For the most part, members of an outlaw motorcycle club are badass motherfuckers. Leather wearing, tattoo sportin’, weapon toting, hell raising kind of guys. They push drugs and fuck as much as they drink. And they fight nearly as much as they eat. Bikers have a reputation for being rough around the edges and crude. Illegal activities are their game of choice and rebellion is their middle name. They rule the streets with their hogs between their thighs and murderous glares on their rugged faces. They are outlaws.

And I lead the gang.

The ring fucking leader.

Mr. Badass himself.

Every day we ride. On Tuesdays, I head to the shipyards so I can oversee our weapons import. Thursdays, I taste from the newest strain of cocaine that will get cut for distribution. Saturdays, I collect on my debts.

But Sundays…

Sundays are my day.

My fucking day off.

“The usual, sir?”

I snap my head up from staring at the tips of my worn leather boots and meet the pale green eyes of Hali Morgan. Her strawberry-blonde hair has been pulled back into a sleek ponytail today, like always, and her lips are glossy pink. I’d rather taste her instead of what I’m here for, but she doesn’t even know my fucking name.

“Yes,” I say with a grunt. “Thank you, Hali.”

She beams at me, flashing her perfect white teeth, and punches in some numbers on the register. “That’ll be five-oh-nine, sir.”

Here’s the deal. I’ve been coming to see her every Sunday for three months. Three fucking months. I’m pussy whipped by a register girl who doesn’t even know my name.

But her?

I know everything the internet yields regarding Hali Elaine Morgan. She’s not big on Facebook but is always posting shit on Instagram. Not self-absorbed selfies. Not my Hali. Naw, she’s more into scenery and sunsets. Shells and palm trees. Muscle cars and puffy clouds. I know this because my stupid ass created a fake profile just to inconspicuously follow her. I try not to go full-on creeper and like every single picture she posts. Currently, I’ve kept my liking to every other post.

I’m a stalker and a pussy.

Jesus fucking Christ.

If only the guys back at the clubhouse knew this, they’d be slitting my throat and electing a new president before sundown. My best friend, Jagger, and that fucktard Cassius, wouldn’t even wait until my body was cold before one of them was sitting in my place at the head of the table.

“Sir?”

I snap out of my daze and shove my hand into my black jeans. Pulling out a ten dollar bill, I slap it on the counter. “Keep the change, sweetheart.”

Her pale, freckled cheeks tinge pink as she slides the bill from me. “Thank you.”

When she bounces off to make my order, I run my fingers through my jet black hair in frustration. At the clubhouse, all I have to do is look at one of the broads sitting on one of the worn sofas and they’ll be sucking my cock in three seconds flat.

But Hali?

I can’t even talk to her without feeling like I’m a fourteen-year-old nerdy little shit. It’s emasculating and embarrassing, yet I keep coming back here. Every goddamned Sunday for more punishment.

My gaze travels over to her. Her head is bopping to the music on the speakers—some Justin Timberlake crap—and her supple lips mouth the words as she pulls a cup from the dispenser. Then, she bounces over to the frozen yogurt machine and pulls the lever. Bubblegum flavored frozen yogurt fills the cup, but I’m too focused on how delicious her ass looks in her tiny white shorts to notice her actions. It’s the best damn part of my week. What I wouldn’t give to pull out my flaying knife and slice them right from her ripe, tight body.

She casts a shy glance my way over her shoulder and smiles before mounting on the toppings. Pink sprinkles. Pink gummy worms. Pink dyed coconut flakes.

Yes, I am the loser who orders this shit.

When she shoves a lime green spoon into the frozen yogurt, she turns, scoops up a matching green napkin along the way and bounces back over to me. I’d die to have her bouncing on my cock instead.

“The Pink Pelican,” she chirps and winks at me. “A Franny Froyo fave!”

An elderly lady chuckles from behind me in line, and I cringe. “Thanks.”

When she passes the cup to me, I deliberately touch her soft, small hands and thank God for the counter hiding my hard-on. This girl does things to me.

“Ask her out already, son,” the old woman orders. “Your tongue is on the floor and the gal looks like she might want to be the one to roll it back up for you.”

I clench my teeth and flash Hali an apologetic look. “I’m, uh…”

“At least tell her your name,” the nosy lady gripes.

Hali giggles, a sound lighter and more musical than any wind chime my adopted mother, Constance, ever collected, and I instantly crave more of it. Every day. On repeat. Jesus.

“Madden Finn. My friends call me Mad.”

Hali grins at me. “Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mad. See you around.”

Feeling like a dick, I stalk away from the sniggering old woman and find my usual lime green plastic chair by the window. I have a perfect view of both my love, the sea, and my obsession, Froyo Hali.

As I eat a dessert that makes me feel more like a woman than a man, I catch my reflection in the mirrored glass along the far wall. I don’t fucking belong here. All six feet and five inches of solid muscle, with a leather jacket too hot for Miami make me stand out like a sore thumb. My black hair is a wild mess, matching the emotions running rampant in my head. Eyes, so black they’re nearly blue, peer back at me.

Angry.

Possessive.

Unapproachable.

Fucking terrifying.

I’m surprised half the town doesn’t run in the other direction when they see me. Truth is, they mostly do. Aside from my Sunday visits at the frozen yogurt stand on the beach where I turn in my mancard and balls the second the bell on the door jingles. Here, I’m some ridiculous fool.

After another week of disappointment, I toss my empty container into the trash can and stalk out of the restaurant toward my bike without a backwards glance at my shiny, pretty obsession.

“All you have to do is ask, you know. I won’t bite,” a sweet voice says with a chuckle from behind me as I straddle my machine. “Well, I won’t bite that hard.”

I snap my head to the vision gracefully making her way over to me. “Ask what?” I grunt.

Unafraid of my gruff exterior, she sashays right up to me and invades my personal space. I’m about three seconds from hauling her onto this bike with me and taking her home.

“Ask in the next five seconds, and the answer will be yes. Ask me after, and it will be no.”

With her out of the yuppie froyo shop, I’m a little more in my element. I flash her a smug grin. “Will you marry me?”

Her green eyes widen with surprise, and she giggles. “Oooh, you’re a sly one, Madden Finn. Here I thought you were shy but no, you knew exactly what you were doing!”

I can’t help but laugh with her—it’s infectious and I want to be tainted by her. “We’ll deal with that answer later. Can I take you to dinner one night?”

“I suppose so,” she says, “a girl has to eat.” She hands me a green napkin with her phone number written in a pretty flourish across the front. “Text me and let me know when.”

With a wave, she turns and starts away from me, but I’m quick and snatch her wrist. It’s tiny in my massive hand and I easily bring her toward me. I don’t say anything but press a soft kiss to her palm that smells like dessert toppings.

“I’ve been waiting twelve Sundays to do that.”

I release her and keep my eyes on her as she hurries back into the building, her round ass jiggling as she bounces away.

One day soon, I’ll make this girl mine.

Once the engine roars to life and I’m back on the road, the warm wind whipping around me, I contemplate how any sort of relationship with a girl like Hali would work. In all actuality, it can’t. I’m hardened and rough. She’s all sweetness and smooth perfection. And one step inside the clubhouse, those motherfuckers would devour my sweet treat. Fuck that. I’ll figure out a way to have both. I’m a master at compartmentalizing my life. My adopted mother and her cats, who I still visit frequently at her beach house, are in a safe, secret compartment that only Jagger knows about. My Sunday visits with Hali are another part of me no one knows a thing about. And the biggest piece of me, stays in its own undisclosed part of my mind.

I pull into the carport of my condo on the beach. The clubhouse may be the place I run, but I don’t live there. Instead, I stay at the worn two bedroom condo that’s fairly private, with no beachgoers out my way. Turning off the motorcycle, I climb off and head straight toward the water, shedding leather and denim along the way. Boots are kicked off and my weapons are discarded into the sand without a care in the world.

As soon as I’m completely naked and standing before my true home, I smile and inhale the salty breeze.

Could I ever share this part of me with anyone?

Maybe someone like Hali?

What would she think of me?

A growl rumbles in my throat just thinking of her rejection—the horror on her face from knowing exactly who, or more like what I am. She can’t ever know. It’ll remain in its compartment where it belongs.

I charge toward the raging waves and once I’m waist deep, I dive in. The water sluices down my bare skin, sending a calm like no other washing over me. Closing my eyes, I will the change to happen. Over the years, I’ve learned to control when I convert into my true form.

My legs begin binding together, almost painfully, but I don’t feel trapped. I know it’s the step before I become truly free. The tightening becomes more and more intense with each passing second, as if some heavenly god is sewing my powerful legs together against my will. I fight the urge to gasp for air and claw to the surface, but instead suck the saltwater deep into my lungs. The water is murky, but I know soon I’ll be able to see, with crystal clarity, everything in the sea.

Everything goes black for one quiet moment.

Then, underwater, brilliant colors nearly blind me. Colorful fish dart around me and the peaceful sounds of the ocean soothe my soul.

I’m free.

With a powerful whap of my tail, I surge deeper into the ocean. Being in my true form, I’m strong and untouchable. I’m free to search every salty square inch of the sea for others like me. Every evening, I do just that. I spend hours swimming and hunting for a family I never knew.

But as exhilarating as this is, it’s also lonely.

It’s like I’m the last one of an extinct race.

Alone.

After hours of getting my fill, I come across a shimmering, red tinted shell with green speckles in it. It instantly reminds me of Hali.

Maybe one day I can share who I am with someone. If anything, a sweet girl like Hali would be the one to accept such an unusual notion about someone. Gritting my teeth, I start making my swim back toward shore. Of course I can’t tell her. If I like her, which I really fucking do, I can’t tell her that…ever.

How fucking ridiculous would that be?

“Hi, my name is Madden Finn, president of the South Beach Sinners and Pink Pelican frozen yogurt eating yuppie. Oh…” I groan as I clutch the shell in my fist, drawing blood. “And I’m a fucking merman.”