Chapter One
Ryanne
F rom the moment he walked in I became riveted, my attention anchored to his every move. The place is packed, everyone’s body heat crowds me but we may as well be the only two people in the bar. At least where my heart is concerned.
Despite my feelings, I sit in the corner alone and watch as a flock of hungry women surround him and his brothers, vying for their attention.
Typical.
“Happy birthday, Ryanne,” Jessica Bennett yells to be heard above the loud music, clinking her glass with mine as she shimmies past my table.
I nod my thanks, my lips lifting in a halfhearted smile.
There aren’t many places in town where I could celebrate my eighteenth birthday. Denim and Pearls is the only bar where they accept people under the age of twenty-one. We aren’t allowed to drink but that isn’t a big deal to me.
The place is rustic with a country flare.
The tables are made of old barrels and there’s a rhinestone saddle hanging above the dance floor.
Country music blares from the speakers, drawing a large crowd.
I was having a good time, anywhere is better than my loveless house, but then they showed up—the three brothers who wreak havoc on every girl’s hormones.
The Creed boys are foster brothers who are closer than those bound by blood. They came to town years ago, living off the streets until Thatcher Creed, who most around here call Old Man Creed, took them in and raised them as his own.
Many didn’t approve when he did, but Thatcher has never cared what the people in this town thought about him. It’s something I’ve always admired. He raised the boys proudly and stood by their sides when they had no one.
Justice, Knox, and Braxten have made quite the names for themselves and their reputations precede them.
They can be dangerous if they think for even one second their family is being threatened.
They’ve stolen the hearts of many. I know this because I am one of them.
Though all three of them are ridiculously good looking, I only want one.
Justice.
His bad boy appeal caught my attention from the moment he rolled into town.
I was only twelve but my young heart fell hard.
Many people were leery and even frightened of the boys.
They got into a lot of trouble when they first moved here.
I often heard my parents discussing their disapproval of Thatcher taking them in.
It’s typical of their pretentious selves.
My parents have never been kind or compassionate, not even to their only child.
I was warned to stay away from them. It wouldn’t look good for the family name, which is everything to my parents.
My father is a descendant of one of the six founding families of Winchester, our small town located in the heart of The Mississippi Delta.
Old money and bloodlines are everything here.
I have a certain standard to uphold, one I fail miserably at according to my mother.
Staying away from the brothers wasn’t a hard rule to follow because they are older than me.
We went to the same school but I was a freshman and they were seniors.
They barely knew I existed. Braxten should have graduated after them but he’s smart, really smart, and worked hard to finish school with his brothers.
For two years I watched them from afar, mainly Justice, and swallowed up the rumors that surrounded them, especially one. A rumor that rocked the entire town and garnered every girl’s attention. It still does. Which is why every female in this place is hanging all over them at the moment.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now but I’m not, and the only reprieve my tortured heart gets is when he’s out of town for work.
Contracted by the government, all three brothers are sharpshooters, and not just any marksmen but the best in the country.
Shooting is just one of the many things Thatcher taught them.
As if feeling the weight of my stare, Justice’s eyes find mine over the crowd of women. My heart tumbles in my chest as I gaze back into his dark irises that are filled with so much intrigue and mystery.
His lips kick up in that sexy smirk of his, turning my insides to mush.
He wears his usual worn jeans that hang enticingly off his lean hips.
His dark hair is wild and mussed, looking like he just ran his fingers through it.
With a black T-shirt, biker boots, and a leather jacket, he’s the very definition of a bad boy.
That familiar longing builds inside of me, the sight of him making my heart crave things I can’t have. Instead of returning his smile, I roll my eyes, hoping to hide the effect he has on me, and shift my gaze away.
I’m certain I can hear his amused chuckle all the way over here. The one that rumbles deep within his chest and is as arrogant as his smirk. It’s irritating yet infectious all at once. Most of the time I long to hear it. Just like I long for the brief moments I’ve spent with him.
It has become somewhat of a game between us. This push and pull. I pretend he annoys the hell out of me and he plays along, but deep down he knows my true feelings. He has to. I’ve always been terrible at hiding my emotions.
My teenage crush for Justice turned into so much more after my first encounter with him. It wasn’t just one of our usual run ins where I would see him in public, and keep my head cast down in fear I would stare at him like a lovesick fool.
This encounter was years later and just the two of us.
I was fifteen at the time and had just gotten into a fight with my mother, which is not out of the ordinary but this one was bad.
She was even more hateful than usual. I don’t remember what the fight was over but I’ll never forget it because she struck me across the face.
It was the first time she ever hit me. The blow had hurt but not as much as her words: “I wish you had never been born!”
I fled the house that night with tears streaming down my face. I wandered aimlessly around town, trying to walk off my hurting heart. My arms were crossed over my chest, shoulders slumped when I walked through a cloud of smoke.
A gasp parted my lips and my head snapped up. That was when I came face-to-face with the guy I had been watching from afar. My tear-filled eyes met his dark ones and my heart stopped beating altogether.
Justice was seated on his motorcycle, parked out front one of the bars on main street. His face was expressionless while his eyes were anything but. They were watchful and filled with knowledge. The intensity of them kept me rooted to my spot.
“S-sorry,” I stammered like a fool.
“You all right?” The question flowed past his lips in a way that had me mesmerized as he drew in another long inhale of his cigarette.
Typically I hated smoking but not at that moment. He made the bad habit look so good.
His perfect lips suddenly lifted in the slightest smirk and it made me weak in the knees, a reaction I had never felt before. It was then I realized I was gawking at him like an idiot.
I shook myself of the spell he cast upon me and finally answered his question. “Fine.”
He quirked a brow at the lie.
Before he could call me out on it, I dropped my head and stepped forward to continue on my way, but he snagged my arm, stopping me mid stride. My skin burned beneath my hoodie from where he gripped me—firm, yet somehow gentle. I looked back up at him, my heart banging around inside my chest.
“You shouldn’t be walking around at night by yourself. Didn’t your parents ever warn you about the bad guys who walk these streets?” Amusement filled those dark eyes of his, the smoke from his cigarette dancing around his face.
Little did he know, my parents were the bad guys.
“I don’t drive,” I told him, my voice barely a whisper.
“Where are you headed?”
I was surprised by the question and wondered why he cared. I also had no answer for him because I wasn’t sure myself.
“I asked where you’re going, Ryanne.”
Every muscle in my body tensed, surprise coursing through me that he knew my name. I licked my dry lips, his hard tone demanding I answer. “I-I don’t know.”
His watchful eyes dropped to my mouth, face passive until he looked up at me again. “Get on.”
“What?” I asked, certain I misheard him.
He passed me his helmet. “I said get on.”
“I don’t want to go home,” I told him, proud of myself for the strength in my voice.
“Who said anything about going home?” He started up his bike, the loud roar vibrating the street beneath my feet. He stared at me, quirking that brow again rather impatiently.
In that split second I made a choice, one that I was equally excited and terrified about.
With shaking hands, I put his helmet over my head and climbed on behind him, my arms curling around his hard body.
Before I could even fathom the shock to my heart from the contact, the bike rolled forward, starting our journey to god knows where.
My arms tightened, heart jumping in my throat when he merged onto the interstate and hit the throttle. A smile stole my face and a laugh pushed past my lips. It was the most exhilarating moment of my life and I lived it with everything I had in me.
For a while we did nothing but ride, and it was exactly what I needed.
Eventually, Justice pulled off into a clearing out in the middle of nowhere.
He climbed off the bike, taking his warm body with him, and lit up another cigarette.
I removed his helmet from my head, sweeping the hair out of my face. My cheeks ached from smiling so much.
“You look better,” he spoke past the smoke he exhaled.
“It was fun, thanks.”
Awkward silence fell amongst the humid air, his eyes assessing as he gazed at me over the top of his fiery cigarette that hung between his lips.
“Where are your brothers?” I asked.
“Back at the bar.”
“Aren’t they going to be mad you left them?”
“Why would they?”