Chapter 1
Lyle
Salt air stings my lips, and the wind whips against my cheeks as I speed away from the clubhouse. Gina’s decorating for the Valentine’s party, and it’s the last place I want to be right now.
It seems everyone’s finding love apart from me, and I don’t need a shitty holiday to remind me of my single status. It’s been me and my bike for forty-two years. If I haven’t found a woman by now, I doubt I ever will.
As the lines of the highway blur beneath me, my mind clears. It’s just me and the road. Just the way I like it.
I lock into a cruising speed, taking it easy and enjoying the scenery, the ocean on one side and orange cliffs on the other.
A pickup toots as it passes me, and I give them a friendly wave.
When I’m riding wearing my cut, people are either extra friendly on the roads or extra assholey.
Today I’m getting all tooting horns and smiles.
I come ‘round a bend in the road, and there’s a long straight stretch in front of me. Up ahead there’s a dark smudge moving along the side of the road, and as I get closer, I make out that it’s a person.
Some crazy fucker is walking up the highway. There’s no hard shoulder and definitely no footpath. Some fucking idiot is taking their life into their hands.
As I get closer, I see that it’s a woman. Her black clothes are dusty and she’s barefoot. Something doesn’t look right.
I pull over into the narrow sideling in front of her and cut the engine.
“Hey, you okay?”
She doesn’t look up as I slide off the bike and start toward her.
The woman’s concentrating on her feet, and as I get closer, I see her toes are bloody and covered in dirt.
“Holy shit.”
She’s wearing black leggings and an oversized shirt, both dusty from the road. Her dark hair hangs limp and tangled, her fringe plastered to her forehead in the heat.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
I stand right in front of the woman, and she stops moving, her eyes taking in my boots and slowly traveling up my body until her gaze lands on my face.
I feel a jolt in my bones as her gaze finds mine.
She’s beautiful, this lost woman. Bloody and dirty with the face of an angel.
Her eyes are deep blue like the ocean, and her thick eyebrows are knit together as she regards me.
The dirt of the road is smudged on her cheeks, and there’s cracked blood on her temple.
“Did someone hurt you?”
A tremor of rage shakes my body at the thought of someone laying a finger on this woman. I don’t know her, but I feel a surge of protectiveness toward her.
She stares at me, her eyes running over my face in deep concentration.
“Do I know you?” Her voice is croaky, and she coughs after speaking as if the dust has gone right down her throat.
“No, sweetheart. I’d remember you if we’d met before.”
Her face scrunches up in frustration, and she turns to stare out at the ocean. I don’t understand the emotions running through her, but I do understand one thing: she needs my help.
“What’s your name, honey?”
She swallows hard but doesn’t answer.
“Where are you headed?” I try again.
But the woman remains looking out at the sea. It’s a steep cliff here, and the waves crash relentlessly below us. Her look turns wistful, and for an awful moment, I think she’s going to jump.
I grab her arm, making sure she doesn’t, and she flinches. Her head ducks and her other arm comes up protectively to cover her head.
The action makes my heart break and my blood boil.
“Did someone hurt you?”
I crouch down so I’m lower than her eye level, less threatening. I know how intimidating I can look with my cut on and my tattoos.
“I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. But I’d like to help you if you’ll let me.”
She drops her arms but keeps looking at her feet.
“My name’s Lyle. I’m ex-military,” I tell her because that usually softens people’s opinions about me. “I’d like to take you somewhere safe where we can get you some food and water and someone can take a look at that cut on your head.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I push on. I don’t want to take her anywhere against her will, but it’s clear this woman needs help.
“What’s your name, honey?”
She mumbles something that I don’t quite catch. I lean forward, and I’m so close her hair tickles my neck. She smells of the road and, underneath that, a sweet scent that’s all her. I bet that even if she washed a hundred times, she’d still smell like it.
“I didn’t get that. What’s your name?”
She tips her head up, and suddenly we’re looking into each other’s eyes, so close I could kiss her dust covered lips.
“I don’t know.”
Her voice comes out as a gravelly whisper, and there’s a flash of terror and confusion in her face. I’m wondering what the fuck is going on here.
“You don’t know your name?”
She shakes her head, her brows sliding together as she looks at her feet. “I don’t remember.”
She turns her pleading eyes toward me. She’s scared and she’s vulnerable. I’m fucking angry that no one else has stopped to help her. By the looks of her feet, she’s been walking all fucking day, maybe longer. But I’m also relieved that I was the one to find her.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’m going to take you to the clubhouse and get you some help. Is that okay with you?”
She nods slightly and looks relieved, which makes my chest swell with a protectiveness that I’ve never felt before. This woman needs my help. She needs my protection.
“You ever been on a bike before?”
She glances behind me to my Harley pulled up on the side of the road. The look of concentration returns to her face, and after a few moments, she shakes her head.
“I don’t know.”
This woman doesn’t know who she is or where she’s going. She doesn’t even know her own name.
I should take her to the hospital. I should take her to the police.
But as she slides onto the back of my bike and her little hands wrap around my waist, she leans her head on my back and gives a little sigh of relief.
I know there’s no way I’m taking her anywhere but to my clubhouse.
Whoever she is, wherever she came from, she’s mine now.