Chapter 1
SOLANA
TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS LATER…
I wake in a dark room with no idea where I am or how I got here.
A small moan slips out of me as I sit up and the room instantly spins. The walls feel like they’re moving despite the fact that I’m sitting still.
Everything’s dark, shrouded in shadows. It makes my head ache even more as I rub a hand over my face and try hard to think about what’s going on.
It’s all so… fuzzy.
I’m so… woozy.
My throat’s dry. My head’s pounding. My stomach’s unsettled, churning like waves crashing at sea. I’m pretty sure if I move too quickly I’ll vomit on myself.
I drop my hand from my face and glance down. The thick comforter I’m wrapped up in, the mattress I’m lying on, the dark shape of the footboard in front of me… I’m in bed.
But not my own bed.
Not the bed at Uncle Eddie’s house. The same bed I’ve had since I was fourteen and he and Dad finally upgraded me from the tiny twin I’d had as a little girl.
Nope, I’m in someone else’s bed. Someone else’s room.
And I’m naked.
It dawns on me as I shrug off the blanket and the cool air in the room rushes my bare chest. A strangled gasp catches in my throat, and I snatch the comforter back up to cover myself.
Last night I’d gone out with Shay and Yvette. We’d used fake IDs to get into the only worthwhile club in Wheaton and met up with two guys we knew from school, Kel and Spencer. The fake IDs worked like a charm.
We were let in, given drinks at the bar, then danced for hours.
Vague memories of me giggling in the women’s bathroom float to mind.
I was fixing my lipstick and then became besties with some girl who was in there and complimented my dress.
We swore we’d keep in touch and meet up for coffee, but were so tipsy we forgot to exchange numbers or social media handles.
Then I’d… gone back to the dance floor.
Kel hooked his arm around my waist and started grinding against me.
It had been so hot, so stuffy in that club with the flashing lights and packs of people. I wanted water, but the bar counter had been so far away and Kel and I were really vibing.
That’s when it hits me, and I gasp a second time.
I glance over at my side and realize I’m not alone. There’s someone passed out next to me, turned on their side, facing the other way.
It’s Kel. I’m in his bed and he’s the person sleeping beside me.
I’m naked, waking up after I’d drank and partied so much last night that I don’t even remember what the hell happened. Does that mean that we…?
No. Nonononono!
I scream the word over and over again in my head, panic like a bomb exploding from the inside out. Grabbing at his arm, I desperately tug on him, hoping to wake him up.
“Kel,” I rasp in a voice hoarse from lack of water and too much alcohol and partying. “Kel… wake… up… Kel…”
He snorts between the deep breaths he’s drawing, then swats at my hand and mumbles something I can’t even make out. It sounds like the words stop and sleep mushed together. I tug harder, calling his name.
“Go back…” he mumbles. “Stop it… go to sleep…”
“Kel,” I whine, then pull on his arm. “Kel, what happened? What am I doing here? I need to go home—ow!”
He shoves at me, knocking me backward on the bed, breaking my hold on his arm. I tumble toward the edge, even more twisted up in the comforter.
He’s back to sleep like nothing, breathing loudly, the occasional snore the only sound in the quiet, dark room.
But I can’t just let this go. I can’t go back to sleep when I’ve woken up naked and confused. I can’t even remember what happened after the club. Where are Shay and Yvette? What happened to Spencer?
I fumble out of the bed, so tangled up in the sheets and blanket that it takes almost more work than I can handle. Once my feet touch the ground, the room feels like it’s tilting all over again. I can barely stand straight, suddenly aware of all the aches and pains in my body.
Not just my pounding head.
The rawness of my knees, like I must’ve fallen at one point. The soreness between my thighs, which seems to confirm exactly what I dread…
I’m battered and bruised, and I know this without even looking in the mirror.
It takes me a whole moment to function enough to start searching for my things. Where’re my clothes? My shoes?
My phone and purse have to be around here somewhere.
I search the dark for who knows how long. I trip over sneakers and hoodies that aren’t mine and bang my knee against the nightstand. Finally I find my purse and dig out my phone, switching on the flashlight feature to look for the rest of my things.
Dress slipped on and heels dangling from my fingers, I scurry toward a door I hope is either the bathroom or an exit. I end up in the hall of what must be the house Kel rents out with others from school. The place is a mess.
The earthy smell of pot smacks into me right away.
The floor feels grainy and sticky all at once, like it hasn’t been swept or mopped in forever.
I come across several beer cans and red Solo cups abandoned on windowsills or on the banister leading to the stairs.
Halfway down, I catch my reflection, and more panic crashes down on me.
Kel’s place isn’t the only thing that looks like a mess—I do too. My normally glowing, honey-brown complexion is washed out and sickly, my makeup smeared and faded. Eyes pink and butterfly locs frizzy and limp as they hang over my shoulders, I look like a girl that’s been through it.
The top of my dress is ripped. I have a bruise forming where my shoulder and neck meet.
My eyes quickly dart away, no longer able to bear what the mirror shows me. Kel might be sound asleep in his room like last night was no big deal, but I feel like I’ve been run over by a freaking truck.
Worse.
I feel like I’ve been…
I can’t even bring myself to finish the thought.
I’m not even supposed to be here. Last night wasn’t supposed to have happened. We were underage and snuck into the club. We used fake IDs and then had drinks paid for us all night by guys who wanted to dance with us (and more).
Though it’s not like anybody will notice I didn’t come home.
Uncle Eddie’s busy with club business, and Moses is out of town. The motorcycle club is their life just like it was Dad’s.
I can’t blame them for it. None of them have ever pretended to be family men. All of them chose the club over being husbands and fathers.
When I went out, I thought it worked in my favor that no one would notice I’d be out all night.
I hadn’t realized a few hours later I’d wake passed out in Kel’s bed.
No Shay or Yvette in sight. Uncle Eddie and Moses none the wiser.
Kel with no fucks to give that I’m practically in tears over waking up in his bed.
It’s a little depressing to know I’m an afterthought no matter where I go or who I’m around.
I’m a junior at Wheaton U, and have never been the girl who was popular or had many friends. At home I’ve always been the girl who was left behind as Dad, Uncle Eddie, and Moses hopped on their rumbling bikes and then sped off to go handle club business.
I could go missing and no one would probably notice for at least twenty-four hours.
It’s why I have the dream I do—ditching this plain, boring, unnoticed life and heading off to L.A. to pursue my real passion of becoming an actress.
Becoming anybody other than who I am so I can finally be noticed.
I’d finally be important to someone.
Last December, as the year came to an end and a new one was starting, I promised myself I’d go out of my comfort zone. I’d try new things by throwing out my old wardrobe, switching up my hair, even getting my first tattoo.
But none of it’s been enough. None of it has made me feel… seen.
Except maybe I tried a little too hard to be—at least when I wasn’t putting myself out there, I wasn’t waking up confused in guy’s beds.
The shame and embarrassment of it all presses down on me ’til I feel like I might sink through the floor.
I rush down the stairs to the ground floor where I find Spencer and some other guy I don’t know passed out on the couches in the living room.
Neither wake when I try to nudge them. It’s more of what happened with Kel as I pull at their arms or shake their shoulders and they merely roll over or mumble at me to stop touching them.
“Pick up. Pick up,” I mutter, phone pressed to my ear. I’ve given up on them and moved into the entryway hall, hoping I can call someone else for a ride.
Yvette’s number goes to voice mail. The second the beep goes off, I’m blurting out my panicked thoughts all at once.
“Where are you guys?” I ask, on the verge of tears. “Why did you let me leave with Kel? I need a ride. Please call me back!”
But she doesn’t call me back. She doesn’t even send me a text message.
Shay answers when I call, though it’s almost worse that she does.
“Shay,” I gasp. “Where the hell did you and Yvette go?”
“Girl, my feet were killing me! And Yvette was hungry so we dipped and grabbed some food.”
“You left me with Kel? I’m at his house!”
“So?” she answers in her snappy tone. “What d’you want me to do about it? You’re a big girl, right?”
“Shay, I can’t remember last night. I don’t even know how I got here. I… I need a ride and no one will wake up.”
I can practically hear her rolling her eyes from the other end of the phone line. “Just go back to sleep. Kel will probably drop you off later. It’s barely five in the morning, Lana. Damn.”
Our call doesn’t last much longer than that. I’m sniffling, holding in the sudden onslaught of tears, and Shay sounds more agitated by the second.
I hang up with more panic and dread swelling up inside me than ever. I’m so upset, I can barely bring up the Uber app and order a car.
…or try to ’til my card’s run and the transaction is declined.
“No,” I groan, then stomp my foot. “No!”
But it makes perfect sense.
I’m a broke college student who still receives an occasional allowance from Uncle Eddie. I do gig work sometimes, like babysitting and dog walking, but the income from that is so infrequent and low I’m often left with negatives in my bank account.
We hadn’t bought our own drinks last night for a reason; we couldn’t even afford to if we had wanted to.
I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, then notice the club stamp inked on my skin.
Just a few hours ago I had smirked down at the stamp with excitement and pride. I was finally living it up and doing exciting things.
Little did I know I was getting in over my head.
I stumble out the front door and into the freezing early morning. I’m barefoot, my heels still in one hand and my phone in the other.
There’re only a few options left.
I could go back inside, fall back asleep like Shay suggested. Hope Kel will take me home in a few hours when he finally wakes up. Or I could finally give in and call Uncle Eddie. He would immediately come get me, and though I’d be in huge trouble, so would others.
Heads. Would. Roll.
He’d probably take one look at me and lose it, knowing what I do deep down. I’ve been taken advantage of…
And then there’s the third option. I could start walking.
I go to college in Wheaton, but I live in Pulsboro, which is forty minutes away… by car.
Maybe someone driving by would take pity on me and give me a ride. If they weren’t Jack the Ripper looking to kill me first.
“Fuckkkk,” I groan aloud, then sink down to the ground. I sit on the front step, head buried in my lap. Tears finally slip free, warm and moist rolling down my cheeks.
Minutes must go by, because when I do sit up again, the sky’s lightened a little. I resign myself to my fate. I’m going to have to call Uncle Eddie.
My finger hovers over his name on my contact list ’til I remember another name I’d saved a couple weeks ago.
On New Year’s Eve, I had gone out to the Steel Saloon, where the Steel Kings MC—the same motorcycle club my uncle and brother belong to—resides. They always throw the most outrageous parties in Pulsboro, and I was bored and lonely.
No one else had invited me out. I was done staying home watching TV. I was twenty years old and dying for some excitement.
It took only an hour before I was called out for my age. Before I had to hurry up and leave out of fear someone would call Uncle Eddie or my brother.
But as I waited outside for my Uber, a man emerged from the bar.
He was very tall, almost as tall as Unc, and he had a shock of silver hair that stood out in the dark night.
He was older, like dad old, but he was also pretty cute for his age.
His face bore proof of his maturity, like the subtle lines bracketing his dark blue eyes, and the distinguished, chiseled cut of his jaw.
He wasn’t just a man. He was a MAN.
Like the type who could show up when you’re in the worst kind of trouble, and you’d immediately feel calm and comforted. Like he could help you through anything, no matter how hard or difficult.
Like right now.
He gave me a ride home that night. He promised not to tell Unc or my brother, and he said if I ever needed another ride I could…
I take a deep breath and press the call button, listening to Silver Kingman’s phone ring and praying he’ll be the one to show up for me.