Prologue

I don’t understand your specific brand of crazy, but I do commend your devotion to it.

-Truth to his ex

Truth

“Anybody home?” I called loudly as I came out of my workshop.

Destiny didn’t answer and I frowned.

I could’ve sworn I heard something.

“Destiny?” I rumbled, peaking my head around the corner of the bedroom of the single bedroom shotgun house I shared with her.

Empty. As was the bathroom that I could see due to the door being wide open, and all the lights being on.

I could see Destiny’s makeup, clothes, and shoes strewn all over the floor of not just the bathroom, but the bedroom as well.

She’d gotten dressed in a hurry.

Normally, she didn’t leave the expensive dresses I’d bought her lying in a heap like that unless it was because I’d thrown it there after ripping it from her body.

And boy did she have a sexy body.

That was the only thing keeping us together at this point. The sex—or the sex we used to have. We hadn’t had it in a while, and at this point, there wasn't much keeping us together.

It was always good, which made it hard to kick her to the curb because she was convenient.

If I didn’t have her to come home to, I wouldn’t have the nightly sex I craved.

And I wasn’t the type to spread my dick around to the women that I knew I could land. They always had expectations.

Destiny, however, did not. She didn’t expect me to marry her. Hell, a lot of nights she didn’t even expect me to come home at all.

Which was good seeing as I was a member of The Dixie Wardens MC, Mooresville, Alabama chapter.

Sometimes I spend the night at the clubhouse after a club party—which she most certainly did not go to—and she doesn’t complain.

Growling when I saw the empty bracelet box that was supposed to contain the bracelet I’d bought her for Christmas, one she wasn’t supposed to wear unless it was a special occasion due to the fact that it cost several thousand dollars, was laying haphazardly on the night stand. I turned off the light and headed to the front door.

The kitchen was empty, as was the living room as I passed through it on my way.

So what had I heard?

Something caught my attention before I could get there, though.

Some motion.

I could see something moving outside through the sheer white curtains that Destiny insisted we had to have, and I stopped, my eyes narrowed as I focused.

That was where I parked my bike.

On the side of the house, hugged right up against the window so I could see it as we passed in and out of the living room.

That bike was my baby.

The absolute best thing that’d ever happened to me in my entire life.

And someone was sitting on it.

Was it Destiny?

I hated when she did that.

She’d lean on it when she went outside to talk on her phone, because I’ll be the first to admit that she was obnoxiously loud when she was on the phone, and I would complain if she didn’t go outside.

I’d tell her not to lean on it, because her weight could offset the balance of the kickstand and cause it to smash into the side of the house, and then I’d have to fix a dent or a scratch, and I most assuredly didn’t want to do that, but she’d do it anyway.

Just to piss me off, I was sure.

So that was what I expected as I flicked open the curtains to peer outside.

I’d been about to raise my finger to tap on the glass when what I was seeing through the window finally registered in my brain.

Destiny was on my bike all right, but some man was on it, too.

Some man with his balls laying unbound against the leather of my seat.

The leather that I’d fucking stitched by goddamned hand.

The leather that I’d searched high and low for and specifically chosen after finding it in a motherfucking magazine.

The leather that’d seen no one’s ass but mine—and not even that was bare.

Anger welled up inside of me, and I finally took my eyes off the man’s balls sticking to my seat going up to the man’s face, and that’s about when everything exploded.

Because it wasn’t bad enough that they were fucking on my bike.

No, the man that Destiny was fucking on my bike was my cousin.

The same cousin who made my younger years a living hell with his teasing about my pretty boy looks and my “girlie” hands.

Hands that were now rough and strong from years of doing what I loved—being a swordsmith.

Somehow, I found my Colt .45 in my hand, and somehow, I pointed it at the man’s head.

And before you get all bent out of shape, the safety was on.

He, however, did not know that.

Tapping on the glass with the gun, I made sure that the laser in the grips was activated and pointed right at about eye level.

So when he turned toward the sound of my tapping, he got a red laser straight to the eye, causing him to look up and blink at me in confusion.

I let up off the laser, allowing him to see just what was waiting for him, causing him to freeze.

“Get off my bike,” I growled.

The window muffled the words, I was sure, but he got the gist of what I said fairly fast.

Hopping off and dislodging his pee-wee sized cock from Destiny’s pussy, I watched dispassionately as she fell to the ground in a wet pile of dirt, causing her to cry out in confusion.

She looked up in bewilderment at Kenneth, my asshole cousin, who was busy trying to tuck his tiny pecker back into his perfectly tailored slacks, and followed his gaze.

I let my real feelings out from behind the veil I was using to contain them with, and Destiny understood completely.

She was boned.

Well and truly boned.

***

Verity

Two days later

I was excited.

This was my last dress fitting before the big day in two weeks.

Which would be the day that I married the man I loved, Kenneth Lee Reacher. I would be Mrs. Kenneth Reacher, and I thought that had a mighty nice ring to it.

Giddy beyond belief, I took a hold of Randi’s hand, my best friend in the whole wide world, and started marching with purpose to the front door of the best dress shop in Mooresville, also known as my Good Grandma’s place.

“GG!” I cried as I opened the door.

I was confronted with my grandma’s most annoying employee, Tiffany, and instantly I wilted.

“Is my GG here, Tiffany?” I asked as nicely as I was able.

“No. Mrs. Cassidy is out of the office until tomorrow afternoon. What can I help you with?” Tiffany asked sweetly.

I narrowed my eyes.

My grandma wouldn’t be out of the office unless this witch of a woman hadn’t told her that I was coming. Which I most certainly relayed to Tiffany this morning on the phone when I’d called.

Fucking bitch.

“I’m here to try my wedding dress on,” I murmured.

Tiffany’s eyes moved down my body with barely disguised disdain, and I had to tighten my hand on Randi’s hand to keep her from moving forward and pummeling her fist into Tiffany’s face.

It wouldn’t do to lay a beat down on my GG’s longest standing employee, even if she was a bitch.

She was a hard worker, and she was good at her job, something in which my GG informed me of each and every time I made mention of how shitty she was.

“Okay,” Tiffany’s smile was weird.

Like she was trying to hide something.

Something that I wasn’t going to like.

A weird feeling started to filter into my thoughts, and I worried that there was something wrong with my dress…like she’d intentionally altered it too small so I wouldn’t fit into it.

And that would be embarrassing, because I already had enough trouble with my weight. I didn’t need that extra worry of having to get my dress altered again two weeks before my wedding.

“Right this way,” Tiffany waved her arm.

I glared at her back, and her tight little black dress that was painted onto her like a second skin.

She looked good in it, but I couldn’t figure out why she dressed so provocatively. She was supposed to be making brides more comfortable on one of the most important days of their lives—not making them feel inferior by showing them up with what she was wearing.

But that was just me.

Maybe other ladies didn’t have the same problem that I did.

“She’s such a bitch,” Randi grumbled under her breath. “Do you think your grandmother would hate me if I tripped her and made her break her face?”

I squeezed Randi’s hand.

“Don’t.”

Tiffany pushed into the room where I’d been fitted for the last six months, and I came to a dead halt when I saw my dress.

On another woman’s body.

“What. The. Fuck,” Randi screeched.

Most people didn’t understand Randi’s and my relationship.

They thought we were lesbians, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

We were best friends and had been since we were in pre-K.

We shared everything together, something that Kenneth hated.

He despised sharing me with Randi, and I guess that should’ve been my first indication that Kenneth wasn’t all that he was cracked up to be.

But I kept kicking things under the rug and hiding them when I should’ve been letting them out of the dark and bringing them into the light.

Because if I had, I might’ve realized sooner that things weren’t as good as I thought they were.

That there were things going on that were having an adverse effect on our relationship.

But I didn’t, and that’s why the next five minutes went over like a truck crashing into a small economy car.

I sat there, motionless, as I watched the blonde woman turn around, my dress on her body, a perfect fit, as she looked at me with a secret smile on her face.

“What the heck is going on?” I asked Tiffany.

Tiffany’s face was the picture of innocence. “I was informed by Kenneth two days ago that this dress was to be fitted to Destiny’s liking. Is that wrong?”

Is that wrong?

“What?” I asked, confusion clouding my features.

I couldn’t think straight.

Why would Kenneth care about another woman’s body fitting into my wedding dress? Unless that dress wasn’t actually my dress at all, but a nearly exact replica.

It looked to be about four sizes smaller than the one that I’d had.

Surely that wasn’t my dress.

Surely.

“That’s not my dress, is it?” I asked, relief flooding through me. “But why would Kenneth care what she wears?”

I didn’t even know her.

How did Kenneth know her?

Speaking of the devil, my phone rang, and I pulled my phone up to my ear and answered immediately.

“Kenneth,” I said. “I’m trying to get my dress fitted, and some lady is here wearing a dress that looks like mine that they say you ordered it for her to wear and to have fitted to her liking.”

“Shit,” Kenneth cursed. “V, we need to talk.”

I hated when he called me V, but that wasn’t something I could control. He did it whether I asked him to stop or not, so what was the point in correcting him?

I should’ve corrected him, because the next twenty minutes were spent with him explaining in that condescending tone of his that ‘you’re so damaged, V,’ and by the time he was finished, the only thing I wanted to do was to completely obliterate the letter V from the English language.

Oh, that and change my name of course.