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CHAPTERONE
AXEL
The rev of the motorcycle engine beneath me is music to my ears. I take the next turn a little faster than the last one, leaning in and feeling my adrenaline spike as I’m held in place by centripetal force alone.
Back on the straightaway, I correct my posture and breathe deeply, drinking in the cool air as it hits me in the face. Nothing feels like being on a motorcycle. Some people say it’s the freedom of a bike on the open road, while others seek danger to fill a void in their lives. Not me.
Motorcycles were my way out of the hellscape I grew up in.
I learned to make myself useful at an early age, and something about engines and bikes clicked. Even more so when mods and digital upgrades became available on newer models. Working on computers, electronics, and kick-ass bike upgrades and repairs became my business plan from the time I left home at thirteen.
Last year, I fulfilled the only goal I’ve ever had—patching in as an official member of the Savage Saints MC. Since then, I’ve been working my goddamn ass off to prove to my brothers I’m an asset to the club.
I slow down slightly as the highway meets the small California town where the Savage Saints are headquartered. Never would’ve guessed the outlaw biker gang would be straighter than the cops, but Sheriff Darren has a strong hold over the people here. His lackeys are as power-hungry and dirty as he is, and we’ve had enough of their oppressive control.
I take another breath and follow the curve of the road, letting the hum of the tires on asphalt calm me. As I take the next corner, I come upon the massive graveyard that’s been around since this was a mining town during the gold rush back in the 1850s.
Elaborate headstones and monuments are scattered among more humble graves, the rows of plots going up one hill and disappearing down another. Something red catches my eye, and I slow even further as I get closer.
It’s not blood-red, more of a fiery hue, like orange leaves in the fall. I realize it’shair,and it’s attached to a body. The person is lying on the ground, not moving.
Without a second thought, I tear my bike off to the right and park it in a rush on the side of the road. Hopping off, I sprint up the slight embankment and come to a halt in front of the strangest sight.
A woman is flat on her back, resting on an old plaid blanket between two graves. Her bright red hair is spread around her, a shining, coppery beacon in the otherwise gray sea of headstones. Her eyes are closed, but she’s still very much alive and breathing. For some odd reason, I note that her rosy lips are the same color as her flushed cheeks, no doubt red from the slight chill in the air.
My gaze travels lower, down her shoulders, over her generous breasts that I’m not allowing myself to stare at, and finally resting on her hands folded over her stomach. Her delicate fingers are wrapped around a bouquet of wildflowers, the tips painted neon pink and lime green. Something about that detail makes me grin.
I take in her black dress. It looks like a cross between a corset and a lacy fairy skirt, paired with fishnet tights and black combat boots at least two sizes too big for her. The napping punk rock princess suddenly opens her eyes, and I nearly fall on my ass and roll down the hill into oncoming traffic.
Green. Clear, twinkling, terrified green eyes stare back at me, knocking the air out of my lungs.
The woman sits straight up, her wide eyes darting around to assess for threats. “What’s going on? Who are you? How long–”
“Gemma?” I ask, recognizing her as the one who helped the Prez’s woman, Sonya, when she was hurt a few weeks ago. The wariness in her gaze turns into panic. What has her so frightened? “I’m a member of the Savage Saints.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, she relaxes.Interesting. That’s not the typical response when someone hears I’m part of an outlaw biker gang.
“I do recognize you,” she says softly, peering into my eyes as she clambers to her feet.
Gemma tilts her head to the side, and some of her long hair falls over her left shoulder. I notice a few twigs and leaves tangled in the strands and reach toward her automatically, picking out the debris.
Realizing I’m violating her space, I immediately drop my hand and step back. The red-headed rebel princess sways toward me but then catches herself. She stands with her shoulders straight and her hands behind her back. Those damn green eyes are filled with curiosity, and I get the sense she’s about to explode with questions.
“How long have you been a member? What do your patches mean? Do you have to bring your own bike to join the club, or do they provide one for you?”
Gemma has another question on the tip of her tongue, but she seems to reel her excitement in a bit. Not too much. Not at all, really. She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet as if gearing up for something. It’s kind of… adorable. I don’t think anyone has ever been this excited to talk to me. Her energy is contagious, and I find myself grinning at the amusing woman.
“I’m the newest member of the MC.”
Gemma nods and smiles, eating up every word. It’s almost like no one talks to her, but I can’t imagine anyone not instantly being friends with her.
“Really? What was that process like? Did you have to kill anyone?” Her eyes widen at her last question, and she looks over her shoulder to ensure no one else is around to hear. Fuckin’ adorable. “You don’t have to tell me. That’s probably club business, right?”
I chuckle and run a hand through my hair. This woman is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve only known her for two minutes.What other surprises will I discover?
“It was nothing as dramatic as murder,” I tell her with a wink.
Her cheeks turn from dusky pink to berry red, and a wicked thought crosses my mind before I can stop it.I wonder if I could get her to blush everywhere…
