Six years he’s been gone, and then he falls straight into my bed. Literally. And I know my torment is only beginning.

I waited my whole life for Zee St. James to open his eyes and see me. But Port Clover’s official bad boy would never view me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister.

He shattered my heart into thousands of pieces when he left. And I spent years trying to forget him. Trying to banish the memory of that one kiss.

I thought I’d moved on. But when he comes crashing back into my life, or rather my apartment — the one he still owns — I'm defenseless against him.

Just when I think I might finally get my happily ever after, a web of secrets and betrayal threaten to unravel the hope I finally found in his arms.

And I’m faced with the soul—baring question: Is loving Zee worth the torment he inflicts?

Prologue

Quinn

Eighteen Years Old

A rumble of thunder in the distance has more than a dozen black umbrellas opening, and stoic faces glancing up at the sky. Darker clouds roll towards us as a storm approaches off Lake Erie.

The weather is as volatile as the emotions that twist Zee St. James’ handsome face into a scowl. I watch the tick in his jaw as the Minister continues his unmerited praise of the man’s father. Zee’s lips, which are usually full and soft, a sharp contrast to the hard edges of his other features, thin, as his nostrils flare. All I want to do is wrap my arms around him.

I’ve never seen anyone look so utterly alone.

Green eyes with flecks of gold, a color I know from memory, are currently hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. Through the tinted lenses, I know when his gaze lands on me.

As I hold that gaze, my skin burns hot, even when icy pellets of rain begin to fall.

Zee swallows hard, then looks away. I want to beg him to look back again, desperate for even a morsel of attention, a hint of acknowledgement.

God, you’re pathetic, Quinn.

The St. James brothers have been part of my life since I was in diapers. They’re family, which should mean that I shouldn’t have the world’s biggest crush on the older of the two.

But I do.

Because who the hell wouldn’t?

Zee St. James is gorgeous.

In the dark suit that’s fitted perfectly for his six-foot-four frame, he looks every day of twenty-four-years, reminding me of the six years that separate us.

He’s a man.

Beautiful and damaged.

And completely off limits.

Scruff, a darker shade of brown than his hair, coats his jaw. I follow the movement of his hand as he rubs his palm over it.

A small sigh escapes my lips. A sound that must be louder than I thought, because my brother Abbott bumps me with his elbow and gives me a funny look, one that looks a little too much like, It’s a funeral, Quinn. Not the best place to fantasize over a man who you’ll never have.

My cheeks warm, hating that anyone, especially my annoying brother, might know my feelings.

More wind lashes around me, and I shiver, trying to keep my damn skirt from flipping up and my long hair from whipping around like Medusa’s snakes. Beside Abbott, my mom, whose hair and pressed black dress seem crazy glued in place, gives me a pointed look. And I can hear the lecture I know she’s dying to give me. One that would start with, “I told you not to wear that skirt...”

But my wardrobe malfunction is the least of my concerns. Not when Zee is hurting the way he is. I wish I could go back to a time when he’d talk to me, rather than the sullen broodiness I get from him now.

I don’t know what changed, other than me getting boobs. But from the rumors I’ve heard about him, he’s seen his fair share. Enough not to be intimidated by mine.

Zee crouches, broad shoulders slumped forward as he reaches down and grabs a fistful of dirt, hesitating briefly before tossing it on top of the casket.

Emotions storm inside of me as I watch him, feeling the torment that lashes through the man. Damaged in ways I can’t fathom. His edges cut sharper than any blade. Angry at the world and everyone around him.

And yet I love him.

Given a chance, I’d take every shattered part of the man and make it my life mission to repair him. Do anything to finally feel his strong, calloused hands on my body, to taste his lips, and give him every part of my body, heart and soul.

He already owns them. Owns me.

Yeah, pathetic.

When Zee doesn’t move back, his brother, Liam, places a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugs off as he stands. Angry words are spoken between them, words that are muted by the howling wind. My brother Kade gets in the middle, placing a palm on Zee’s chest, and whispering something in his ear.

The Minister continues his boring eulogy in a monotonous tone as if there isn’t about to be a sibling brawl right beside him.

Zee gives a harsh shake of his head, pushing away from Kade, before turning his back and stalking down the hill towards the cars that line the road. Even from a distance, I can see the caged animal inside the man, pacing to get out. He’s always been wild, untamed, and Kade has been the only one who he’s ever seemed to open up to. But lately he’s even pulled away from him.

I breathe out harshly when Zee gets on his motorcycle and speeds out of the cemetery, tires creating a cloud of dirt, stones, and smoke as they squeal away, giving the town — half of which showed up to this circus — something else to criticize him for.

Already I hear the mumblings.

“Like father, like son.”

“How disrespectful.”

“He always was a bad-tempered boy.”

I twist around and glare at the older woman who’s made the last comment, and she purses her lips at me. I shouldn’t let it bother me. In a small town like Port Clover, you’re either the one doing the gossiping or you’re being gossiped about.

The Savages and St. James have always been a prime target of the latter. Not that we didn’t give the old hens something to cluck about. Along with my brothers, the St. James caused enough trouble when they were growing up and that the phrase, “If you don’t know who did it, blame the Savages and Saints,” had become an official saying in town.

Zee and my brother Kade had cashed in on the term a couple years ago by opening a bar by the marina, and naming it, Savages and Saints.

It’s there that we go after the funeral. To the weathered old building, where my brother and Zee share an apartment on the second floor.

I sit in one of the back booths with my Diet Coke, watching the window for any sign of Zee. An hour goes by and he still doesn’t show up. I’m not sure if he will. He’d been disappearing for days, sometimes weeks at a time lately.

“You look miserable,” Abbott says, sliding into the booth and pulling out a bottle of Jameson from his suit jacket. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he pours a large amount in my Diet Coke, then takes a deep swallow from the bottle.

I raise an eyebrow. The youngest of my brothers, he’s still a year away from legal drinking age. “Where did you get that?”

He shrugs, takes another swig before recapping it and hiding it back under his jacket. “There’s like five cases of this shit in the back room.”

“Kade will kill you if he finds out,” I say, but it doesn’t stop me from sipping the whiskey-laced Coke.

I wince as it burns a path down my throat.

“You going to tell?” He raises a dark brow.

“No.”

My other three brothers are by the bar, heads tilted together in what seems like a serious conversation. We all get along fine, for the most part. The older three, Jasper, Kade and Damon, can be annoyingly overprotective. It’s Abbott I butt heads with the most, probably because we’re the closest in age, only thirteen months apart. That, and he teases me mercilessly.

Dragging a hand over his dark, cropped hair, Abbott’s brows pull together. “Zee seems pretty upset.”

I follow Abbott’s gaze across the room, where Zee has just walked in, and my heart does the painful little dance it always does when I see him. Stupid heart.

I shrug and try not to let how he affects me show on my face. “His dad just died.”

Abbott grunts. “The guy was a class-A asshole. You remember how many times Liam and Zee came over with busted up lips and bruises—”

“Still.” I let out a small sigh, watching as Zee disappears behind the bar. “He was Zee’s dad. I can’t imagine how hard this has been on him.”

My throat constricts as I watch Zee peel off his suit jacket and loosen his tie. He rolls up the sleeves of his button down, exposing the dark ink on his muscular forearms. He looks everything like the town’s official bad boy, which he is.

And then there’s his voice. Rough and grainy, yet softer than silk when he sings. I’ve snuck into the back of Savages and Saints a few times, when I knew Kade and him were playing on Saturday nights. They’re good. Really good. Unlike Zee, my brother has no ambition other than running the bar.

“Quinn.” There’s warning in the way Abbott says my name, and when I glance back at him he’s studying me with a frown.

“What?”

His lips thin and he gives a harsh shake of his head. He leans forward, forearms on the table, and sighs. “He’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Who?” I feign innocence, like I wasn’t just drooling over the man who’s currently slamming back shots of whiskey as if they’re water.

Abbott rolls his eyes. “Zee. He’s bad news.”

Yeah, I know that. But there’s more to him.

“And you’re not?” I joke, but it only gets me a scowl in return. I let out an exasperated breath. “He’s...family.”

Except he’s not. And what I feel for him is far from sisterly affection.

“I see the way you look at him.”

God, is it that obvious? “I don’t—”

“Just stay away. If he touches you, it won’t just be Kade who he’ll have to worry about.”

I make a face, trying to keep my emotions hidden. “Don’t be gross. He’s like twenty-four and—”

“And you’re eighteen—”

“Almost nineteen,” I add quickly, regretting it immediately.

Abbott’s jaw clenches. “Just find someone your own age.”

I grin at him and wiggle my brows and tease, “Like one of your friends?” I glance around the room then nod towards two of Abbott’s football buddies, who are doing a really shitty job at hiding the flask they pass between them. “Ace Hawkins is kind of cute, Maybe he and I—”

“Don’t be a brat.” He starts to slide out of the booth. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“Advice heeded.” I salute him, watching as he makes his way over to Ace and the other guy, no doubt about to give them both a lecture to keep their hands off me. That thought doesn’t bother me, because I don’t want any of Abbott’s friends.

I want Zee.

Who has officially disappeared again.

I finish the rest of my drink, feeling a small buzz when I stand and weave my way through the crowd towards the restroom.

On my way out, I’m almost run down by Kade’s girlfriend, Ana, as she storms out of the office, blonde hair a mess, mascara running down her cheeks, eyes bloodshot, and pupils so large and fixed that I have no doubt she’s on something.

“Watch it,” she mutters, pushing past me before disappearing into the ladies room.

“Nice,” I mumble sarcastically.

I’m about to give my brother the same lecture Abbott just gave me — to stay away from that one — when I see it’s Zee and not Kade sitting at the cluttered desk, face in his hands.

Butterflies dance in my stomach and my heart beats wildly.

Walk away Quinn, my brain warns, knowing how volatile the man is right now.

I don’t want to be in his path when he finally blows, which by the looks of him, is only a matter of time.

“Hey,” I say softly walking in, then doing the one thing I know I shouldn’t — close the door.

He looks up, and I’m not sure he even recognizes me. His eyes are clouded by pain and alcohol — and maybe something else.

When his gaze finally fixes on me, my breath catches in my throat, because there’s something almost feral staring back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was lust that eases the pain for that split second. Or maybe it only intensified it, because the next second he’s looking away and burying his head in his hands again, fingers tugging at his hair.

“Zee, I—”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, low and desperate, like he’s ready to break at any moment. His suffering is so heavy, it saturates the air in the small room.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He laughs. It’s a terrible sound, one that’s filled with bitterness. “No, Quinn,” he says, my name sounding harsh. “I’m not fucking okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Feeling like a complete ass, I start to reach for the door handle. I inhale deeply and let it out. “I shouldn’t have...”

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor as he does. Then takes three long strides, removing the distance between us. He doesn’t touch me, but his palm flattens on the door, stopping me from opening it.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry about?” Green eyes bore into me, searching me with an intensity I’m not used to. There’s a slur to his words, and I smell whiskey on his breath.

“I—I’m sorry…” Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, my breath comes out shaky. I can’t think, so I say the only thing that comes to mind, “For your loss.”

“Loss.” He gives another harsh, broken laugh. “Right.” Eyes closed, agony is etched into his features. “Fucked up.” He slams his palm on the door and a noise that sounds almost like a growl rumbles from his chest. “Everything’s fucked up. Going to lose...can’t...fuck.”

I’ve seen my brothers drunk several times, but this is different. It’s like he’s pulled into himself, trapped in his own internal hell.

I should probably be afraid of the giant of a man that looms over me, but I know in the pit of my soul he’d never hurt me.

Hurt himself, yes. Me, never.

I place a palm on his cheek, and my hand tingles with the contact, little sparks of heat that go straight to my core. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

His jaw twitches under my hand, and his throat bobs as he swallows. For a brief moment, he leans into my touch. I know if he’d give me the chance I could ease his suffering. I’d do everything in my power to remove his pain.

“You shouldn’t...” His lashes flutter open and heat flares between us. As energy fills the space between us, the world outside these walls stops.

I know he feels it too. I see it in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Quinn.” His voice is pained, but his body slowly inches closer until his forehead rests against mine. He reaches out and grabs a strand of my dark hair, twisting it between his thumb and index finger. His next words come out in an uneven breath. “I’m not the man you think I am...”

There’s a crack in his armor. Vulnerability and regret pour from his words, choking him.

“You are.” I know it in my soul. He’s everything and more.

His eyes close again and he shakes his head. “Wish I could be.”

My heart beats wildly. Maybe it’s the alcohol that burns through my veins, but I feel emboldened, so I lift on tiptoes and place my lips against his.

“Quinn,” he moans against my mouth, and I feel every cell in my body awakening.

His mouth is soft, breath warm, but he doesn’t move.

Kiss me back, I want to beg.

“I want...” I whisper against his mouth, my fingers fisting in his shirt. “You.”

His fingers dive into my hair, and my back is against the door, his large, hard thigh wedging between my own as his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip.

I let out a soft whimper, and it’s matched by a deep guttural sound from Zee’s throat. His kiss turns hungry and possessive.

I pull at his shirt, wanting to touch his skin. Wanting all of it. Everything he can give me.

“Please, Zee.”

A sound vibrates in the back of his throat. He rests his forehead against mine as he mutters, “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Don’t stop...” I lean back into him, gripping his shirt, the ache in my core so intense it’s almost painful. “I want this.”

He jerks back, and I’m not prepared for the anger that flashes in his eyes. “Fuck, Quinn.” His breathing is rough, ragged. Green eyes search mine for God knows what, and I can’t tell if he wants to kiss me again or shake me senseless. Maybe both. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I...thought...”

“You thought what?” The words are harsh. He moves to the far corner of the room and starts pacing.

When he glances over at me, disgust curls his lips. It’s like a punch to the gut, one that leaves me sucking in air.

“Zee, please.” Big, fat tears burn my eyes, threatening to spill.

“Please, what?” He glares at me. “What did you think would happen? You think I’m going to fuck you? Is that what you want Q?” He roughs his fingers over his dark hair and winces. “You’re a goddamn baby. And I’m...”

He starts to pace the room again.

“An asshole,” I say sharply, humiliation mixing with hurt. Rejection swells inside me and I swear my heart is going to burst from my chest. I struggle with the door, unable to get the damn thing open. I shake the brass handle, then slam my palm against the frame. “What’s wrong with this stupid door?”

He moves towards me, presses a button and turns the knob, opening it slightly, but not wide enough for me to escape.

“Let me go.”

He leans down, capturing my chin in his big hand and forcing me to look at him. “You’re right. I am an asshole.”

I clench my teeth and try to jerk away, but he doesn’t let me. Not that I really want him to release me, because even now, I’m desperate for his touch. And I hate him for it.

“Promise me something, Quinn.”

“No,” I spit out. It’s a juvenile response, but that’s how he’s made me feel. Like a kid. Not worthy of someone like him.

He lets out a low sigh, then traces my bottom lip with his thumb. The gesture is intimate and confusing, and I want to cry. But I blink back the damn tears and glare up at him.

“Promise me you'll stay away from guys like me.” It’s his final rejection. A clear acknowledgment that he’ll never be mine.

All my dreams shatter around me, but I find the strength to say with as much conviction as I can muster, “I promise I’ll stay away from you.”

With a small nod, the muscles in his jaw clenching, he releases me and opens the door.

I pour out of the office, once again running straight into Ana, who grabs me by the shoulders, fingernails biting into my flesh, when I stumble into her. Her lips twist in a sneer when she looks between Zee and me, but whatever conclusions she comes to, I don’t care. All I want is to get as far away from him as possible.

I’m not sure I would have run so fast if I’d known he would disappear from my life, from Port Clover, hell, from the face of the earth. But that’s exactly what he did.

Zee St. James left that night, taking my broken, pathetic heart with him.

Chapter One

Quinn

Six Years Later

“I need next Friday off,” I tell Kade as I place my empty tray on the bar, the last of the lunch crowd finally gone.

“You already have the night off. You’re watching Lola. Remember?” He nods at my five-year-old niece, who’s sitting at the bar.

Chewing on the end of her blonde ponytail, Lola’s freckled nose scrunches up as she watches something on her iPad.

She glances over at the mention of her name, blue eyes sparking with mischief. “Can we watch Suicide Squad—”

“No,” Kade says, then pours a glass of chocolate milk and puts it in front of her. “I already told you, you’re too young.”

She pouts. “But Quinn let me—”

“Hey.” I give her a look of warning that tells her not to throw me under the bus, which I’m starting to think is becoming a favorite pastime of hers. I pull out some quarters from my apron pocket and place them in her palm, then nod at the old jukebox. “Why don’t you go put some music on, and we’ll talk about movie options later.”

“Sure, Aunt Q.” She gives me an over exaggerated wink before sliding off her stool, then whisper yells, “Suicide Squad.”

I groan, knowing the shit Kade is going to give me.

When I turn back, he’s glowering at me.

“What?” I lean over and pour a Diet Coke from the fountain machine.

“Told you I don’t want her watching that stuff. It’s too violent.” Kade places his palms on the counter, concern drawing his brows down when he glances over at Lola, who’s still squinting at the Jukebox titles like she can read them.

“You’re too overprotective.” I shove a straw in my Coke and take a sip.

“I have reason to be.” His lips twist in a frown.

I sigh, because I know he’s right.

God only knows what that kid went through the first year of her life, in the hands of her drug addicted mother, before the courts awarded Kade full custody. She’d been so underweight, her little body full of sores from not being changed and washed properly. It was hard not to cry the first time I’d seen her. Even now, my chest squeezes knowing the neglect she suffered. Maybe that’s why I want to spoil her rotten every chance I get.

“All right. No Suicide Squad. But can we change your man night”—I make quote marks in the air—“to Saturday?”

“No.” He turns his back and pulls out the cash tray from the till, then puts it on the counter and starts counting the money.

I open my mouth to argue, then clamp my lips shut. Once Kade has made up his mind about something, there’s no sense fighting him on it. He’s even more stubborn than Damon, and that’s saying something. Plus, taking care of Lola once a month is part of the deal of me getting the apartment above the bar practically rent free.

I only moved in a week ago. Boxes still line the walls, and other than the old couch and TV Kade left, I don’t have any furniture, only my Queen size mattress and old dresser.

Still, it’s a huge upgrade from my parent’s basement. Speaking of which, “What about Mom? She could—”

“Quinn.” Kade places his forearms on the bar and gives me one of his serious looks, the one that draws a deep line between his brows. “One night, that’s all.”

“Fine,” I say. “But I want tonight off. Jenny said she can cover for me. I need to unpack.”

He grunts. “You’re never going to pay off those credit card bills.”

“I’m chipping away at it. The last trip to Ireland just put me back a bit.”

I’d gone to visit my cousin Makena, who’d been living there since she fell madly in love with Wild Irish’s insanely hot guitarist, Shane Hayes. To say I’m jealous is an understatement. But if anyone deserves a happily ever after, it’s Makena.

“That and your Gucci addiction,” Kade teases, shaking his head. “Or is it Prada this month?”

“Hey, I’ve been better lately.” I grin and say with as much seriousness as I can muster when talking purses and shoes, “With the help of Dr. Phil, I’m learning to control my emotional shopping habits.”

“By replacing it with serial dating,” Abbott says behind me, chuckling.

“I don’t serial date.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Abbott as he takes the stool that Lola was sitting on.

He shakes his head and snickers. “Shit, Q, you’re almost as bad as I am.”

“Except I don’t sleep with every—” I stop myself when I see Lola crawl up on the stool next to Abbott.

She holds out her hand and smiles. “One dollar, please.”

“For what?” Abbott asks, his lips twisting in one of his crooked grins as he stares down at the kid. Yeah, she even has Abbott in the palm of her hands.

“The swear jar. You said shi—”

“Lola,” Kade warns.

“What? He did.”

Abbott laughs, “Jesus, it was fifty-cents last week. I think you’re scamming me.”

“Nope. Now it’s two dollars.” She smiles sweetly. “You shouldn’t say Jesus.”

With a sigh, Abbott pulls out his wallet and puts two bills in her hand then glares at Kade, who just chuckles and places a beer in front of him.

“I picked up the mock-ups of the new menus for you.” Abbott reaches into his bag and pulls out a manila folder, then places it on the bar, shoving it towards Kade. “New logo looks good.”

Kade pulls it out and gives a satisfied noise in the back of his throat before handing it to me.

The logo is a heart with wings and a devil’s tail and horns with Savages and Saints printed in the middle.

“Not sure why you still keep the Saint part,” I mutter, handing it back.

“Because Savages doesn’t have the same ring to it. Plus, Zee still owns half of this place.”

“It’s not like he’s coming back.” My voice holds more bitterness than I intended. But there’s still a broken-hearted eighteen-year-old girl inside me who resents him for leaving town the way he did. And for rejecting me.

“Who’s Zee?” Lola bounces on her knees on the stool beside Abbott.

“Careful,” Kade warns, grabbing her arm when she almost falls off. “He’s an old friend.”

“Some friend,” I mutter. “He took off without even a goodbye.”

“He was hurting,” Kade says on a sigh, always quick to defend the man.

“So was Liam, but he didn’t cut out on the people who needed him.”

“And who needed him?” Abbott asks, one brow raised.

“Liam,” I say quickly. “And Kade. The business—”

“I run the place fine on my own. And Liam knows Zee needs time—”

“Six years?” I shake my head, knowing it’s an argument I’ll never win. Kade will defend the man with his last breath. But then my brother got the occasional call from the man. Me, I got nothing but an empty hole in my chest that would always belong to Zee.

“This town’s better off without him anyway,” Abbott says, shrugging when Kade narrows his eyes at him.

Kade’s jaw clenches, and I see a flash of guilt in his eyes, regret that’s always there whenever Zee’s name is mentioned, which is bullshit, because my brother’s never done anything but defend him.

“He’s right,” I say, hearing the lie in my voice. Because there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish to see his face in person — not just pictures of him captured by a crazed fan or the paparazzi.

Yes, Zee St. James has his own damn entourage of screaming girls throwing themselves all over him nightly.

Where the hell is the fairness in that?

Playing bass guitar for the popular grunge band AutoCorrect, the world knew his face, just not his real name. The only reason I know his secret is because of my addiction to trashy gossip magazines.

AutoCorrect’s bass guitarist ZZ James checked into rehab.

Two pictures were posted beneath the headline: One of him on stage with his shirt off, sweat dripping down tightly coiled abs, the other of a man I barely recognized, with dark circles under his haunted green eyes.

That was a year ago. Since then, it was difficult to find anything online about him. And I’d checked. Whenever I felt the need for inflicting torture on myself, I just googled ZZ James.

When I’d told Kade about Zee’s alter ego, he’d just shrugged it off, like he’d already known, which just pissed me off more.

“The least he could do is send us concert tickets,” I’d grumbled.

I slide off my stool now, when I see a group of four sit down at one of the patio tables outside, thankful for the diversion from anymore talk of Zee.

Six years and the mention of his name still affects me.

Time to move on. I always think I have, and then it hits me, hard, how much of a void he left.

Before I head outside to wait on the new customers, I pull out my phone, and scroll through my contacts.

I’ll admit I’ve pretty much exhausted my list of men to date in this pathetic excuse for a town. In fact, I’ve started to recycle a few of them. Mr. Sexy Arms and Chick-Flick-Guy are my usual go-to’s for when I just need a night out. But there’s no chemistry there, and the last time Chick Flick Guy tried to kiss me, I’m pretty sure we both heard crickets. He hadn’t texted since, and I was kind of glad, even if it meant no more cheap night movie dates.

It’s not that I’m picky. Well, maybe a little. I just know what I want.

Zee St. James, that pesky voice inside my head whispers.

I sigh. No one will ever live up to that standard. Not even the real Zee.

And maybe my Prince Charming doesn’t exist. Or if he does, I highly doubt he has any immediate plans of riding into Port Clover and rescuing me from this monotonous life.

Or worse, maybe I’ve already met him, and I’ve had Zee St. James blinders on for far too long.

I scroll through my phone, until I come to Last-Wednesday-Night-Guy.

He was cute. Tall. Nice features. Goofy grin. Even if he has a few IQ points less than the typical guys I go out with, he’d been able to hold a conversation without mentioning his high school glory days. That was a plus. And, he’s one of Abbott’s friends, so bonus points for getting under my brother’s skin. I’d crossed him off for a second date. But after all the talk about Zee St. James, I’m not in the mood to go home after my shift.

And if the guy’s lucky, I may just break my five-date rule tonight.

Chapter Two

Zee

In the parking lot of Savages and Saints, I turn off the ignition of my bike and take my helmet off. Rubbing the back of my neck, I wince at the rundown building. It’s late, but neon lights still flash the bar’s logo, casting a gold light across the white sailboats that bob in the marina below.

I can’t believe I’m back in this godforsaken town.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I need to face the shit show my life has become, and see if there’s any way to salvage the bridges I’ve burned.

Not likely.

Not when I’m about to bring the full force of Armageddon to the people I care the most about. I’m about to turn my best friend’s life inside out, and there’s nothing I can do about it. No amount of money or fame can protect me from the damage I’m about to unleash.

The bar is empty when I walk in. Half-finished beer bottles and baskets of fries litter some of the booths, remnants of earlier customers. The place could use a paint job and a few of the stools look like they should be replaced. But nothing has really changed. Except there’s a fucking karaoke machine on the stage where we used to have live music.

Jesus, Kade. Wouldn’t have thought he’d sell out to the Bingo crowd. But there’s the evidence in front of me.

I shake my head as I walk towards the stage. Polaroids are hung on the wall, attached with thumbtacks, showing memories of bands we had playing here when we first opened. There’s one of Kade, Damon and me jamming out on opening night of Savages and Saints.

Shit, we were young and so damn full of ourselves, thinking nothing could hurt us. We were flying higher than a kite and not just on the adrenaline of our youth. Drugs, alcohol, women, we had them in excess.

I grunt and shake my head, my gaze wandering across the wall, a grin tugging at my lips when I see a picture of the crew by the pool, in the Savage’s backyard.

I remove the tack and study the picture. It’s yellowed and faded, and the edges roll. Kade, Damon and Jasper flexing their muscles; Abbott and my brother Liam making goofy faces; me, looking like the weight of the world is on my shoulders; and Quinn, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen, dark eyes glancing up at me like I was some kind of god.

I hadn’t been blind. I’d known she worshipped me like I’d hung the fucking sun and moon in the sky. I shouldn’t have been surprised when she’d kissed me in that damn office that night. But I had been. Or I’d been to drunk and high to pay attention to the warning signs.

That had been my excuse the next day when I woke up with a massive hangover, realizing what I’d done. Because I’d kissed her back. Briefly. I’d wanted more. Wanted everything those innocent eyes offered.

Kade would have had my fucking balls if he knew I’d even contemplated it for a second. All the Savages would. Not that I’d blame them. I was just as protective of her as they were. It was the only thing that had stopped me from consuming her whole.

I roll my neck and try not to replay the night in my head, like I have a thousand times before. I can still taste her lips, feel her soft body tremble against mine.

“Hey,” a female voice calls out behind me, startling me back to reality. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I shove the picture in my back pocket and turn to the pretty redhead that’s looking at me with pursed lips.

I’m about to tell her that she should have locked the doors but clamp my mouth over the comment. I’m not the boss. Not anymore. Even though I technically still own half the place. And this isn’t New York. Nothing bad happens in Port Clover.

Not unless I’m involved.

“Kade here?” I ask, glancing around.

She tilts her head at me, and I see her eyes roam appreciatively over my body, her expression turning from annoyance to interest. “He went home a couple hours ago.”

Home. So he isn’t living upstairs anymore. Figures. A bar isn’t exactly an ideal place to live while raising a kid. A kid I just recently found out about. I’ve had short conversations with Liam and Kade over the years, but they never mentioned the girl, or I’d been too wasted to remember.

“You look familiar.” She leans forward, giving me a perfect view of her cleavage, and licks her cherry red lips. Her voice is huskier when she asks, “You from around here?”

“Does anyone actually admit that?” I deadpan.

She chuckles, her gaze once again drifting down my body, then says, “Want a drink?”

“Thought you were closed.”

She winks and pulls a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, then pours two shots. “What the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

I grunt, and almost tell her I am the boss. But I hold off, not wanting to announce my arrival until I talk with Kade, knowing there’s a half dozen people in this town who will want to take a swing at me when they realize I’m back. And not without merit.

“No. I’m good.” Been clean for over a year now. Longest fucking year of my life, but I did it. But being clean doesn’t mean my problems went away, it only made me sober enough to see them more clearly. That’s been the hardest part. Realizing what an asshole I’ve been. The damage I’ve done.

“You sure?” The redhead gives a disappointed pout. “I’ll be finished here in fifteen minutes.”

In the past, I’d probably taken her up on her offer. But it’s not just alcohol I’ve been abstaining from.

Keeping my dick in my pants hasn’t been easy, but it’s been a necessary infliction. Because I’ve come to the conclusion that every bad decision I’ve ever made involved three things — booze and chicks and drugs.

I head outside, not knowing what the hell I’m going to do now. Hadn’t thought out the details when I’d hopped on my bike and rode straight through from Illinois.

The nearest motel that might be open this time of year, is a twenty-minute drive south of town. As much as I came here to make amends, I doubt any of my friends would appreciate me showing up on their doorsteps at this time of night.

I glance up at the small window on the second story of Savages and Saints. If Kade isn’t using the apartment, I doubt he’d mind me staying there tonight.

Hell, I still own the place. It’s not like I’m freeloading.

After the bomb I plan on dropping in his lap, I’ll be throwing a huge check at his ass to help clean up the mess I’m going to make. Enough to repair this shithole and turn it into what we dreamed about when we were younger.

Grabbing my bag from the back of my bike, I go around the back of the building and climb the wooden stairs. I reach above the door frame to the loose panel, lift it, and pull the spare key out, then spin it around in my fingers, wondering if Kade even knew it was still up there.

When I unlock the door, it hits me that someone else might be staying here now.

“Hello?” I give a loud knock, calling out into the darkness.

Nothing. I flick on the lights. Boxes line the walls, and the old couch and forty-inch flat screen Kade and I purchased together almost a decade ago are the only furniture in the place. Safe to say, no one’s living here.

More boxes are stacked on top of each other in my old bedroom, and the bed set I’d left is gone. Walls that had once been a dull beige have been painted bright pink. Butterfly and flower stickers on the closet door evidence that a kid had lived here.

My throat constricts. I missed so damn much.

I lean on the doorframe and wonder how things would have been different if I hadn’t been a coward and run the second things got hard. If I hadn’t wasted five years of my life drowning in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. And another year fighting my way back to the surface. If I would have owned up to my mistakes in the beginning.

Doubt any of them will ever forgive me. I rub the back of my neck and sigh. Don’t deserve their forgiveness. I know that. But after the revelation that was tossed at me recently, I know I have to face my past. And my family.

Kade...Liam...Quinn. Shit, I can still see the hurt in her eyes when I’d pushed her away.

She was everything I wasn’t. Good. Sweet. Pure. Full of hope. And I would have destroyed her like everything else I touch.

My phone buzzes with a text message, and I sigh when I see my manager’s name. The band is going on tour again soon, and they want to sign me again for another three months. I haven’t committed yet, and my manager is getting antsy.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and shut the bedroom lights off.

Kade’s old bedroom is cracked open slightly, and I pray to God that he left at least one mattress in this shitty apartment, because the lumpy old couch, while better than sleeping on the curb outside, isn’t looking enticing.

I groan in appreciation when I open the door wider and see a bed. Keeping the lights off, I kick off my shoes and lay down. The mattress squeaks with my weight, and a faint scent of women's perfume wraps around me, or maybe it’s just in my head.

Eight hours straight on my bike and weeks of insomnia, exhaustion weighs heavy on me. Maybe that’s why I ignore the sense that something is off. I’m too tired to care and isn’t long before I’m pulled into the clutches of sleep, where the nightmares that never cease to plague me, release the demons in my mind.

This time when they come, it’s Quinn’s face I see, her voice I hear, calling to me, warning me away from the ledge of despair. But it’s too late. I always fall, bringing everyone I care about down with me.

Chapter Three

Quinn

It’s official. The men of Port Clover are as boring and pathetic as this little town.

Sitting in Mr. Last-Wednesday-Night’s blue sedan, which I’m pretty sure he borrowed from his parents, I can’t believe I’m contemplating breaking my five date rule. Not because the guy sitting next to me is anything special, but because I realize it’s been months since I’ve had sex. Closer to a year if I’m honest with myself.

Unlike Abbott, my serial dating doesn’t result in nightly blow jobs and sexcapades that would make an Irish sailor blush. No, my dates end like this. Sitting awkwardly in a car, waiting for the guy to make the next move.

Plus, the two glasses of red wine I had at dinner are still running through my veins lowering my inhibitions — and my standards.

The guy is cute, I’ll give him that. Dark blond hair that’s shaved on the sides and longer on the top, dimples in both cheeks, clean shaven, without an inch of ink on any of the exposed muscles that he indiscreetly flexes whenever my gaze drifts to his arms and chest. He’s got the whole good-boy charm going on.

But tonight, I’m not looking for nice.

“You want to come up for...uh...coffee?” I groan inwardly as soon as the words come out. God, Quinn, can you be more of a cliche?

The guy, who does in fact have a name, but has gone by Ace for so long that I honestly can’t remember it, rubs a palm over the back of his neck and winces. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Neither do I.” I control myself from rolling my eyes. “It’s a metaphor.”

“A what?” He tilts his head and gives me a blank look, one that reminds me of the Golden Retriever I used to have when I was a kid. Like he hears my words but can’t actually process the meaning.

I guess I’m going to have to spell it out for him.

“For...sex.”

His brows shoot up, then he gets this dopey expression like I might have to explain what that is too. “Quinn...”

I hear the but in his voice, even before he says it.

“You’re gorgeous, but...”

Yep, there it is.

“But what?” Thank God for the alcohol in my system, because I’d probably be burning with embarrassment right now, rather than just annoyance.

He glances around the parking lot like he’s expecting someone to jump out of the bushes at any second. “Honestly. Your brothers scare the shit out of me.”

I try to hold back another eye roll. This time I’m not successful.

“Then why did you agree to go on a date?”

The corner of his lips pull up, and deep dimples tug at his cheeks. “You’re hot. And I...” He shrugs. “like you.”

I shake my head and sigh, then open the car door. I don’t think I’ll ever understand men. I also wonder how many of my dates my brothers have intimidated in the past.

Sometimes having four older brothers sucks.

He leans over the passenger seat as I get out. “Maybe we can go to the movies next Tues—”

“Goodnight, Ace,” I say, shutting the door, knowing date three will never happen.

Date two probably shouldn’t have either, but as much as I put on a happy face for everyone, I’m lonely...and sexually frustrated...and starting to become a little cynical in this whole relationship thing.

Ace’s tires roll over the gravel, and the lights disappear onto the country road towards town.

Feeling sorry for myself and needing someone to vent to, I unlock the back door of Savages and Saints instead of going up to my apartment, hoping Jenny is still there.

She is. Red hair pulled back in a messy bun, Jenny’s bent over the counter checking things off the inventory list. She lets out a small shriek when I come up behind her.

“Shit, Quinn. You scared me.”

“Sorry.” I smile and grab a bottle of Avion Silver off the shelf and two shot glasses.

“Bad night?” She raises a brow at me.

“Bad year.” I pour two shots, then slide one towards her, draining mine quickly, barely wincing when the tequila hits my throat.

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff.” She chuckles and pushes the shot back. “I take it your date didn’t go well.”

I groan, then down her returned shot. “You could say that. I’m starting to think I’m going to end up as one of those lonely old cat ladies.”

“You hate cats.”

“I do.” I pour myself another shot. “Maybe I’ll get a dog.”

She chuckles.

A car honks outside.

“That’s my ride.” She places a hand on mine and squeezes it. “If you’re staying to drown your sorrows, mind locking up for me?”

“Sure,” I say on a sigh.

I follow her to the front door and lock it behind her.

When she’s gone, silence fills the building.

I hate silence.

Always have.

Growing up in a house full of boys, you’d think I’d crave it. But I don’t. I like noise. Music. Laughter. Because in the silence my heart beats a different rhythm, one that aches for the things it can’t have.

I grab the tequila bottle from the bar, taking a swig from it as I walk to the stage, tempted to turn the karaoke on and have my own private sing-off.

I’m the one who convinced Kade to get the machine. We move it away on Friday and Saturday nights when local bands play, but honestly, I’d rather listen to drunk renditions of Summer Nights and Love Shack than the mediocre guitar playing of wannabe grunge bands.

With the bottle to my lips, I scan the Polaroids that wallpaper the area.

My fingers trail over the one that always draws my attention. It’s of me on a makeshift stage with a guitar two sizes too big for me, smiling up at Zee, who’s singing into a stand-up microphone. The photo was taken long before he and Kade opened Savages and Saints. Judging by my flat chest and ridiculous pixie cut my mom had attempted to do herself, the photo was taken the summer I turned eleven.

In the backyard of our house, while my brothers goofed around by the pool, Zee had taught me how to play guitar. I’m not sure if I’d already loved him then, but if I didn’t, he’d stolen my heart irrevocably that summer.

But the Zee in the picture was a different boy than the man who left. The one who kissed me in the back office, then pushed me away like I meant nothing to him.

“Asshole,” I mutter, flicking the image of his face, and at the same time wondering where he is tonight. Probably at one of those big Hollywood parties, or in Miami at one of those VIP clubs that only A-list celebrities can get into.

Wherever he is, I have no doubt he was swarmed by women, living the dream. Again, I mutter, “Asshole.”

I sigh and take another sip from the bottle, then frown when I see an empty space on the wall. The tack is there, but the photo is gone. Kade is so damn possessive about them, I know he’ll have a fit when he finds one missing. Along with the last bottle of Avion Silver.

My fingers are tingling, and my lips are slightly numb when I turn all the lights off and lock the place up, my legs feeling heavy as I walk up the stairs to my apartment.

Inside, I don’t even bother turning the lights on. With all the sexual frustration racing through my body, I have a one-track mind, which include two of my favorite things — my bed and my vibrator. I place the bottle of tequila on the bedside table, then shuffle out of my jeans and pull my shirt off, letting them both fall to the floor.

The bed creaks as I sit down on the edge and reach beneath the bed for my magic wand which is still plugged in from my earlier use today. I slide under the covers and turn the vibrator on.

Closing my eyes, Zee’s face is all I see, and I swear I can almost smell his scent, feel the warmth of him beside me. I whimper imagining his hands on me, the taste of his lips. Doesn’t matter how much I hate him for leaving, he’s still the only fantasy that gets me off.

I feel movement beside me. And I freeze.

The covers shift as a large mound slowly rises beside me and a growl-like sound comes from the shadows.

What the actual fuck?

A scream sticks in my throat, but my reflexes work perfectly. I hit the intruder with the only weapon I have — my vibrator.

“Fuck,” the deep voice barks. I hit the intruder again, this time striking something hard, which I’m assuming is a head. But I doubt it does much damage, since the end I’m hitting with is a softer plastic.

I put more strength into my next blow.

“Shit,” comes another growl-like curse

“Get.” I strike again. “Out.” And again. “Now.”

My last strike doesn’t land. A large hand grips the vibrator as I’m being tossed back on the bed, a very large, very male body pressing down on me.

“Stop. Fucking. Hitting. Me,” the man hisses.

I go still.

My heart is racing in my ears, but I recognize that voice, even if I can’t see his face in the darkness.

“Zee?” And again, the thought — What the actual fuck? — races through my brain.

I squirm under him, trying to get away, but he doesn’t release me, or the damn vibrator that’s still buzzing in his hand.

My eyes start to adjust to the darkness. I can see the faint outline of his face. I know it’s the devil himself. My heart does a tailspin straight into my stomach.

Zee St. James is in my bed.

I hear a low growl at the base of his throat, and he rasps out roughly, “Quinn?”

His heavy thigh is between mine, pressing at my most intimate parts. The heat of his bare chest against my skin is fire and electricity. I swallow hard when I feel his erection grow and press into my hip.

And it’s like the last six years melt away. I’m pretty sure if my hands weren’t secured above my head, they’d probably be a second away from diving into his hair and pulling his lips to mine. Among other things.

Then he opens his damn mouth. “What are you doing in my bed?”

It’s an accusation. One that despite the heat of our bodies, is full of ice.

Looks like the last six years didn’t cure him of his assholeness.

“And why the fuck are you naked?” he bites out.

I twist my wrists and he lets them go, but when I push on his chest and try to roll away, his heavy frame still pins me to the mattress.

“Answer me.”

Slowly, with as much venom that I can muster, I hiss, “Get. Off. Of. Me.”

After a moment hesitation, he moves away, giving me a chance to escape. But when I jump out of the bed, I snag my baby toe on the bedside table and let out a series of curses.

“Shit. Damnit. Crap.”

An almost primal sound rumbles across the room when I switch the lights on.

Zee stands on the other side of the bed, shirtless, his eyes blazing fire as they roam down my body, then back up to my face. And he looks — feral.

I hold his gaze. Those eyes are my undoing. I’d thought I’d almost forgotten the color. Bottomless green pools that threatened to drown me. Every feeling I thought I’d pushed down comes spiraling back.

The ache in my core, the one I haven’t felt for any other man, throbs almost painfully with a want that will never be fulfilled.

A hundred questions burn through my thoughts, but the only words I can utter are a slurred, “You’re back.”

His nostrils flare. “And you’re drunk.”

I follow his gaze to the tequila bottle.

“So?” I place my hands on my hips, swaying slightly.

“Jesus, Quinn.” He rubs a hand over his face, and his jaw clenches, then he turns around, hissing out through gritted teeth, “Put some damn clothes on.”

That defiant voice inside my head isn’t quick to take orders from him.

I narrow my eyes, gathering strength from the anger swirling inside me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Now, Quinn.” He warns, leaning with his palms on the window frame.

The muscles in his back bunch and tense with the movement.

God, those muscles. The man is pure masculine perfection. Broad shoulders, heavily corded back, tapering down to a narrow waist. And then there’s his ass...

A silent moan rumbles in my throat, or maybe it’s not so silent, because Zee’s head snaps around.

“Quinn,” he growls out. “Clothes.”

With a heavy sigh, I grab the first article of clothing I see on the ground and pull it over my head. It’s only when the shirt hangs halfway down my thighs that I realize it’s Zee’s t-shirt.

A small smile tugs at my lips, because I may not ever have him, but he’ll have to wrestle this damn shirt off me if he wants it back. Plus, if I’m wearing it, then he isn’t. And as hard as I’m trying to hate him right now, what I really want to do is drown in the image of every inked muscle.

“Better?” I quirk an eyebrow, and ready myself for his response.

When he turns around, he lets out another groan and drags his fingers through his dark hair. His nostrils flare and I catch his gaze drifting down to my legs again, but he shakes his head and quickly looks away, but not before I catch a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

“How did you know I was here?” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, like he’s trying to put as much distance between us as possible. “Was it the redhead at the bar?”

I glare at him, realizing he’s talking about Jenny. He must have been at Savages and Saints earlier.

“Wait...” It finally hits me that he thinks I came here looking for him. “Oh my God, are you really that arrogant? You think I...” My fingers itch to throw something at him. But already his right eye is starting to swell, and I don’t doubt it’ll be black in the morning.

Good. Serves him right.

Did he really come back here thinking nothing had changed in six years? That this was still his apartment.

“What are you doing here, anyways? Does Kade know you’re back?”

“No.” Something that looks like guilt passes across his expression.

I’m about to lay into him, when there’s a knock at the front door.

God. What now?

“Expecting someone?” I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring his stance.

He glances over my shoulder and grinds out through clenched teeth. “Not unless the bartender told the whole damn town I’m back.”

I roll my eyes at him, knowing Jenny probably had no idea who he was. She’d only started working at the bar a few years ago.

When the banging gets louder, I let out a frustrated breath. Turning on my heels I go to answer it.

Ace is standing on the landing when I open the door, one arm resting on the frame, grinning down at me. “I thought it through, and I do want to have that...metaphor with you.”

“What?” I shake my head, still too flustered by Zee’s presence to be able make sense of Ace’s words.

I think I may have drank too much, because the damn world is spinning.

“Sex.” Ace gives me one of his dimpled grins. “I’m up for your offer.”

I groan, and I swear all the blood rushes to my face when I hear Zee cough behind me. Ace doesn’t seem to hear him, because he starts to move like he’s coming in.

Yeah, not happening. I place my palm on his chest, stopping him.

“I...uh...” I glance over my shoulder, and see Zee standing against the wall with one brow raised, a scowl drawing his lips down. I turn back to Ace. “Not tonight.”

With the door shutting on him, I hear him ask, “But another night?”

Clicking the deadbolt in place, I bang my forehead on the door a couple times, wondering what diabolical comedy show I’d been dropped into without even knowing.

When I turn around, Zee is still leaning against the wall, gaze boring into me with an unreadable expression. His jaw twitches, and he opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him.

“Before you say another word and make a bigger ass of yourself. This is my apartment, and that’s my bed. And you, Zee St. James, can go suck an egg if you think I’m going anywhere.”