Courage.

The word was losing all meaning—especially in the face of all I’d been through. When death stares you in the face, you soon learn the true meaning.

In the distance, I could see the smudge of the dirty air, lights, and concrete of Los Angeles. More people lived there than in some countries. It was a warren of roads and buildings, a cesspool of glitz and glamour with mid-tones of middle-class suburbia, and shadows of the ghetto gangster life.

I was finally going home. Fortitude had been the place I’d grown up, but it had become something sinister after my mother’s death. I’d become a commodity in the worst sense of the word and home—the one place in the world a little girl was supposed to be safe—started to resemble a cage. What kind of father sold off his daughter as a sex slave? A father like mine.

Chaser moved beside me, hissing as he repositioned his leg. Glancing at him, I saw the stab wound in his thigh was bleeding, and it hadn’t stopped since the train. Not really. He looked pale, his skin pasty and washed out. He’d lost a lot of blood, and it was soaking into the upholstery. We were so not getting the security deposit back on this rental car.

His body was slumped in the passenger seat, his head lolling to the side. His iridescent eyes were bright and alert, so at least I didn’t have to worry about him dying on the expressway.

Chaser was the kind of guy I’d had dirty fantasies about while I masturbated. He was this rough, devilish, bad boy with messy hair, scratchy stubble on his jaw, and the fashion sense to boot. Leather jacket, tight T-shirts, tighter jeans, and big ‘kick the shit outta ’em’ boots. He had a tattoo on his chest, but I didn’t even know what it was because I was always too caught up in his gaze. Chaser had this thing with direct eye contact. When he had you in his sights, you couldn’t look anywhere else. He put the A in alpha, especially when his cock was in play.

He was a giant-ass bastard with a perpetual scowl on his face, but when he turned on his heart…oh, fuck me. He’d taken a lot of shit in my name since he walked into my life. He’d been a literal human shield. His arrival might’ve started out as a direct order from my father, but we’d transformed into something else. Something unexplainable.

The man I wanted to hate but loved instead.

The man I had killed for.

He’d taken my innocence, but I’d given it freely. Now we were on the road to something bigger. Revenge.

Fortitude would be mine, and Chaser would find justice for the one he’d lost. At least, that was the plan, but whether or not it turned out that way, was another story entirely. There were too many variables to know how this was going to end.

“When we get to the compound, let me do the talking,” Chaser said, breaking the silence.

“Why?”

“You might’ve grown up there, but a lot has changed. There are a lot of new members, and all of them know you as the woman who ran away from her father. That’s a problem. Loyalty is a big thing to men like these.”

“I know I have a lot of work to do,” I complained. “I know they won’t trust me right away.”

“I’m not doubting you.”

I didn’t want to argue, not when I didn’t understand what I was walking into and whether they would look after Chaser. There was no way I was walking into the Fortitude compound with my rage on. I needed to have a clear head when I finally came face-to-face with my father. He would not manipulate me. Not this time.

“Listen, Sloane,” Chaser said, his voice strained. “If we’re doing this, then they can’t know about us.”

My hands tightened on the wheel. I knew we had to play this carefully. I had to hate Chaser for bringing me back even though I wanted nothing more than to claim him in front of the entire world. Our screwed-up road trip had brought us together, and now it was over. What we’d been through was nothing compared to the war I’d just signed us up for.

I had to be prepared to make sacrifices. Big ones.

“I have to go back to doing what I was doing,” Chaser went on. “You have to forget about me.”

“I could never forget about you,” I replied.

He snorted, his silent and deadly ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ mask sliding back into place.

“I didn’t know the truth,” I went on, already annoyed with how this was starting to work out. “Now I do. Now I understand at least a little. I will never know how you feel, but at least I know why.”

Chaser grunted, turning his head away from me.

“You owe justice to Madison, but you deserve it, too,” I continued, fixing my gaze on the road ahead. We both knew how his last undercover operation went, but this one was anyone’s guess. “We’re not going to end up the same way. I won’t allow it.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he drawled.

“This isn’t the time to be an asshole,” I snapped. “I saw the photo, you said ‘wife,’ and I flipped. What was I supposed to do? We were on the run, I didn’t know who to trust, and…” I wanted to run away with him and be happily in love forever. “You didn’t make it easy.”

“Nothing in life is easy, Sloane. Predators rule. Love is—”

“Love always wins,” I interrupted, refusing to look at him. “I have to believe that.”

“What do you want from me?”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“You,” I murmured. “We’re almost there. The last thing I want to do is argue before…”

Chaser grunted, his hand finding my thigh. The contact made me shiver, our dysfunctional relationship fast becoming the least of our worries. We would have time to figure us out. We had to. I needed to. Fortitude wouldn’t be forever. Chaser said he’d go anywhere with me.

“T-minus five minutes,” I said as I took the exit that would take us toward the compound. “Any last words of wisdom?”

“Don’t break eye contact.”

“Don’t plan on it.” I flicked on the indicator and turned down a side street, leaving the traffic behind.

“You know your way around,” Chaser remarked.

“Bad memories always stick.”

Ahead, I could see the Fortitude compound lurking out of the half-light. It was bathed in the orange glow of the street lamps overhead, but the sign outside was lit. Fortitude Customs was painted in bright blue over the double garage, and a graffiti-style mural was plastered over the entire side wall. Motorcycles, skulls, flames, and the crossed swords that the club had taken for its emblem when they’d first formed over thirty years ago. Beyond was the factory-styled building that housed the rest of the operation. Bedrooms, common rooms, kitchen, storage, the works. Not all members of the club lived here, but a majority did, along with their women and whores…for lack of a better word.

Chaser gave my thigh one last reassuring squeeze as I turned off the road and passed the lineup of motorcycles out front. I brought the car to a stop inside the garage, my skin crawling when I saw several pairs of eyes turn toward us.

Big, mean, beefed up men rose to their feet, the clang of tools echoing their deliberate steps toward their unexpected house guests. Several reached for weapons, and I swallowed a ball of fear that had risen in the back of my throat.

Chaser opened the door and practically fell out onto the grease-stained concrete. The man at the front of the group reached out and pulled him to his feet, not even commenting when Chaser let out a grunt of pain.

Climbing out of the car, I rested my hand on the roof and narrowed my eyes at the group of men who’d just seemed to realize I was standing there. My skin crawled as I was subjected to the ultimate staring contest.

There were six of them, all big, dirty, and cut from the same dangerous asshole cloth. Tattoos, scruffy beards, scars, muscles, flannel shirts, leather vests, bandanas… The uniform hadn’t changed one bit, but the more I settled into my surroundings, the more I realized the compound had evolved and got itself renovated. The garage was a bona fide business now, turning out paint jobs, tune-ups, customizations—the whole nine yards. It was a whole pimp your motorcycle extravaganza. I’d bet these bastards were incorporated and used it as a front to launder cash for their main sources of income, which were drugs, gambling, and intimidation services. Dial-a-beating dot com.

“Chaser,” the man at the front of the group said. “We were starting to think some fucker slit your throat.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Some entrance,” he said before giving me the once-over. “This her?”

Chaser nodded. “Where’s Butcher?”

The man whistled, and a scrawny guy at the rear of the garage ran off, disappearing into the compound beyond.

Butcher? I curled my lip, knowing it was in my best interests to keep my mouth shut.

“Deluca. Rocket. Get Chaser inside.”

The man’s gaze fixed on me, and I stared right back. His bulk was intimidating and paired with his full beard, hard lips, and fully tattooed body, you had one mean-looking piece of work. Most people would’ve shied away, pissed their pants, or made a break for it. But I wasn’t most people.

For a full minute, no one said a single thing. The two guys known as Deluca and Rocket hesitated, and Chaser leaned against the car, watching me closely. Weapons were still drawn and hadn’t been put away when they realized their brother was home with his cargo.

Crunch time.

“I saw her put a bullet in some fucker’s head,” Chaser said, his voice loud in the silent garage. “Didn’t blink.”

“And she didn’t want to put one in yours, too?” the man asked, still staring me down. “Knife you instead, did she?”

“Settle the hell down, Harley,” Chaser snapped. “You think she’s going to come here when she had a chance to slit my throat and ride off into the sunset? She’s her father’s daughter. Through and through. I’d watch your balls before she cuts them off.”

Harley eyed me and then stepped away from Chaser. “Get this cock inside before he bleeds out. Betty…”

I tilted my head to the side. I’d passed the first test. He wasn’t going to intimidate me with his ugly face and switchblade, not after the ride I’d had to get here. Like Chaser said, I’d shot a guy in the head and kept it together. I’d shoot my own father if I had to. Well, the jury was still out on that one.

“Don’t fucking call me Betty,” I said, my voice low and full of warning.

Chaser smirked and threw his arm around Deluca’s—or was it Rocket’s?—shoulder.

“Boss’ll want to see you,” Harley said. “Now.”

Slamming the car door closed, I glared at the man who was at least three times the size of me and rounded the hood. Ignoring the eyes trained my way, I followed Harley to the right while Chaser was hauled off to the left. The next part I would face alone, but I always knew it would be this way.

It was time to go see Daddy. Imprisonment or freedom. Which was it going to be?