Cain and I had ridden to the clubhouse, me on the back of his bike, in so much more than the literal way.

The parking lot was full.

Fucking bursting.

Not only had the California chapter turned up, but everyone within driving distance, with more bikes filtering in ahead of us and behind us.

“Fuck,” I whispered, getting off the bike.

Cain’s eyes scanned groups of bikers, all grim-faced and disturbingly silent. Police cars mingled in with the bikes, sufficiently outnumbered. This made sense since our town wasn’t exactly huge, the police force didn’t have that many resources for this kind of thing.

Plus, they were on our payroll. I knew this because I was responsible for the envelope they received every month.

I wondered what would happen now.

Cain was in front of me, hands lightly on my hips. “This is gonna be intense, angel,” he said, searching my eyes.

My body responded instantly to his casual touch and to his expression. “No shit,” I said harshly to counter the softening of my body.

The corner of his mouth turned up before he yanked me into a brutal kiss. I was used to being kissed in front of people. I’d been fucked in front of people, on the days my demons screamed louder than usual. But this was more intimate than any act I’d performed in public.

“Gonna be a busy day, busy fuckin’ week,” Cain muttered when he released me. “But make no mistake, every one of those days is endin’ with you on the back of my bike, me in that bed, fucking you in all sorts of depraved ways.” He paused, squeezing me. “Claiming every inch of you. And there’s not gonna be any of the shit that normally goes with this, the arguing about how this is too soon or whatever the fuck. This is somethin’, you know it. I know it. You don’t do bullshit. You do truth. Until recently, your truth has been a lot of ugly. Now it’s gonna be somethin’ different than that. Not beautiful because we’re not people that get that. But somethin’ else. Somethin’ better. And it’s not too soon since I’ve been waitin’ all my fuckin’ life for this shit.” He paused. “You gonna argue any of that?”

I wanted to. Fuck, did I want to. All of that terrified me. All of those words that tangled him up in me in ways that were more intimate than how he’d fucked me into the early hours of the morning. I wanted to lie and tell him he needed to be committed. That he was riding a wave of death, clinging on to me because I represented some kind of life.

But I couldn’t.

Because I didn’t lie.

So instead I whispered, “No, I’m not gonna argue.”

His eyes flared and he kissed me again, close mouthed and hard. “Good.”

Then he slung his arm around my shoulder and started walking us toward the biggest, and most attractive group in the parking lot.

The Amber chapter of the Sons of Templar MC.

I’d walked into hundreds of rooms filled with some of the most dangerous men in the country, almost always alone. And I’d never been filled with as many nerves as when we approached the man I knew to be the president of the club.

He settled his gray eyes on Cain, then on me. Nothing moved on his harsh and incredibly attractive face. He was known for his granite and ruthless expressions that only cracked when around his wife or children.

“Brother,” Cade greeted, lifting his chin. “This shit...” He trailed off. One of the biggest badass of all badasses was lost for words.

“Yeah,” was all Cain said, squeezing me closer into his body.

I should’ve shrugged out of the grasp, should’ve run over to the small collection of scantily clad girls huddled by a group of bikes. Some I recognized gave me lame little waves.

I ignored this. But that wasn’t unusual, I wasn’t known for being friendly. What was unusual was me melting into Cain’s arms like I had some kind of right to be there.

“Whoever did this is gonna fuckin’ bleed,” a man I recognized as Gage bit out in a chilling tone.

“Yeah, they will,” Cade agreed, his eyes finally moved to me.

“This is my woman, Scarlett,” Cain said. Without hesitation. With some kind of fucking pride. As if I hadn’t fucked half the men gathered in this parking lot.

There was a slight twitch in Cade’s mouth. “You get here last night, discover the bodies and somehow find your woman at the same time?” he asked dryly.

“First thing she did was point her piece at me,” Cain said.

“My kind of woman,” Gage said, winking at me, all coldness gone. “Of course, not now, since I’m married and wildly in love.” He winked again.

He was fucking insane. But also insanely hot.

Cade’s eyes flickered over me. There was no judgment, no sense of superiority. “Get it,” he said.

Cain squeezed me again.

“Scarlett! Get your ass over here,” a throaty voice called across the crowd.

We turned to see Linda, hands on her hips, glaring in the general direction.

“You can meet the family later, there’s shit to do,” she continued, voice as harsh and authoritative as usual.

“I should go before she starts throwing knives,” I said.

Cade chuckled.

I focused on him. “Oh, I’m not joking, it’s happened at least five times this year. And I really don’t want my own bloodstains on this outfit.” I gestured down to the white, long-sleeved, form-fitting dress I was wearing with tan boots. The one Cain had taken one look at and bent me over the kitchen counter and fucked me before we got here.

Cade blinked at me then chuckled some more.

He focused on Cain. “Get it,” he repeated.

I’d gotten the biker president’s approval somehow.

I moved from Cain’s grasp. “You’ve got club shit to do, and I’ve got shit to do that’ll stop me from being stabbed.”

His arms flexed from where they’d settled on my upper arms. “No jokin’ about stabbed,” he demanded, his easy expression gone.

The intensity of his gaze took me by surprise. Intensity that shouldn’t have been there after such a limited amount of time together, but somehow felt right, comfortable against my skin.

“Well, that leaves my material rather thin, but I’ll do my best,” I said dryly. And before I could get too comfortable under that gaze, that grip, I walked away.

Not that walking away did any difference.

He was under my skin, for better or for worse.

And with me, it was always for worse.

* * *

The rest of the week was little more than a blur. I’d never been more exhausted in my life. Somehow, I took up a spot as Linda’s right-hand woman. Macy was there, of course, as an Old Lady, but she had a son and a protective husband to worry about. A husband who was now the president of the chapter and who didn’t want his pregnant wife on her feet for large portions of the day.

She did what she could—which was still a fuck of a lot. And she held it together. Linda had not taken a moment to breathe, to let the reality of her husband’s death sink in. Which I guessed was kind of the point.

I made it my mission to keep up with her, to listen to every barked command. To bark commands of my own. In addition to the logistics of having numerous different clubs to host, I also still had the books to balance since we were paying for one of the biggest funerals the Sons of Templar had ever seen.

And the local police’s envelope had to be considerably fatter this time around since we’d lost out treasurer—Levi—I was taking care of things that only patched members had done up until this point.

“Trust you, Scar,” Hansen had said when I brought it up.

That was it. No threats, veiled or otherwise. I guessed there was already enough graves to be dug to even think about digging another.

I barely saw Cain during the day, apart from the moments he’d snatch me from whatever I was doing to claim me in a kiss. Mostly because we couldn’t get enough of each other, like a drug, and also to communicate what I was now. His property. This was after a few members had tried to seek comfort in the place they usually did, pussy.

“Off fuckin’ limits, unless you want to share a casket with one of our fallen brothers,” Cain had spat at one of the men from the Nevada charter after he’d grabbed my ass.

Word had spread quick.

I hadn’t even argued against the caveman behavior.

I should’ve.

But after that particular incident, Cain had dragged me off to a dark hallway and fucked me against the wall. I didn’t have much arguing in me then.

And even when I did have the energy, I couldn’t do it. I spent days organizing logistics of burying everyone I’d known for the past five years. The only place that was foreign—Cain’s company—was the only place that felt fucking safe.

I knew I’d have to rip myself out of it at some point. Knew I wasn’t built to be an Old Lady, to be anyone’s...anything.

I did try, once.

After two nights of the best sex of my life. Of the connection...whatever it was. Which was the worst thing for me.

It was after the ass grabbing incident, when we had gotten to my place, in the early hours of the morning. The hours reserved for my pain, my palpable loneliness. That deafening silence. But there was none of that with Cain around.

Especially not silence.

“Any more of that shit happens, some fucker putting his hands on you, you’re comin’ to me,” he declared as I poured us our nightly glasses of vodka. We both may have liked certain kinds of pain, but there was some that needed to be dulled so we could experience the other.

I paused my pouring. “Two things. If that shit happens again, I don’t need to come running to you, I take care of myself. Never in my life has someone protected me, spoken for me.” I narrowed my eyes. “And never have I needed anyone to.”

He stared at me, silent, though the way he held himself, I knew he wanted to speak. Argue. But he was letting me talk first.

I hated that it was another thing I liked about him.

“Secondly, of course that’s going to happen again, Cain. I’m a club whore. I’m fair game.”

“You’re not a fucking whore, Scarlett,” he hissed, his entire body taut. “You say it again, I’ll take you over my knee.”

My core pulsed, anger giving way to desire. “Is that a promise?”

His eyes turned dark. “You won’t like it.”

I smiled. “Oh, but I will. If it’s pain you’re offering, I won’t just like it, I’ll love it.”

He stepped forward. “You sure you can take the amount of pain I offer?”

I put my hand on his neck, scratching it with the tips of my blood red nails. “You sure you can offer the amount of pain I can take?”

His eyes glowed and he yanked me roughly into his body, his hard-on pressing into my stomach, hand kneading my ass.

“I’ll offer you everything, angel. You’re mine,” he declared.

I stared at him. At the words he’d thrown out so fiercely they were damn near stamped on the air. His jaw was hard, body taut, eyes dark. I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

He blinked in confusion. And when I didn’t stop, he glowered. “It’s not a fuckin’ joke,” he hissed.

“Oh, I know,” I choked out, still laughing. I got hold of myself, wiping a rogue tear from my eye.

“Then why the fuck are you laughing?” he clipped.

“Because, it’s utterly fucking ridiculous.”

This did not help his fury.

“We have’t even known each other a week. Fucked, sure. Great fucking at that. We’ve discovered bodies together, buried the bodies together. And now you’re repeating the alpha fucking script of concluding that makes me ‘yours,’ you gotta admit...it’s fucking bonkers,” I said.

His glower stayed in place and he grasped my hips, slamming my body into his.

I let out a little gasp at the contact, the violence in his grip. The beautiful pain.

His eyes darkened farther at my response. “There’s no script with you, angel. That’s the fuckin’ point. That’s why you’re mine.”

I blinked at him. “I’m everyone’s.”

His body turned granite and his grip tightened past the point of sexual pain to real pain. I still relished it. Because I was that fucked up. I’d let him hurt me to breaking point. “Not anymore.”

I raised my brow. “And that’s your decision to make?”

“You wanna give your cunt to anyone but me?” he shot.

I jerked at the naked words. My pussy clenched at the way he said it. I could lie. Exert all my feminine rights just for the sake of his patriarchal behavior. But I didn’t lie. And even the feminist in me was turned on by his patriarchal behavior. “No,” I said honestly.

His eyes flared and his grip relaxed. He yanked me in for a brutal kiss. “It’s decided then,” he said against my mouth, hand moving from my hip, downwards to the edge of my skirt.

I gasped again as his callused hand ran up my inner thigh.

“Your cunt,” he hissed, moving my panties aside and exploring my soaking core. “Is mine.” He pushed a finger inside. “You, are mine,” he continued, moving with the exact perfect speed and technique.

My breathing quickened as he built me up to climax, face against mine, eyes burning into me.

“It’s tha—t simple?” I gasped.

He stopped moving. “No, angel. It’s not that simple. Which is the fucking point.”

I struggled to keep my breathing, to find words. “I’m not a girl that works on pretty words and promises of hearts. Just tell me you’ll fuck me hard and that you’ll make a home in hell with me.”

What I left unsaid was, for the time being. This wasn’t permanent. This feeling. The only thing permanent was pain and misery. I wasn’t succumbing to hope offered to me by the devil.

Yet.

Cain continued to move his fingers, kissing me fiercely, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. I relished the coppery taste mixing in our mouths.

“I’ll fuck you hard, and I’ll make hell feel like fucking heaven,” he growled.

And he did.

That night and every other.

I was on the back of his bike every night or the early hours of the morning. And he was in my bed, fucking me until the sun came up. We snatched sleep in each other’s arms and it started again the next day.

And then the funeral.

* * *

The funeral was big.

Huge.

Not only did most of the chapters from around the country attend, so did the other clubs that we considered allies.

This included the Devil’s Own, which I was happy as all shit about since I got to see my bitch, Melissa. She was one of the few Old Ladies who didn’t turn up her nose at club whores. Well, to be fair, every woman connected to the Sons of Templar treated us with somewhat of a distant respect. I suspected if I made more of an effort than a cold smile they would’ve welcomed me into their fold much like they had with Macy.

But despite the fact some of them had stories almost as dark as mine, they took a different route than me. They didn’t put their feelings in the deep freeze. They didn’t ice up their souls.

They did the opposite. They smiled, laughed regularly. Did crazy shit. Did things like go out for cocktails, have girl’s nights. Have kids. Marriages. And because they were kick-ass women, I respected them. I envied them. So no way would I be able to be friends with women who embodied everything I couldn’t have or was too afraid to try and be.

Melissa was more my speed.

She had demons.

A filthy mouth.

A more cynical view of the world.

We were as close as I could be with someone.

But they had shit of their own going down, so we only got to do one tequila shot together before she and Hella rode off, with a Devil at their heels.

I wore black, of course.

A form-fitting, sheer lace black dress with long sleeves and a short hem. My boots went up to my thighs so the technical amount of skin I had showing was minimal. Sure, my black bra underneath was completely visible, but this was a biker funeral.

“Angel.” The voice was as rough as the grip that settled on my hips and yanked me around just as I’d finished putting my silver cross earrings in.

He ran his eyes over me at the same time his hands went up and down the sides of my body. “Would’ve thought on the day we’re burying so many brothers that the only thing I’d be able to focus on was revenge, need for blood,” he said. “But you’ve proved me wrong. I’m gonna be thinkin’ of that, and all the ways I’m gonna fuck you after.” His hand moved to cup my breast.

I bit my lip. His eyes flared as he watched me do so.

Then he paused, something moving in his eyes as he moved his hand to cup my face. “You okay, angel?” he asked, voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “This is a rough day for you. Keep forgettin’ just how rough because you are a fuckin’ warrior. Have been all week. Keep waitin’ for you to fall apart.”

I blinked at him. “I’m not going to fall apart,” I said, my voice even. “That’s not my style.”

He eyed me. “Yeah, the style you wear like that fuckin’ sinful dress. But not what’s inside. You’re safe with me, angel.”

I stiffened. “I’m not safe with anyone, you most of all.”

His hand tightened on my face. “Gonna prove you wrong on that score.”

I don’t know what did it. Maybe it was the past six days all hitting me at once. The fact we were burying everyone I’d known and cared about...as much as could care about people. It could’ve been that. But it was most likely the harsh man in front of me, cupping my face, speaking to me softly in promises that rattled in my hollow heart.

“I’m just so empty,” I whispered. I was horrified at the broken tone and even more horrified at the single tear that trailed down my cheek. “That’s why I haven’t looked for more, that’s why I stayed as little more than a place for broken men to fill themselves up. I haven’t looked for more because I don’t have more. There’s nothing in me that can create more. Not for me, not for anyone else.” I made sure to keep my eyes anywhere, but on the man I’d somehow fallen in love with in a handful of days. “Everything that’s happened showed me I’ve been right in what I’ve been doing. Making sure I didn’t let anyone fill me up properly.”

“No.” The word was violent, as was his grip, his eyes. “You’re not empty, and you’re not fuckin’ right. Because somehow, these past six days, when there should’ve been nothing but death and pain...you’ve created more. More than a fucked up man like myself could’ve imagined. Dreamed up. So you’re fuckin’ wrong.” His hand moved to circle my neck, cupping it roughly. “I know there’s been no time in this week for anything but fuckin’ between us. But it’s been more than that, you know it as well as I do. But I also know there’s shit inside you that’s made you think that shit. That’s scarred you. Hollowed you out and made you think you’ll never be whole again. I can see that pain in you. I can fuckin’ feel it. And I like it. ‘Cause I got pain of my own. And it plays well with yours. Never was I gonna be able to have that with a normal bitch. Regular. And you’re not normal. In all the ways that are important. Painful. And we’re gonna talk about that shit. I wanna know it all. I’m gonna make sure we have time.”

He paused, snatching my hands and yanking them above my head.

“I’m not gonna give you time to argue with everything I just said,” he said, lips against mine.

His other hand moved to yank my dress up, to dive into my soaking panties. I gasped as he went right inside without warning.

“We don’t have time for a lot of shit,” he murmured, moving his fingers. “But we’ve got time to fuck. Then we’ll go do this shit. Then there’s time for us.”

And I didn’t have time to argue.

Because he turned me around, bent me over and fucked the argument out of me. The words out of me.