Ruin & Rule

Book 1: Pure Corruption

by Pepper Winters

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

'We met in a nightmare. The in-between world where time had no power over reason. We fell in love. We fell hard. But then we woke up. And it was over....'

She is a woman divided. Her past, present, and future are as twisted as the lies she's lived for the past eight years. Desperate to get the truth, she must turn to the one man who may also be her greatest enemy.
He is the president of Pure Corruption MC. A heartless biker and retribution deliverer. He accepts no rules, obeys no one, and lives only to reap revenge on those who wronged him. And now he has stolen her, body and soul. Can a woman plagued by mystery fall in love with the man who refuses to face the truth? And can a man drenched in darkness forgo his quest for vengeance - and finally find redemption?

Ruin & Rule is the darkly addictive, decadent first novel in New York Times best-selling author Pepper Winters' Pure Corruption MC series, where friendship means family and feelings never die. The story continues in the second audiobook, Sin & Suffer....

Pepper Winters is a New York Times and USA Today international best-selling author. She loves dark romance and star-crossed lovers as well as the forbidden and taboo. On a personal note, she loves to travel, has an addiction to crème brûlée, and is married to an incredible Canadian who puts up with her endless work hours and accompanies her on signings. She's also a firm believer that the impossible can become possible.

Release date: July 7, 2015

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 496

Sample

I always believed life would grant rewards to those most worthy. I was fucking naïve. Life doesn’t reward—it ruins. It ruins those most deserving and takes everything. It takes everything all while watching any remaining goodness rot to hate.

—Kill



Darkness.

That was my world now. Literally and physically.

The back of my skull hurt from being knocked unconscious. My wrists and shoulders ached from lying on my back with my hands tied behind me.

Nothing was broken—at least it didn’t feel that way—but everything was bruised. The fuzziness receded wisp by wisp, parting the clouds of sleep, trying to shed light on what’d happened. But there was no light. My eyes blinked at the endless darkness from the mask tied around my head. Anxiety twisted my stomach at having such a fundamental gift taken away.

I didn’t move, but mentally catalogued my body from the tips of my toes to the last strand of hair on my head. My jaw and tongue ached from the foul rag stuffed in my mouth and my nose permitted a shallow stream of oxygen to enter—just enough to keep me alive.

Fear tried to claw its way through my mind, but I shoved it away. I deliberately suppressed panic in order to assess my predicament rather than lose myself to terror.

Fear never helps, only hinders.

My senses came back, creeping tentatively, as if afraid whoever had stolen me would notice their return.

Sound: the squeak of brakes, the creak of a vehicle settling from motion to stopping.

Touch: the skin on my right forearm stung, throbbing with a mixture of soreness and sharpness. A burn perhaps?

Smell: dank rotting vegetables and the astringent, pungent scent of fear—but it wasn’t mine. It was theirs.

It wasn’t just me being kidnapped.

My heart flurried, drinking in their terror. It made my breath quicken and legs itch to run. Forcing myself to ignore the outside world, I focused inward. Clutching my inner strength where calmness was a need rather than a luxury.

I refused to lose myself in a fog of tears. Desperation was a curse and I wouldn’t succumb, because I had every intention of being prepared for what might happen next.

I hated the sniffles and stifled sobs of others around me. Their bleak sadness tugged at my heartstrings, making me fight with my own preservation, replacing it with concern for theirs.

Get through this, then worry about them.

I didn’t think this was a simple opportunistic snatch. Whoever had stolen me planned it. The hunch grew stronger as I searched inside for any liquor remnants or the smell of cigarettes.

Had I been at a party? Nightclub?

Nothing.

I hadn’t been stupid or reckless. I think…

No hint or clue as to where I’d been or what I’d been doing when they’d come for me.

I wriggled, trying to move away from the stench. My bound wrists protested, stinging as the rope around them gnawed into my flesh like twine-beasts. My ribs bellowed, along with my head. There was no give in my restraints. I stopped trying to move, preserving my energy.

I tried to swallow.

No saliva.

I tried to speak.

No voice.

I tried to remember what happened.

I tried to remember…

Panic.

Nothing.

I can’t remember.

“Get up, bitch,” a man said. Something jabbed me in the ribs. “Won’t tell you again. Get.”

I froze as my mind hurtled me from present to past.

I’ll miss you so much,” she wailed, hugging me tighter.

“I’m not dying, you know.” I tried to untangle myself, looking over my shoulder at the FINAL CALL flashing for my flight. I hated being late for anything. Let alone my one chance at escaping and finding out the truth once and for all.

“Call me the moment you get there.”

“Promise.” I drew a cross over my heart—

The memory shattered as my horizontal body suddenly went vertical in one swoop.

Who was that girl? Why did I have no memory of it ever happening?

“I said get up, bitch.” The man breathed hard in my ear, sending a waft of reeking breath over me. The blindfold stole my sight, but it left my nose woefully unprotected.

Unfortunately.

My captor shoved me forward. The ground was steady beneath my feet. The sickness plaiting with my confusion faded, leaving me cold.

My legs stumbled in the direction he wanted me to go. I hated shuffling in the darkness, not knowing where I came from or where I was being herded. There were no sounds of comfort or smothered snickers. This wasn’t a masquerade.

This was real.

This is real.

My heart thudded harder, fear slipping through my defenses. But full-blown terror remained elusive. Slippery like a silver fish, darting on the outskirts of my mind. It was there but fleeting, keeping me clear-headed and strong.

I was grateful for that. Grateful that I maintained what dignity I had left—remaining strong even in the face of the unknown terrors lurking on the other side of my blindfold.

Moans and whimpers of other women grew in decibels as men ordered them to follow the same path I walked. Either death row or salvation, I had no choice but to inch my way forward, leaving my forgotten past behind.

I willed snippets to come back. I begged the puzzlement of my past to slot into place, so I could make sense of this horrible world I’d awoken in.

But my mind was locked to me. A fortress withholding everything I wished to know.

The pushing stopped. So did I.

Big mistake.

“Move.” A cuff to the back of my head sent me wheeling forward. I didn’t stop again. My bare feet traversed… wood?

Bare feet?

Where are my shoes?

The missing knowledge twisted my stomach.

Where did I come from?

How did I end up here?

What’s my name?

It wasn’t the terror of the unknown future that stole my false calmness. It was the fear of losing my very self. They’d stolen everything. My triumphs, my trespasses, my accomplishments and failures.

How could I deal with this new world if I didn’t know what skills I had to stay alive? How could I hope to defeat my enemy when my mind revolted and locked me out?

Who am I?

To have who I was deleted… It was unthinkable.

“Faster, bitch.” Something cold wedged against my spine, pushing me onward. With my hands behind my back, I shuffled faster, negotiating the ground as best I could for dips or trips.

“Step down.” The man grabbed my bound wrists, giving me something to lean against as my toes navigated the small steps before me.

“Again.”

I obeyed.

“Last one.”

I managed the small staircase without falling flat on my face.

My face.

What do I look like?

A loud scraping noise sounded before me. I shied back, bumping against a feminine form. The woman behind me cried out—the first verbal sound of another.

“Move.” The pressure on my lower back came again, and I obeyed. Inching forward until the stuffy air of old vegetables and must was replaced by… copper and metallic… blood?

Why… why is that so familiar?

I gasped as my mind free-fell into another memory.

“I don’t think I can do this.” I darted away, throwing up in the rubbish bin in the classroom. The unique stench of blood curdled my stomach.

“Don’t overthink it. It’s not what you’re doing to the animal to make it bleed. It’s what you’re doing to make it live.” My professor shook his head, waiting for me to swill out my mouth and return white-faced and queasy to the operation in progress.

My heart splintered like a broken piece of glass, reflecting the compassion and responsibility I felt for such an innocent creature. This little puppy that’d been dumped in a plastic bag to die after being shot with BB gun pellets. He’d survive only if I mastered the skills to stem his internal bleeding and embrace the vocation I was called to do.

Inhaling the scent of blood, I let it invade my nostrils, scald my throat, and impregnate my soul. I drank its coppery essence. I drenched myself in the smell of the creature’s life force until it no longer affected me.

Picking up a scalpel, I said, “I’m ready—”

“Holy fuck!” The man guiding me forward suddenly whacked the base of my spine. The hard pain shoved me forward and I tripped.

“Wire—get me fucking reinforcements. He’s started a motherfucking war!”

Wind and body motion swarmed me as men charged from behind. The darkness I lived in suddenly came alive with sound.

Bullets flew, impaling themselves into the metal sides of the vehicle I’d just stepped from. Pings and ricochets echoed in my ear. Curses bellowed; moans of pain threaded like a breeze.

Someone grabbed my arm, swinging me to the side. “Get down!” The inertia of his throw knocked me off balance. With my wrists bound together, I had nothing to grab with, no way to protect myself from falling.

I fell.

My stomach swooped as I tumbled off a small platform and smashed against the ground.

Dirt, damp grass, and moldy leaves replaced the stench of blood, cutting through the cloying sharpness of spilled metallic. My mouth opened, gasping in pain. Blades of grass tickled my lips as my cheek stuck to wet mud.

My shoulder screamed with agony, but I ignored the new injury. My mind clung to the unlocked memory. The fleeting recollection of my profession.

I’m a vet.

The sense of homecoming and security that one little snippet brought was priceless. My soul snarled for more, suddenly ravenous for missing information.

I skipped straight from fumbling uncertainty into starvation for more.

Tell me! Show me. Who am I?

I searched inside for more clues. But it was like trying to grab on to an elusive dream, fading faster and faster the harder I chased.

I couldn’t remember anything about medicine or how to heal. All I knew was I’d been trained to embrace the scent of blood. I wasn’t afraid of it. I didn’t faint or suffer sickness at the sight of it pouring from an open wound.

That tiniest knowledge was enough to settle my prickling nerves and focus on the outside world again.

Battle cries. Men screaming. Men growling. The dense thuds of fists on flesh and the horrible deflection of gunshots.

I couldn’t understand. Had I fallen through time and entered an alternate dimension?

Another body landed on top of mine.

I cried out, winded from a sharp poke of an elbow to my ribs.

The figure rolled away, crying softly. Feminine.

Why aren’t I crying?

I once again searched for fear. It wasn’t natural not to be afraid. I’d woken up alone, stolen, and thrown into the middle of a war, yet I wasn’t hyperventilating or panicked.

My calmness was like a drug, oozing over me, muting the sharp starkness of my situation. It was bearable if I embraced courage and the knowledge that I was strong.

My hands balled, grateful for the thought. I didn’t know who I was, but it didn’t matter, because the person who I was in this moment mattered the most.

I had to remain segmented, so I could get through whatever was about to happen. All I had was gut instinct, quiet strength, and rationality. Everything else had been taken.

“Stop fighting, you fucking idiots!”

The loud growl rumbled like an earthquake, hushing the battle in one fell swoop. Whoever had spoken had power.

Immense power. Colossal power.

A shiver darted over my skin.

“What the fuck happened? Have you lost your goddamn lovin’ mind?” a man yelled.

A sound of a short scuffle, then the fresh whiff of tilled dirt graced my nose.

“It’s done. Throw down your weapons and bend a fucking knee.” The same earthquake rumbled. The weight of his command pushed me harder against the damp ground.

“I’m not bending nothing, you asshole. You aren’t my Prez!”

“I am. Have been for the past four years.”

“You’re not. You’re his bitch. Don’t think his power is yours.”

Another fight—muffled fists and kicks. It ended swiftly with a painful groan.

The earthquake voice came again. “Open your eyes and follow the red fucking river. Your chosen—the one you hand-picked to slaughter me and take over the Club—he’s dead. Did you ever stop to think Wallstreet made me Prez for a fucking reason?”

Another moan.

“I’m the chosen one. I’m the one who knows the family secrets, absorbed the legacy, and earned his way into power. You don’t know shit. Nobody does. So bend a fucking knee and respect.”

Another tremor ran down my back.

Silence for a time, apart from the squelch of boots and heavy breathing. Then a barely muttered curse. “You’ll die. One way or another, we won’t put up with a Dagger as a Prez. We’re the Corrupts, goddammit. Having a traitor rule us is a fucking joke.”

“I’m the traitor? The man who obeys your leader? Who guides in his stead? I’m the traitor when you try and rally my brothers in a war?” A heavy thud of a fist connected with flesh. “No… I’m not. You are.”

My mind raced, sucking up noises and forming wild conclusions of what happened before me. Was this World War Three? Was this the apocalypse of the life I couldn’t remember? No matter how I pieced it together, I couldn’t make sense of anything.

The air was thick with anticipation. I didn’t know how many men stood before me. I didn’t know how many corpses littered the ground, or how such violence could be permitted in the world I used to know. But I did know the cease-fire was fragile and any moment it would explode.

A single threat slithered through the grass like a snake. “I’ll kill you, motherfucker. Mark my words. The true Corrupts are just waiting to take you out.”

The gentle foot-thuds of someone large vibrated through the ground. “The Corrupts haven’t existed for four fucking years. The moment I took the seat, it’s been Pure Corruption all the way. And you’re not fucking pure enough for this Club. You’re done.”

I flinched as the sulfuric boom of a gun ripped through the stagnant air.

A crash as a body fell lifeless to the grass. A soft puff of a soul escaping.

Murder.

Murder was committed right before me.

The inherent need to nurture and heal—the part of me that was as steadfast as the beat of my heart—wept with regret.

Death was something I’d fought against on a daily basis, but now I was weaponless.

I hated that a life had been stolen right before me. That I hadn’t been able to stop it.

I’m a witness.

And yet, I’d witnessed nothing.

I’d been privy to a battle but seen nothing. Knew no one. I would never be able to tell who shot whom, or who was right and who was wrong.

My hands shook, even though I managed to stay eerily calm. Am I in shock? And if I was, how did I cure myself?

The woman beside me curled into a ball, her knees digging into my side. My first reaction was to repel away from the touch. I didn’t know who was friend or foe. But a second reaction came quickly; the urge to share my calmness—to let her know that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone. We faced the same future—no matter how grim.

Voices cascaded over us, whispers mainly, quickly spoken orders. Every sound was heightened. Being robbed of sight made my body seek other ways in which to find clues.

“Get rid of the bodies before daybreak.”

“We’ll go back and make sure we’re still covered.”

“Send out the word. It’s over. The Prez won—no anarchy today.”

Each voice was distinct but my ears twitched only for one: the earthquake rumble that set my skin quivering like quicksand.

He hadn’t spoken since he’d condemned someone to death and pulled the trigger. Every second of not hearing him made my heart trip faster. I wasn’t afraid. I should be. I should be immobile with fear. But he invoked something in me—something primal. Just like I knew I was female and a vet, I knew his voice meant something. Every inch of me tensed, waiting for him to speak. It was wrong to crave the voice of a killer, but it was the only thing I wanted.

Needed.

I need to know who he is.

Wet mud sucked loudly against boots as they came closer.

The woman whimpered, but I angled my chin toward the sound, wishing my eyes were uncovered.

I wanted to see. I wanted to witness the carnage before me. Because it was carnage. The stench of death confirmed it. It was morbid to want to see such destruction, but without my sight all of this seemed like a terrible nightmare. Nothing was grounded—completely nonsensical and far too strange.

I needed proof that this was real.

I needed concrete evidence that I wasn’t mad. That my body was intact, even if my mind was not.

I sucked in a breath as warm fingers touched my cheek, angling my face upward and out of the mud. Strong hands caressed the back of my skull, fumbling with my blindfold.

The anticipation of finally getting my wish to see made me stay still and cooperative in his hold.

I didn’t say a word or move. I just waited. And breathed. And listened.

The man’s breath was heavy and low, interspersed with a quick catch of pain. His fingers were swift and sure, but unable to hide the small fumble of agony.

He’s hurt.

The pressure of the blindfold suddenly released, trading opaque darkness for a new kind of gloom.

Night sky. Moonshine. Stars above.

Anchors of a world I knew, but no recognition of the dark-shrouded industrial estate where blood gleamed silver-black and corpses dotted the field.

I’m alive.

I can see.

The joy at having my eyes freed came and went as blazing as a comet.

Then my life ended as our gazes connected.

Green to green.

I have green eyes.

Down and down I spiraled, deeper and deeper into his clutches.

My life—past, present, and future—lost all purpose the second I stared into his soul.

The fear I’d been missing slammed into my heart.

I quivered. I quaked.

Something howled deep inside with age-old knowledge.

Every part of me arched toward him, then shied away in terror.

Him.

A nightmare come to life.

A nightmare I wanted to live.

If life was a tapestry, already threaded and steadfast, then he was the scissors that cut me free. He tore me out, stole me away, changed the whole prophecy of who I was meant to be.

Jaw-length dark hair, tangled and sweaty, framed a square jaw, straight nose, and full lips. His five-o’clock stubble held remnants of war, streaked with dirt and blood. But it was his eyes that shot a quivering arrow into my heart, spreading his emerald anger.

He froze, his body curving toward mine. Blistering hope flickered across his features. His mouth fell open and love so achingly deep glowed in his gaze. “What—” A leg gave out, making him kneel beside me. His hands shook as he cupped my face, his fingers digging painfully into my cheekbones. “It’s not—”

My heart raced. Yes.

“You know me,” I breathed.

The moment my voice webbed around us, storm clouds rolled over the sunshine in his face, blackening the hope and replacing it with pure hatred.

He changed from watching me like I was his angel to glowering as if I were a despicable devil.

I shivered at the change—at the iciness and hardness. He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling. His lips parted, a rumbling command falling from his mouth to my ears. “Stand up. You’re mine now.”

When I didn’t move, his hand landed on my side. His touch was blocked by clothing but I felt it everywhere. He stroked my soul, tickled my heart, and caressed every cell with fingers that despised me.

I couldn’t suck in a proper breath.

With a vicious push, he rolled me over, and with a sharp blade sliced my bindings. With effortless power, so thrilling and terrifying, he hauled me to my feet.

I didn’t sway. I didn’t cry. Only pulled the disgusting gag from my mouth and stared in silence.

I stared up, up, up into his bright green eyes, understanding something I shouldn’t understand.

This was him.

My nightmare.

I couldn’t fucking believe it. I wouldn’t fucking believe it. It was a lie. A horrible, terrible lie to undermine everything I’d done since they’d ruined me. The moment she’d looked into my eyes, I’d wanted so much to give in. To believe in the impossible.

But that naïveté had been beaten out of me.

I wouldn’t fall for it again.

—Kill



“Get them in here. Don’t have all night.”

The roller door on the back of the truck opened again. I blinked, thankful my eyes weren’t covered this time and everything was visible.

With steadfast determination, I focused on the next stage of my unknown life. The new destination wasn’t a field or grotty industrial estate. It was a large parking garage with low-hanging halogens and rows of motorcycles. A few muscle cars rested toward the back of the cavernous room, but there were more bikes than I could count.

My mind skipped back to the ride here. It hadn’t taken long.

After the green-eyed man who’d devoured my soul had unleashed my wrists, he’d picked me up and placed me back on the platform of the truck. He’d grunted in pain, his black shirt torn and soaking with copper, glistening in the night. The scent of blood hovered around him, pumping warm and sickly from whatever wound he tried to hide. He did well keeping his agony hidden. I’d tried to find where the wound originated, but it was impossible in the gloom of the truck’s interior.

He also hid his previous reaction to me. His eyes were shuttered, watching me like a perfect stranger. Whatever had happened between us was gone.

But it had happened. I wasn’t sure of anything else, but that one glimpse between us was deeper, truer, more real than anything I’d experienced.

The knowledge was a constant drumbeat in my bones, a never-ceasing rhythm demanding I find out more.

He knew me.

I knew him.

Of that I was absolute.

I need him alone. I need to know.

The moment I was reloaded into the van, the other women who’d been tossed to the ground were ferried on board, too—their blindfolds off, wrists freed.

I didn’t bother looking at or assessing my companions. Everything inside me turned inward—focusing on my own predicament, my lack of memory, and my unswerving knowledge that I had something to do with the ringleader of this mess. As selfish as it was, I had no time for others.

Not yet.

The man with green eyes didn’t join us. Instead, he’d growled orders at the three men hovering around us like dogs with a herd of sheep, and threw down the door with an almighty clang.

Darkness.

My heart wedged itself in my throat at once again losing my sight.

No light, or seats, or in-travel refreshments. The women were quiet, even though we had the power to talk once again. Clusters formed, shuffling closer in the blackness. One tried to take my hand, offering consolation in numbers.

I shook her off, preferring to stand alone, holding on to the side of the vehicle and paying attention to the sway of the cumbersome truck. I counted the corners we took. I drew a map inside my head. Not that it made any difference. I would never find my way home.

Where is home?

Exactly.

Even if I did get free, I had no idea where to run to, who to turn to for help. I was a damn mystery, and for now, I was in a place where none of that mattered.

Blinking, I forced myself back to the present and the garage full of motorbikes and muscle cars.

“Move, bitches.” A new man with a goatee appeared, chewing a piece of gum loudly.

The women shuffled forward into the light, cringing away from the offered hand of the man in the brown leather jacket.

Five.

Five women I counted as they all descended from the vehicle and into the new world of whatever existence we were in.

“You.” The man pointed in my direction. “You deaf?” He held out his hand, raising an eyebrow. “Come here.”

I narrowed my eyes, moving forward and placing my hand resolutely in his. “No, I’m not deaf.” Jumping down the small distance, I untangled my fingers from his the moment I touched the concrete.

The sound of my voice startled me. I have an accent. I hadn’t noticed before in the field.

The men around me spoke with an American looseness. Short, to the point, with a slight drawl. I spoke with a subtle difference… sounding vaguely posh with clipped consonants and drawn-out vowels.

“Get them inside. We’ve got a shitload of work still to do. This damn shipment wasn’t due until tomorrow, and I want them locked up tight before other shit hits the fucking fan.”

The voice came from another man in an identical brown leather jacket. He had black hair, cut short into a slight mohawk. The large emblem stitched onto the back of his jacket depicted an old-fashioned abacus with a skull burning with fire and a waterfall of coins spewing from its mouth. The motto PURE IN THOUGHTS AND VENGEANCE. CORRUPT IN ALL THINGS THAT MATTER. encircled the image.

A motorcycle club.

Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, slipping down my spine like a glacial melt. The fear I’d been missing sprang into being like wintery needles. A headache pressed on my temples as I tried to understand my sudden horror. Why did terror affect me now, but not when I’d woken to being kidnapped?

What could be worse than being stolen and trafficked?

They can.

I waited for a memory—for another snippet of truth. But nothing came.

I shivered, wrapping my arms around my waist. I scanned the garage, searching for him—the green-eyed earthquake who sent my blood rushing and heart to flush.

Something inside me recognized him. He recognized me. Either fiction or reality, I needed to see him again. I needed to question him while staring into his eyes, searching for the truth.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

Three men surrounded us, penning the other women closer together. “Move, bitches. Time for your welcome party.” With narrowed gazes, they herded us forward.

Questions ran through my head.

Who were they?

What were we doing here?

What did they plan to do?

Curiosity burned, but I didn’t voice my questions. I remained silent.

“Silence is ammunition, darlin’. Don’t give it up before you’re sure of the facts and know you can win.”

The fleeting memory gave no hint as to who told me that, who they were, and where I’d come from. I felt as if I were still blindfolded—lost to everything, even though my eyes were unhindered.

Leaving the parking garage, I followed the trail of girls through a thick door and down a narrow grey corridor. The men didn’t touch us; they didn’t draw weapons or raise their fists.

There was a calmness about them that transferred to us as their victims. The women trembled, an occasional hitch in their breath as they cried quietly, but no one screamed or did anything to shatter the brittle truce.

The corridor twisted, leading into a large room with a few scattered couches, a large red rug, huge pictures showing an eclectic mix of enlarged magazine covers, and shelving ringing the walls with every liquor and spirit bottle imaginable. The bare floor was worn, satiny wood, with the occasional pockmark from… bullets?

The stylish room was nothing like I envisioned. I thought an MC Club would be strewn with litter, discarded reading material, and other gang-related messiness.

The hygiene of the place was impeccable.

Who are these people?

Two of the men turned to face us, cocking their heads. “Stand in a line.”

The women shuffled, standing behind one another quickly.

“Not like that. Goddammit, a line!” The older of the two with sandy-blond hair grabbed the second woman, hauling her level with the first. Repeating the same with the third and fourth, he arranged the five women until they all stood shoulder to shoulder.

I didn’t wait to be manhandled; I moved to position without being told. But instead of heading to the bottom of the sad little lineup, I squeezed myself into the center.

Straightening my spine, I kept my face blank as the black-haired man raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Good enough, I suppose.”

A chill darted down my spine. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I just knew.

He’s here.

Awareness was a woodpecker knocking tiny holes into my soul as I tilted my head, looking over my shoulder.

Walking tall—taller than most of his entourage—he moved with dangerous grace. A mesmerizing war between a fighter’s bulk and a dancer’s elegance.

His black jeans and T-shirt hid the puddle of blood well. He’d zipped up his dark brown jacket, further hiding whatever injury he’d sustained in battle.

Planting himself in front of us, he glowered at each woman. The other men faded behind him, his army of leather-jacketed warriors all beaten up, bruised, bloodied, and war-weary.

What had they been fighting over? What was this place?

The man never looked at me, skipping my awareness as if I were invisible.

My mind was more intrigued by my predicament than the most important question I continued to ignore. I didn’t want it to form because the moment it did, it would itch my brain until it drove me mad.

Why can’t I remember anything?

The question blurted loud and fierce—cutting through my wavering ignorance.

What happened to make me like this?

Or maybe not what but who?

My left hand cupped the singed skin of my right forearm. I winced in pain from the moderate burn.

What happened to me?

Green-eyed man froze as his gaze landed unwillingly on mine. His attention dropped to where I cupped my arm. His feral energy seemed to reach between us, drawing me deeper into his spell.

I tingled with a desire so powerful, it overrode my current situation and the fear dancing on the outskirts of my brain.

Who are you?

Almost as if he heard my question, his eyes locked onto my mine once again, glowing with pent-up emotion. Recognition flickered, love smoldered, and a heartbreaking sorrow onl