars.”

I allow myself a moment to see the world she’s creating for us. We’d ride out, sleep without a tent, and perhaps even fall in love beneath the stars. There’s a small piece of property I love that I’ve already considered asking Grandpa if I can buy from him. It’s out by the river, deep in the middle of our land, and would make the perfect spot for her dream.

Then I take a hammer to it.

“We can’t, Ember.”

“We can. Dad might take some talking around, but we could ask some of the?—”

“I don’t think of you like that, Em.” The words stick to my throat in a jumble of letters that don’t want to be spoken. “You’re just a friend. Sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.” The lie forces its way out, clawing and scratching to the surface.

Not sure I’ve ever seen a person deflate quite the way Ember does. Her shoulders drop, lines of confusion appearing on the bridge of her nose. There’s hurt in her eyes and the glassy sheen of tears.

Twenty words have detonated anything we could have been.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry.” She backs away, then turns on the heel of her boot.

“No, Ember. It’s…”

The words hang.

It’s what?

It’s not like that.

It’s not what I meant.

It’s more than I deserve.

I want to console her and tell her I don’t mean a word of it. I want her to look to me to comfort her. I want to be the man who holds her close, who assures her I won’t let anyone hurt her.

“Ember,” I shout when she reaches her horse. But she doesn’t turn back.

She mounts Lemmy, and whatever instruction she gives makes him take off like he just heard lightning. Dust kicks up behind him as he races out of sight.

I know how he feels. Because Ember Deeks just offered me her heart, and breaking it broke mine too.