Chapter One
Justice
The engine growls beneath me, low and steady.
Midnight air slaps my face as I tear down the coast road, throttle wide open.
The faster I go, the quieter the noise in my head gets, and somehow, that’s the point.
Drown it all out. The images, the memory of a woman with blood on her skin and defiance in her eyes.
Jet.
She wasn’t supposed to matter. None of them were. We were there to get in, kill as many of the other MC as possible and burn the place to the damn ground.
But Jet was there with the other women, caged like animals, used like whores. Even half-dead, she helped the others escape before looking out for herself. Broken, yes, but the spark in her eyes said not beaten.
Now that spark’s burned into my skull.
Twisting the throttle harder, the asphalt blurs beneath me, lights smear into streaks, and the roar of the bike drowns the echo of her soft voice. Sure, it shook with fear, but she has a proud streak.
Most of the women we saved never looked us in the eye. Jet did. And fuck me if I didn’t feel it like a punch to the gut.
By the time the compound gates appear, the engine rumble is down to a purr. Laughter spills from the clubhouse, music, the clink of bottles, voices of my brothers celebrating the end of another dirty job. They deserve it. We all do.
But me? I’m wired wrong tonight.
I park, swing my leg over, and stride for the clubhouse doors. Heat, noise and whiskey hit me all at once. Creed’s got his arm around his woman, Reaper’s grinning at some joke, Highway’s halfway to drunk. Normal night for the Bastards.
They nod when they see me, but I head straight for the bar.
“Beer,” I grunt.
The prospect behind it doesn’t ask questions. He slides me a cold one, and I drop onto the stool at the end of the counter. I don’t join in. Don’t talk. Just watch the bubbles rise and pop, one after another, until they disappear, the same as my peace of mind.
My brothers are celebrating, and so should I. Another successful takedown. Women freed. Enemies crushed. But instead, I see her face every time I blink.
Jet.
The girl who refused to die.
The girl who’s got no business taking up space in my head.
I drain the bottle, motion for another, and tell myself I’ve got no business even thinking about the woman. She’s broken, and I’m known as a player. I’m the farthest from stable. Jet needs stable, and that ain’t me.
But even as I lie to myself, I know the truth.
Something about Jet got under my skin.
And I’ve got no idea how the hell to cut her out.