Some days, all my scars throbbed. I’d begin to wake in the morning with the sunlight from the window casting a line of warmth across my bare back as I lay on my bed, stomach down, and I’d feel the memories that were imbedded in my skin come to life. The scars of my youth, the scars of my success, the scars of prison, the scars of that warehouse…

Each had a different story to tell—a reminder of a time when I’d had to fight to win, or I’d fought only to lose. Those days, whether the sunlight in summer or the cold breeze of winter attacked my skin, I was reminded of where I’d been, who I was and all the mistakes I’d made.

The scars throbbed, and I doubted that would ever change. But where once they’d throbbed and taunted me for hours on end, making me start my day under a black cloud of misery and regret, now their taunts were fleeting. I had a medicine right beside me. I had a reason to live like I’d never had a reason to live before. I had Ayda, and no matter how many times those scars tried to drag me back to self-loathing and grief, she always made me forget I had any marks on my body at all.

The dirt and grime that coated my skin were of no concern to me either. Not even the nightmares that sometimes kept me awake at night were enough to drag me back under. I’d made her a promise over two months ago. I’d made Pete a promise under that tree, too. It was time for me to start living. I wanted to start living... So I did. I got back in the van that day, turned to Ayda, squeezed her hand so tight and smiled so bright because I needed her to see what she meant to me. I needed her to feel what my own life meant to me now.

I needed her to see how much she had saved me. No. Not saved me. I needed her to see how much she’d brought me to life. When she had looked back at me with tears in her eyes, the only thing that hurt was my heart. It felt like it was growing ten sizes in ten seconds.

Harry drove us home with a smile on his face that day, too.

We were all making silent promises to one another to enjoy life now. All of us. Even Kenny was acting differently since that fateful night in the warehouse. He was happy, more loyal than ever, and he was a brother I was glad to have on my side.

That morning was another day for me to wake up, ignore the throbbing reminders on my skin, and turn over to take a look at who lay beside me in bed.

And there she was. The moment I turned my head to face her, my chest still pressed against the mattress and my arms tucked under the pillow, I felt lighter. One woman. That woman. She was all I was ever going to need. Trying to remember a time when she didn’t exist to me felt impossible.

Ayda’s lips were parted as her breaths fell from them—little soft breaths that made me want to slip down and press my mouth to hers, just to catch them. I didn’t. I studied the flush of her cheeks instead, a smirk taking over my own face as I imagined exactly what and who she was dreaming about. Her lashes fluttered as she sucked in a sharp breath before she released it slowly, her exhale louder than all the others as a small shiver ran through her, bringing out the goosebumps across her shoulders and causing her own sleepy smile to come out of hiding.

She was goddamn adorable like this, all naked and waiting, but my instincts were always to protect her. It might have been a sunny day for February, and the rays might have been pouring through the window of our bedroom, but we lived in Babylon, Texas, where I had grown up convinced that February was Swahili for fucking Arctic.

Reaching down for the sheets, I pulled them up to cover her bare arms, resting them on her shoulder without wanting to wake her. My body turned on its side to face her, and then I did what I did most mornings: I lay there beside the woman I loved and studied her like there was a chance I might forget her one day. Or worse still, all this might be some big, messed up dream that had been sent from all my enemies as the cruelest punishment they could ever think up.

Ayda Hanagan.

The one thing in life that could bring me to my knees without as much as a fight. She knew it, too. They all knew it. I was a love-struck, pumped-up biker with the hormones of a teenager, the puppy dog eyes of a fourteen-year-old girl and the sexual appetite of a younger Michael Douglas. I couldn’t get enough of her… asleep or awake.

It took a few minutes for her to stir again, and when I saw her eyelashes fluttering wildly, I prepared myself for those sleepy, blue eyes. As soon as she unleashed them, she scowled and practically hissed at the bright sunlight that poured through the windows lighting up the room. I couldn’t help but laugh as I pushed my hands even farther under my pillow and waited.

“Stop it,” she grumbled weakly.

“Morning, beautiful,” I cooed. Fucking cooed. Damn mushy dick that I was.

“M-morning,” she stuttered, her grimace very real and alive as she opened one eye, the other remaining shut until her vision adjusted.

“Hi,” I mouthed, unable to hide my grin.

“It’s not cool, you know?” Ayda turned to face me, copying my pose as both her hands slid under her pillow and she moved her head so it wasn’t directly in the stream of light.

“What isn't?” I whispered.

“How effortlessly handsome you look every morning. You don’t play fair, Drew Tucker.”

I huffed out a laugh, rolling my eyes at her before I raised both brows and shook my head. “If only I had a dollar for every time you told me I don’t fight fair.”

“I said play. Not fight. Our fighting days are over, remember?” Her smile was the best thing I would ever see, but I also saw the uncertainty that lingered behind her eyes when she mentioned that side of my life. Ayda loved the club. She loved The Hounds of Babylon like she had been born into it. She loved where she lived, who I was, all of my history and all of my brothers, but she also feared the lifestyle. She feared me being dead tomorrow because of revenge attacks, and she feared for her younger brother, Tate. No matter how much I told her that I would always keep her safe, we both knew that my promises were only words. I would do everything I could to keep her, Tate, and myself safe, but I could never guarantee her a peaceful life in the suburbs with a garden full of children and a white picket fence.

“I remember.” I nodded. “Although, what are your thoughts on play fighting with the woman I love?”

“I have very positive, almost encouraging thoughts about that kind of fighting,” she whispered through a grin.

“Hmm.” I slid closer, my hand slipping under the comforter, my fingertips finding her bare hipbone as I began to trace patterns on her skin. Pushing my forehead to hers, I looked down into her eyes. “Encouraging thoughts, you say?”

“Extremely encouraging.”

“Even if it involves tickling?”

“Depends where you’re going to tickle.” Ayda’s mischievous grin flashed up at me, her eyes shining with all the love I knew she had stored in her entire body, and before I knew it, I was done for all over again.

Planting a small, teasing kiss on the end of her nose, I moved my lips to her ear and whispered, “Oh, darlin’. When will you learn? I do what I want, when I want, whether you approve or not.” Dragging my teeth over her lobe, I let out the kind of growl I knew drove her crazy, enjoying the second shiver that ran through her body before I gripped her hip tightly and dug my fingers into her flesh. “I’m going in.”

I dove under the sheets in a flash, my mouth finding her waist while my fingers made her squirm with the kind of tickling she didn’t like. The second her body started to thrash around, and her laughter roared free as she threw herself onto her back, I felt that surge of energy flow through me again.

Hearing her laughter, seeing her smile, feeling her warmth… it was what I was living for now. It was what I hungered for. The only other thing I had to sate that morning was my appetite. And that had fuck all to do with food.