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Chapter 1
Five years ago—
“Hey, you good to ride, brother?”
“Shit. I’m dry as the fucking desert. I slept most of it off after Mara and Molly wore me out.”
A loud guffaw followed my words as Rael slapped me on the back. “Shit, Hawk. You’re welcome at the Crossroads anytime.”
“Only if the twins keep me company again,” I joked. Sort of. Those two blondes sucked me off and rode my dick until they drained me. Goddamn.
“Don’t be a stranger. You need anything, man, hit me up.”
“I will. See ya around, brother.”
I swung my leg over my bike, dropping onto the seat.
I craved a smoke, but I needed to get on the road. Rook wanted me to return as soon as I finished up in Tonopah.
The ride to Henderson would take a few hours, and I was itchin’ to get back to the Roost. Not that the RBMC hadn’t shown me a good time. Shit. The Royal Bastards MC threw a hell of a party, and the rager was still going strong. Loud rock music blared from speakers inside the clubhouse, and the skunky smell of weed and cigarettes blended with sweat, leather, and whiskey. Damn tempting to stay another night. My cock twitched just thinkin’ about it.
“Come back and kick it anytime, Hawk. We’ll have a drink, smoke, whatever. Take your mind off shit for a bit.”
That meant more than I could put into words. “Hell yeah.”
The longstanding friendship between our clubs, specifically my pres Rook and Rael’s pres Grim, had been close for years, birthed from mutual respect. Rook met Grim twenty years ago when he was a new member of the RBMC, and Rook became our pres, taking the reins from his father, Jackdaw. They formed a friendship that grew into a fierce brotherhood. The Crossroads welcomed our club like its own. A home away from home. Loyalty like that was a beautiful thing.
My fist bumped the air as I rode outside the gates, merging onto Hwy 95. Moonlight shimmered on the asphalt surface as the miles disappeared beneath my tires, peeking behind wisps of fluffy gray clouds. The kind of moon that lit up the road surrounded by millions of twinkling stars. Best star gazing in Nevada.
Caw...caw.
My chin lifted, and I spotted the crow. His inky wings blotted the moon as he glided on a current of wind. He was never far behind me, watching, waiting, vigilant. Nothing was as loyal as the crow.
I had been riding for over two hours when I tensed, catching something on the road ahead. I felt weight drop on my left shoulder. A soft caw echoed close to my ear.
“I see it,” I assured him, sensing his unease.
Alerted to possible danger, I knew I could reach my gun within a few seconds. My headlights spotted an object on the highway. As I grew closer, I realized someone weaved unsteadily on their feet, crossing in and out of the median, stumbling once before regaining stability.
The crow flapped his wings. His round body bounced in agitation. He opened his beak and squawked as I rolled the throttle, squeezing in the clutch and downshifted, slowing my momentum to a crawl.
Caw...caw.
“I know. I see her.”
Trying not to spook the woman on the road, I slowly pulled up next to her, blinking as I took in her appearance. Tight jeans hugged her ass, and long legs, but her athletic shoes were splattered with a dark substance. As my gaze slid over the torn T-shirt she wore and the dark red bloodstains, I clenched my teeth. A scrape on her lip had split the skin open, revealing a gash next to a huge purple bruise on her jaw. Her left eye had swollen almost completely shut, surrounded by angry skin mottled red and purple. Her long brown hair ended in tangles, sticking up in odd places. Several scratches and additional bruising covered her bare arms.
I didn’t doubt she’d been to hell and back again.
One arm wrapped around her waist as she winced, shuffling her feet along the dirty asphalt. She didn’t stop walking, staring straight ahead, focused on some unknown destination.
“Hey, honey,” I greeted her, trying not to yell above the rumble of my engine.
Her head turned as she blinked, noticing me for the first time. I couldn’t begin to imagine the demons she fought, choking on a sob she fought and failed to subdue. She almost collapsed before her body swayed, too overcome by trauma to function much longer.
She opened her mouth to speak, the truth hungering for exposure, but she didn’t say a word.
The defeated expression on her face hit me hard, but it was the haunting sadness in her brown eyes that forced me to act. She carried a lifetime of sorrow on her shoulders and couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Years of being torn down had taken a toll and stolen her smile. No woman should endure and suffer as she did, broken and beaten by a man entrusted to protect and love her instead of using her as a punching bag.
