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  To Natalie Ram,

  my favorite schemer,

  my partner in crime.

  Together—we will never lose.

  Love you!

  A soul mate is not found. A soul mate is recognized.

  —Vironika Tugaleva

  PROLOGUE

  HE’S late. Again.

  I sit down at the dinner table, where the now-cold food congeals, and cover my face with my hands.

  Two hours late. Again.

  What am I going to do? How long am I going to live like this, waiting for him to change?

  I need to make myself realize that the Darren I fell in love with isn’t the man he is now.

  Ten years of my life I’ve given him.

  Ten.

  My first love, my first boyfriend, the man I thought I’d marry.

  And then he turns into such a disappointment.

  No, that’s an understatement.

  He’s everything a man shouldn’t be.

  In fact, his mother should be fucking ashamed of the man he’s become.

  I hear the garage door open, but I don’t move from my spot. Of course, he stays in the garage and doesn’t even bother to come up and see me. No hello, even though I’ve been blowing up his phone for the last hour wondering where he is.

  He’s a master liar. He has an excuse for everything, and I believe him every single time.

  Love truly is blind. I can see the truth now, but does that mean I don’t love him anymore?

  I really hope so.

  He finally comes upstairs and kisses the top of my head.

  I don’t bother to ask where he was, and he doesn’t bother to explain why he was so late. He just pretends everything is okay, that we’re perfectly fine, that all is well in our world.

  “How was your day?” he asks as he eyes the food.

  As if he gives a fuck.

  “Fine,” I say, looking up into his lifeless brown eyes. “Yours?”

  “Yeah, good. Work was busy.”

  Today is a good day. The days I get ignored—they still suck, but they’re better than most. Better than the alternative.

  I touch my neck, and feel the bruises that still remain there.

  This is how he expects me to live.

  To not question him. To just work and come home and cook and clean.

  To die inside, little by little, while he’s off with his friends, injecting needles into his veins and fucking other women.

  Before the drugs, he wasn’t like this, but there’s no point living in the past.

  I’ve tried to leave a few times, but each time, he brought me back here. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to get any of my family or friends involved, but if I don’t reach out for help, I’m probably not going to make it.

  Darren the man is dead, and in his place is a monster.

  I’ll never forgive him for being so weak and turning to drugs in the first place.

  Never.

  I decide right here and now that I need to get away, to get out. I can’t live like this anymore, slowly turning into someone I’m not. I don’t care that he threatened to kill me if I leave. I’d rather die than live like this, with him.

  No one is coming to save me; no one.

  I have to save myself.

  ONE

  Six months later

  I KNOW I seem out of place, so I ignore the looks I get from the people around me and stare straight ahead. I probably do look like a criminal, if I’m being honest. The worn jeans and black hoodie really aren’t nice enough to be worn out in public, but it’s not like this bar is some posh place. I mean, it’s nice enough, but it’s still a bar. I have my hood up, but strands of my fiery red hair are sticking out of it, framing my face in messy curls.

  I swallow a mouthful of beer and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  How did I get here? Not here as in this bar, but here, at this place in my life.

  Alone and looking homeless. On my thirtieth birthday.

  Yeah, today is an all-time low.

  Happy birthday to me!

  “Can I please have another beer?” I ask the extremely sexy blond bartender at the bar, who grins, nods, and grabs me one. I open my purse and pull out some money, then curse as a few of my cards slip out and onto the floor. Sighing, I hand him the money, then pick up the cards and shove everything back in, zipping my bag.

  “If you think that hoodie hides your beauty, you’re fuckin’ dreaming,” mutters a slightly accented voice from my right.

  English? No.

  Maybe Irish.

  I turn to look at him, giving him my most unimpressed look. He’s good-looking. No, that’s too bland a description for what he is. He’s sexy, in that bad-boy, I’ve been through a lot and I know how to handle everything, including you way. Dark hair and eyes. Add in that slight accent and he’s just my type. Shame about the timing—I’m definitely not looking for my next mistake right now. “It’s worked up until now.”

  “Guess I’m smarter than other men.” He grins and picks up his glass of amber liquid.

  “Or maybe other men can take a hint,” I say, my gaze roaming over the scar on his neck. “Which would make them smarter.”

  His dark eyes flash with amusement. “You callin’ me stupid, darlin’?”

  I glance at the leather vest covering his chest, then look at my bottle. “I’m not calling you anything.” I pause for effect. “But if the shoe fits, feel free to wear it.”

  He laughs, a deep sound that I’m immediately drawn to.

  My friend Lacey used to say Valentina, you always attract the worst man in the room.

  I joked that it was my superpower. But, really, it was more like my kryptonite.

  Glancing over at this man, this rough yet handsome biker, I just know, out of all the men in the bar, that he is the worst one.

  And of course he had to hit on me.

  Still feeling the blow from the last man I let get close to me, I should want to run from this man. I should.

  I don’t, of course—but that doesn’t mean I won’t.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, scanning my face. “And why do you look like you’re hiding from something—or someone?”

  “Tina,” I tell him, giving him the nickname everyone calls me. “And what’s your name?”

  He takes a sip before replying. “Ardan.”

  I nod. “That’s an interesting name.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll remember it,” he says simply. “People remember interesting things.”

  My brow furrows. “Do they?”

  He nods. “Yes, they do. I’m sure no one forgets your beautiful hair.”

  I shrug and pull on the sleeves of my hoodie. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” I pause. “Or cared whether people remember me or not. Especially if they’re random people, because who gives a fuck what they think anyway, right?”

  Ardan chuckles. “I like that.”

  I look over his black T-shirt, leather biker vest with patches on it, and dark jeans. No, he definitely doesn’t look like someone who gives a shit what other people think.

  “You going to avoid my other ques
tion?” he asks, raising a dark brow.

  I nod at the leather vest. “What’s your deal?”

  “What?” he asks, smirking.

  “The biker thingy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Are there lots of biker gangs around here?” Maybe I should drive to the next city.

  “Clubs, not gangs,” he corrects me.

  I shrug. “Sorry, but it’s not like I know much about bikers.”

  “I’m a part of a club, yes. The Wind Dragons. And this thingy is called a cut,” he explains, sounding amused, not angry.

  I take in his features.

  He’s older than I am, definitely. Maybe by five or so years. A strong jaw. Sensual lips I want to suck on. A straight nose. The darkest of eyes. Knowing eyes. And a head of thick, short dark hair. Then there’s the scar.

  How did he get it?

  My hand lifts without me thinking, to touch his neck. “What happened?”

  He clears his throat, and I instantly drop my hand, cringing. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  Apparently I suddenly have no boundaries. I just expect them from everyone else.

  “A knife got me,” he says, then in one quick move, he pushes my hood backward, letting my thick hair tumble out and around me.

  “Fuck,” he groans. “That’s a lot of fuckin’ hair.”

  I roll my eyes and pull my hood back up. “We’ll call that even, but from now on I think we should keep our hands to ourselves.”

  He licks his bottom lip and shakes his head. “No deal.”

  My green eyes narrow. “You don’t make the rules here, Ardan.”

  Another grin. “Oh, but darlin’, I do.”

  I purse my lips and study him.

  A knife slashed him across his neck? What’s the story behind that? I have to wonder. How long ago did it happen? Did he almost die? What happened to whoever did it to him? I know this should scare me. I shouldn’t want to talk to this man. He’s obviously not led the easiest life and has been involved in God knows what.

  But he’s also being nice, and I feel comfortable around him. Drawn to him. Attracted to him. Like I’ve known him for years. Which is why I really need to leave.

  “I need to get home,” I say, but make no move to go.

  What is wrong with me?

  “Let me take you home, then,” he says, grinning, flashing his straight white teeth.

  “Right, let the random stranger in a biker gang take me home,” I scoff, raising my eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass on that.”

  “Your loss.” He smirks, studying me with an intensity I don’t like. It’s almost too much, too direct. Like his eyes miss nothing. I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before, and it makes me want to avoid his eyes, but I don’t. No, I look directly into them, and I feel something when I do. What, I’m not sure, but something different, something that’s going to make me wonder.

  Sometimes you meet people and they just stick with you. I know that he’s going to be one of those people for me. My throat muscles work as I swallow, my gaze lowering to his lips. I wonder what they taste like, what his kisses would feel like on my skin. When I glance back up into his eyes, they’re heavy-lidded, his nostrils flaring. The tension between us thickens, and I know that I need to leave right now, before I say something stupid like Let’s go back to my motel.

  “I’m sure,” I say in a dry tone, trying to cover up the roughness of my voice, putting my now-empty bottle on the counter and standing up. “It’s time for me to go.”

  I need another man’s interest like I need an extra ten pounds on my ass. And this man—he is dangerous to me. Because I already want him, and I’ve only just met him.

  “Let me buy you another drink,” he says quickly, but I shake my head, smiling to soften the blow.

  “No, thank you. Nice meeting you, though,” I say, turning to leave. I hate that I pause for a moment, reconsidering. No. I need to leave, now.

  “Tina,” he says, making me turn to look at his face again.

  “What?” I ask warily. If he asks me to stay one more time, I might cave. Part of me wants to stay, drink, chat, and carry on like a normal woman my age would, but the other side of me knows better, that I really don’t need a man in my life right now.

  “See you around.” He makes it sound like a threat.

  One more lingering glance, and then I get the hell out of there.

  I look around the motel room and exhale, throwing my bag onto the white sheets of the double bed. More of an apartment than a motel: it has a small kitchen, bathroom, and desk, kind of like a low-budget extended-stay accommodation. It will have to do for now.

  New town. Fresh start.

  Only problem is, I have no idea what I want to do with it.

  I left everyone I knew behind me—my family, the friends I’d had since grade school, all gone. Moving across the country alone is definitely an eye-opening experience. If I didn’t know who I was before, I’m definitely going to find out now. I have only myself to rely on, no matter what happens, and that’s both a scary and freeing feeling. I glance down at my new phone, with the number I gave to only my parents and Lacey. I left in the middle of the night. Just got in my car and left town. A fresh start, a new life.

  No more abusive phone calls.

  No more being embarrassed in public.

  No more threats.

  I’m free. Until he finds me.

  I can only hope he doesn’t bother looking.

  I pull off my hoodie and slide down my jeans, then take off my black bra and panties before heading into the small bathroom to stare at my reflection in the mirror.

  I look like hell.

  With no makeup to cover the bags under my eyes, my pale skin looks almost translucent. The bruises on my upper arms are no longer there, yet I stare at the spots once mottled in livid blue and purple. I touch my right arm with my fingers, placing each finger where his once pressed hard against the bone.

  He tried to make me weak.

  What kind of man does that? What kind of man tries to make you pay for his own shortcomings?

  He is weak, not I.

  My green eyes have a fire behind them that only I can see. Fire as red as my hair. As fiery as my temper. Inside me lies a core of steel.

  He couldn’t break me—no man ever can.

  Because only I own me.

  I turn on the shower and wait until the temperature is perfect before getting in, letting the warm water soothe me. I never want to set foot in my car again after all the driving I’ve done, but I’m going to have to go job hunting tomorrow. As soon as I get some work, I can find a more permanent place to live, maybe a small apartment of my own. As I soap my body, my mind wanders to the magnetic man from the bar, Ardan.

  He’s fascinating, sexy as sin, and has me curious.

  I don’t like the fact that he’s already in my head, that I’m thinking about him.

  What is it about him exactly?

  Good thing I’ll never see him again.

  TWO

  THE next morning, coffee in hand, I leave my résumé with every salon I can find. I look online and in the paper for any hairstyling jobs, and call a few places hoping for an interview. After I hand out all the copies of my résumé I have with me, I decide to head back to the motel. Looking much better than I did yesterday, in black slacks and a cream blouse, my long hair somewhat tamed in a low ponytail, I feel like a whole new woman. Concealer covers the dark circles under my eyes, and the light makeup I applied has me feeling pretty damn good about myself.

  I can do this.

  When I pass a café, I decide to stop and grab something to eat. I probably shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, but I was eager to start searching for any available positions. If I don’t find anything, I can always work at a bar, or as a waitress. I’m not really in a position to
be picky right now, but, luckily, I do have some savings. I’d prefer not to touch them if I can help it, just in case Darren decides to make my life hell and I have to leave again.

  It’s easy for me to save money—I’m not much of a spender, and I rarely splurge on expensive items. If anything, my weakness is books. I don’t think anyone can have too many books. My favorite is nonfiction—I have several biographies I read over and over again.

  As I look around the quaint little café, I realize this town might be a place I could actually see myself staying. But I won’t be able to settle down and get comfortable anywhere, not until I’m certain he’s forgotten about me. I don’t know why I think this time will be different; maybe because I traveled to the other side of the country. Maybe I’m being optimistic, or maybe I’m just being stupid.

  I don’t know why, but I feel a flare of hope that something will change, that for once something good will happen to me here. Or maybe I’m just too far gone and can’t worry about the consequences at this point. What kind of life was I living before? Nothing could be worse than that. Not only did he make my life miserable but I’m also still living with the effects of him, and I hate that.

  I keep everyone at a distance now. I have nightmares and replay events over in my head, wishing I’d reacted differently. I want him out of my life in every way, but I guess that’s going to take time. Once I know he’s moved on, I’ll finally be able to breathe easily.

  As a waitress takes my order, I get distracted by two men sitting in my line of sight.

  One has short blond hair, a lip ring, and an eyebrow piercing, while the other has a shaved head and brown eyes. They’re both handsome, but that’s not what catches my eye. They’re both bikers, and wearing the same cut that Ardan had on.

  Just how big are the Wind Dragons? I should google them.

  The bald man catches me looking and winks at me. Red-cheeked, I look down at my phone just to avoid eye contact. When I see a message from Lacey, I open it eagerly, happy to have something to keep me occupied.

  I miss you! Hope everything is well. Same old over here. Let me know that you’re okay. Xoxo