Chapter 1
WE ARRIVE AT MY FATHER’S house which is out of the city, a few hours later, stepping out onto the cracked concrete sidewalk under a blazing late-afternoon sun.
I catch the smell of hot asphalt mixed with the faint perfume of jasmine that Mom always wears.
She stands beside our sleek black SUV, fingers drumming nervously against the door.
I drop my bag and slip one of my hands into hers, weaving our fingers together.
“It’s going to be fine,” I murmur, because even though she won’t say it, I know every single time her eyes meet his, something inside her breaks. “You don’t have to come in.”
“Of course I do,” she says, pushing her chin out.
Before I can say anything, the front door swings open and Chief steps out.
He fills the frame—leather jacket draped over broad shoulders, scuffed black boots, riot of dark hair that refuses to lie flat.
Under the sleeves of his jacket, I glimpse tattoos and I know it is a mix of dragons, roses, a blazing phoenix rising from the ashes.
He’s the living emblem of the club he runs, and my pulse skips a beat every time he appears.
He’s so fucking terrifying, yet he makes me feel safe in a way I can’t understand.
I grin at him and then glance sideways at Mom.
Her cheeks have turned rosy pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth like she’s trying to chew through her own nerves.
Chief stands still, studies her, then eases forward with that trademark sexy grin—one finger tracing an invisible Mustache by his lip.
“Well,” he drawls, voice rough as gravel, “if it isn’t my favorite two ladies.”
“Caden,” Mom says, her voice a little breathy. “It’s so...nice to see you.”
I launch at him before he can answer, and hug him tight, burying my face in his jacket.
His scent—leather, motor oil, something uniquely him—fills my lungs.
Pulling back, I give him a grin and he winks at me, before his attention is back on her.
Like it always is. It’s as if their eyes can never quite turn away.
I watch them both. Mom looking up at him like she’s seeing her first love all over again, and him gazing at her as if time has paused just for this moment.
They hold the kind of silence that trembles with unsaid things—years of half-spoken promises, memories they both cling to.
I’ve learned that love sometimes lies tangled in words you can’t quite voice.
Chief breaks the incredible silence. “Mandy,” he murmurs, tipping his head. “Good to see you. Been a while.”
Mom tries to speak, but the words scramble in her throat. “I—I just wanted to drop her off and make sure she’s okay, she, ah, said you might be going away.”
He lifts an eyebrow and that smirk returns. “I’ll be gone half a day. You know I don’t leave my little girl unprotected.”
She swallows. “I know, Caden. It’s just—she’s an adult now...”
“Exactly,” he cuts in, turning to me with a wink. “An adult, and free to roam. But under my watch, always.”
She pushes her lips together, and I know she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, because deep down, she knows he’s right. She finally exhales and pulls me in for a hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
I squeeze her tight. “Love you, Momma.”
She presses a kiss to my forehead. “You too, Angel.”
Then, just like that, she’s gone.
Chief watches her vanish, then swivels toward me, grin returning. “Come on, Mischief. Let’s get you inside.”
Mischief—my lifelong nickname from him. The moment I popped into the world, he christened me Mischief, a lighter echo of his own Chief.
We move into the house, warmth washing over us: polished hardwood floors, black leather sofas, the hum of distant rock music from speakers hidden in the ceiling. The place reeks of whiskey, and pizza.
He clearly had a good night.
“Is Jaq here?” I ask as we pass a row of motorcycle helmets by the stairs.
The club grounds are right behind Chief’s house, so a lot of the guys use it as a place to store things. He has a massive garage they work out of that is attached to the back, and that leads to the large compound that they run the club out of.
He pauses, frowns. “Yeah. Why?”
I cross my arms. “She’s no good for you, father,” I tease lightly, only calling him that to stir him.
He grunts and shoots me a grin. “My little one, all grown up and protective. You flatter me.”
I frown harder. “Seriously, though, dad...she’s nasty.”
His grin fades. He steps forward, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Come on now, kid. Go easy.”
“Sorry,” I huff. “She’s just awful.”
“She awful to you?”
His voice is like ice.
“No, but believe me, if she was, I would handle it. I can take care of myself.”
He flicks a finger under my chin. “You’re my girl. You don’t take care of you yourself. That’s my job, yeah?”
“Yes, boss.”
He grins and opens the hallway door. I duck inside my sanctuary: walls painted bright, unapologetic pink, a holdover from when I begged him at twelve, because I was so damned sure it would look amazing.
He grumbled through every stroke of the roller, copping it from the club when they saw pink splattered on his coveralls.
But here I am, cocooned in bubble gum hues, teenage posters on the walls, a fluffy rug underfoot.
I never had the heart to change it.
It makes me happy.
We haven’t even hit the landing when Jaq comes around the corner, stiletto boots clicking.
Her nails, chipped black, trail along Chief’s arm as though she’s staking her claim.
She could be pretty, if she didn’t overload her face with makeup so thick, it’s terrifying.
She grins at me, and in a forced voice, says, “Violet.”
“Wonderful to see you, Jaq, I see you haven’t learned how to do your nails correctly since the last time I saw you.”
She scowls at me, and I purposely avoid Chief’s glare, because he will absolutely scald me for that one. Maybe Mom is right, maybe I am likely to get into more trouble now I’m older. I don’t have to be nice to this woman, just because she’s with my dad.
Not anymore.
Jaq scowls at me, then turns to Chief. “Baby,” she purrs. “I just came to tell you that Travis called, he’ll be here shortly.”
My heart lurches—Travis Phoenix. Chief’s adopted son, not literally, but he practically saved him from a life far worse than death. My childhood best friend, first crush, the boy who strolled in here one day and changed my life.
Chief sighs and the expression on my face. “Yeah, Travis is back in town.”
“Back? Since when?” I demand.
“Two months.”
“Two months?” I echo, hurt blooming in my chest. “And you didn’t tell me?”
That’s not what hurts me. What hurts me is that I have been here basically every weekend in the last two months, and not once have I seen or heard from Travis. Nor did anyone tell me. It’s not like he wouldn’t have known I was around. Everyone knows I come here.
It stings in a way I struggle to hide.
Chief shrugs. “You two haven’t seen each other in a long time. Figured you didn’t care.”
Ouch.
“He was my best friend,” I murmur.
He leans in, placing his hand behind my neck and pulling me close. “I know, baby. I’m sure you’ll figure it out when he’s here. Get yourself settled,” he releases me, turning to Jaq. “We need to talk in my office.”
If that’s code for I want to fuck, I’m going to vomit.
The two of them disappear. I huff and then step through the door. My pink room welcomes me and feels like the only place old memories are safe. I unpack my basics and then I collapse on the beanbag, plug in my phone, slide earplugs in, and let music wash over me.
An hour slips by in dreamy waves. Then I am jerked out of it when the doorbell rings. Who the hell rings the doorbell? Everyone just walks in this house. Ding dong again, more frequent. Why isn’t Chief answering? Drag queen diva duties, I bet.
Ding dong, a third time. I yank out an earbud. “Alright, I’m coming—keep your shirt on,” I mutter.
My god.
I stomp down the stairs, and when I reach the door, I see it’s locked. That’s why the doorbell is going. I mutter a curse, then swing open the door and freeze. Every muscle in my body tenses at once, like I've been hit with an electrical current.
Travis Phoenix stands on the threshold, backlit by afternoon sun, one shoulder propped against the pole outside like he owns it. My heart slams against my ribs—a wild, caged thing—and my mouth goes dry. The air between us feels charged, dangerous.
His eyes flash with something dark, something different, and it sends shivers down my spine.
"Mischief," he drawls, voice deeper than I remember, rougher around the edges. "Well, I’ll be damned.”
The sound of my nickname in his mouth makes my stomach hollow out.
Years of silence, and he thinks he can just show up with that lazy smile?
I want to scream at him, demand to know why he left without a word, why he never called, why he fucking threw me away.
Instead, I'm rooted to the spot, betrayed by my own body's reaction.
He's transformed from the lanky boy I knew into something else entirely.
His shoulders stretch the worn fabric of his black t-shirt, and faded jeans hang low on narrow hips.
Tattoos I don't recognize snake up his forearms and disappear beneath his sleeves.
His dirty blonde hair is shorter on the sides now, longer a and messy on top, and those storm-gray eyes still see too much.
The boyish softness is gone, replaced by sharp angles and a day's worth of stubble that makes him look dangerous.