The strength of the punch nearly takes me off my feet, but I manage to catch my attacker’s fist in my palm.

“Holy crap, that hurt,” I groan as Beast withdraws his hand, and I shake out my own. Pain ricochets through my joints, making me grit my teeth. He’s just that strong. “Should you really be punching your wife-to-be like that?”

“You need to learn this,” he starts, standing so close to me that he can probably smell me. I’m sweating like fucking crazy, my muscles sore and quivering from the twice daily sessions with Beast—or, if he’s not available, one of the other guys.

The thing is, if he isn’t watching Gaz, one of them has to, and that only happens when my brother is on the property. We’ve been at this for about four days now, but all I can say is that my muscles are sore as hell, I’m in constant pain, and I’m most definitely out of shape.

I really do need this, don’t I? If for no other reason than it helps distract me from the fact that Reba is still missing.

“We can’t always be around, but you will always be in danger,” Beast tells me, nodding his chin to indicate that we’re done for the day. I sigh dramatically, rubbing my sore hand against the front of my tank top. I’m a damn good shot, much to Crown’s chagrin. I can use a knife, too, although Grainger can still kick my ass. Sin hasn’t had much chance to teach me anything.

“Hey.”

The sound of his melodic voice draws my attention around. Sin is waiting nearby, his back against the trunk of a tree, one boot propped up against the trunk. He’s watching me, the muscles in his arm rippling beneath the American flag tattooed there as he lifts a cigarette to his lips.

For four days, I’ve been training with the men. Helping Nellie with stupid wedding stuff. And definitely not getting my brains fucked out. Mostly, it’s because we’re all exhausted. By the time I get upstairs and collapse in bed, I’m half-asleep. Same with the guys. Grainger actually fell asleep in the chair near the fire and got his ass chewed out by Crown last night.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I wouldn’t be down for a nooner. Or a three PMer. Or a whenever-the-fuck fuck.

“What brings you here?” I ask, trying not to be unpleasant. I’m glad Sin told me about their stupid pact. It makes sense. If I’m being honest with myself, it makes a lot of sense. I was sixteen. The youngest of them was twenty-four; the oldest was thirty-two. I also know that love doesn’t mean giving into every single thing a person wants. Sometimes, you have to push back or say no.

Yet, the whole thing seems a bit … overbearing, overreaching, a bit patronizing.

I was heartbroken then. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was. I was devastated.

I grab the towel that’s tossed over a nearby stump, dousing it with water from my water bottle, and doing my best to wipe some of the sweat from my face.

“I’m here to teach you,” Sin tells me conversationally, sauntering over to stand beside me while I clean up and chug the water. Droplets of it escape my lips, rolling down my chin, my neck, between my breasts. Sin’s silver eyes catch and follow them before he looks away sharply.

I announced to all the women that these four belonged to me. They’ve bitched me out a bit—well, not Beast, but the others—but that’s about it. Does that mean they’re okay with it? Could we work this out? I have no idea. Beast hasn’t mentioned it one way or another.

Part of me is afraid to ask. If he tells me that he wants me to be his and his alone then what? How do I handle this?

“Teach me what?” I ask, glancing back to see that my future husband has disappeared yet again. Beast’s good at that, slipping in and out of shadows. He’s been trying to train me to do that, but at this point, I wouldn’t try to sneak up on a herd of elephants; they’d still hear me coming.

The way Sin’s crooked mouth twists up in a smile makes me feel a bit dizzy. Why does he have to be so pretty? Not that I think it would change the way I feel for him or any of them really, but they might be easier to resist if they weren’t glorious columns of muscle and shadow and ink.

“To drive a bike,” he says, lifting a single finger to his lips. “Just … keep that big mouth of yours shut on this one, if you would.”

I frown at that, even though I know he’s being practical.

I sigh and sling the towel around my neck, lifting my wet hair out from underneath it. Sin studies me carefully as I shake it out and comb it through with my fingers.

“If you’ll recall, I know how to drive a bike,” I retort, lifting my chin proudly. All that one need do to know that I’m a goddamn liar is turn their gaze down to my ruined legs. Sin does exactly that before lifting his gaze back to mine.

“You know how to take a fall that would’ve killed lesser men,” he says to me, and even though I don’t want to enjoy the compliment, I do. Too much. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Was that your first time driving a motorcycle?”

I give him a look.

“Dude, come on. You know me better than that.” I start walking toward the house because, as I learned that fateful day, one should not wear shorts or skirts on a friggin’ motorcycle. It wasn’t like I had a choice last time, but I will never get on another bike without leather and denim slathered across my body. “Reba’s cousin, Ryan, taught me last summer.”

“Ryan?” Sin repeats with a dry laugh. “What did he ride? A fucking moped.”

“Actually, he had a Harley,” I say, lifting both brows and giving Sin a smug look over my shoulder. “He was good in bed, too. Huge cock. Big balls.” I squeeze my hand, wiggling my fingers around like I’m massaging Ryan’s pretend sac. Sin doesn’t need to know that the guy wore a promise ring and played bass in a worship rock band, one of those ‘be the glory of God, motherfuckers!’ sort of groups.

Even though he knows he’s being played, the insinuation annoys poor Colton Young.

“Well, Ryan best keep his Harley and his giant cock and balls to himself, or I’ll bury him underneath the rhododendron out back of your gram’s house.” Sin stabs his cigarette into the ashtray as we pass, following me into the house. It smells like cookies in here, but when I pause beside the entrance to the kitchen, I don’t see Nellie.

Instead, there’s a tray of cookies on the floor, pieces of them scattered around and crushed. Adrenaline surges through me as I glance back at Sin. My Magnum—which now remains strapped to me at all times, courtesy of Crown’s instructions—is in my hand within seconds.

“This shit is in your blood, isn’t it, Gidge?” Sin murmurs, drawing his own weapon. He takes the lead, moving through the kitchen toward the back doors. They’re both open, and we hear voices before we even set foot outside.

“Goddamn it, boy,” a voice snarls, and I know right away that it’s Cat. A shiver tears down my spine, but I shake it off. It isn’t me that’s being admonished this time.

Sin breathes a sigh of relief and tucks his weapon away, pausing beside the door and glancing around the corner. I join him—only I keep my weapon out. Just because.

Gaz is standing there on the patio, blood running down his chin. Crown and Grainger stand behind Cat like they’re his own personal bodyguards. Only … they aren’t his bodyguards so much as they’re mine. Regardless of how the romance and sex works out between the five of us, I know one thing for sure: they will always prioritize my safety over Cat’s.

As I said before, Gaz wasn’t afraid of Grainger at the party; he should’ve been.

“You think you’re above the law around here?” Cat asks, staring his son down with the darkest look in his repertoire, the same one he wore the night he put a gun to my head. With no warning, Cat strikes out, backhanding Gaz so hard that he falls on his ass.

A distant memory comes to me, one that shows Gaz falling back just like that, being hit by Cat just like that. But for something lesser. Something much smaller. Gaz is smaller in the memory. A child.

My brother is a monster, but I can never allow myself to forget that Cat helped make him that way.

Gaz stares up at his father, hand pressed to the side of his face. His eyes flick briefly to Grainger, and I follow the direction of his stare. That dumbass, Cade, is smirking so wickedly that I wouldn’t be surprised if he attracted lightning strikes from the stormy sky above.

Beast warned me—all of us, actually—not to provoke my brother. Cade seems to be doing just that and Crown isn’t stopping him.

Cat squats down in front of his son.

“You touch your mother?” he asks, his voice this slice of menace that makes me shiver.

“Did Gidget tell you that?” Gaz retorts, and my father grabs him by the throat.

“Watch your mouth, boy. I asked you a question: did you hit my wife?”

“Nellie was on the floor when I walked in the kitchen,” Gaz spits back, and it’s almost believable. But I know better. I saw those marks on my mother’s wrist. More than that, I’ve been noticing since I got back that she’s even more pathetic than usual, jumpier, wild-eyed. All signs point to that behavior being caused by Gaz. Why, I don’t know, but I’d bet my life on it being him.

“Next time you defy your sergeant-at-arms, I’ll send Beast after you.” Cat rises to his feet and turns away, heading deeper into the garden as my eyes shift to the foliage surrounding him. Somewhere out here, not very far-off, Beast is already waiting. He’s already been sent, just not by Cat.

Gaz is already being hunted.

I flick my eyes back to my brother to find him staring at me.

“Good, send him,” he grumbles, but not loud enough for Cat to hear. Grainger spits on Gaz as he passes by, and Crown acts as if he doesn’t exist. My eyes meet my brother’s, and I stare deep into his, wondering about what Grainger told me, that Crown believed Gaz was a traitor way back when.

Meaning what, exactly?

The era of Queenie and Kian?

Was Gaz working for the mafia even then?

Rage flows through me and even though I know I shouldn’t, I follow Cade’s lead, throwing up two middle fingers to my brother and smirking at him. Come for me, bitch, is what my smile says.

I really, really shouldn’t have done that.

Sin’s bike—a matte white Indian Chieftain—is waiting in the exact same spot where I stole Crown’s from, kid you not. For a second there, all I can do is stop and stare. My pulse begins to race, but I push back against the reaction.

No.

I won’t be triggered by this.

Even though I feel a bit shaky on my feet, I move over to stand beside Sin. When I reach out to grab one of the handlebars, he snatches my wrist and stops me. I glance up at him, pretending like his touch isn’t fire, like I’m not aching for more.

“Before you get on your bike, do a quick check.” Sin releases me and then points at the rear wheel. “Tires and wheels.” He adjusts his finger to the front of the bike. “Controls, levers, pedals, cables, hoses, and throttle.”

“Okay,” I drawl, trying to get on only to have him grab me around the waist and yank me close.

This … doesn’t seem very productive.

“Lights, battery, headlights, turn signals, mirrors.”

Never in my life has a list of such mundane words made me squirm, made hot liquid flood the apex of my thighs.

“Chassis,” Sin says next, and I groan, turning around in his arms.

“You can’t say chassis and not expect me to rub all over you.” Sin smiles at me, but he doesn’t stop, nodding his chin in the direction of his bike.

“The frame, suspension, stands.”

He puts his hands on my hips and moves me away from him, grabbing the helmet and handing it over.

“Isn’t it manlier to ride without a helmet?” I joke, yanking it over my curly hair.

“Is it manly to have your head crack open on the pavement like a watermelon?” Sin retorts, pointing at the bike. “Show me how you’d mount this.” I give him a look, and he returns a smoky smile in response. “Ass up on the bike, Gidge.”

With a roll of my eyes, I swing my leg over and Sin grunts in reluctant approval.

“Not bad.” He moves up beside me and grabs my right hand, igniting that electricity between us that’s driven me nuts since before I fully understood its meaning; the feeling is so strong it penetrates the leather gloves I’m wearing. I love these stupid motherfuckers. The thought chokes me up, but I make myself pay attention to Sin’s instructions. “Your right hand is the boss of two jobs: acceleration and braking.” He snorts a derisive laugh. “Since you managed to take off with Crown’s bike, I’m assuming you understand the clutch.”

I rev the engine at him, and he gives me a look.

“Don’t do that.”

“My cunt is literally soaking your bike right now, Colton. What do you think about that?” I rev the engine again, and Sin exhales like he’s in pain. He grits his teeth and grabs my arm.

“Gidget, it’s sort of a big fucking deal for me to let someone else ride my bike. Do you know why I’m teaching you this?”

“Because you aren’t an ex-MMA fighter?” I query, wiggling my ring finger with Beast’s wedding band glinting in the late afternoon light. It’s a sickly color today, a strange vibrant orange caused by excessive smoke in the air. There are so many wildfires burning here and in California that the sky is bathed in a gray glare, and the sun, when it does peek through, seems like a stranger.

“Because the others weren’t sure about you riding their bikes.” Sin nods his chin in the direction of the road. “Do you think you can handle taking this down and back for me?”

“They didn’t want me to ride their bikes ?” I bite out, but then I remember that I crashed Crown’s the last time I was on it. A motorcycle is sacred to these men. They’ve killed people for touching theirs at rallies. Not even kidding you. Cat literally stabbed a guy for taking a baseball bat to his bike; the man’s buried near the oak tree in the front yard.

It’s one of Gaz’s favorite stories.

“Down and back,” Sin repeats, and I sigh, yanking down the visor and hitting the kickstand.

I almost back out. Seriously. For the span of a single breath, I consider putting the kickstand back down, turning the bike off, and walking away. It’s there, that cold shove of fear, that whisper of remembered pain.

There are other things, too, pieces of a life I always wanted but never believed I could have.

Yes, the sky is filled with smoke, and bits of ash catch on my lips when the wind blows right, but the world isn’t as bleak as that sickly orange sun in the sky. It isn’t black or white; it’s gray. My sisters are dead, but I have these men. I have this moment, the sun shining on the chrome of the bike, catching my eye and sparkling. There’s Sin, standing beside me, letting me do something that’s doubly sacrilegious in our culture.

He is a dirty heretic in this moment.

But even among heretics, I stand out.

I take off on the bike, the wind a powerful force against my body as I fly down the pavement. The trees create a tunnel of shadow that I dive into, winding into the darker parts of the compound, the distant woods that are peppered with guards. The watchful eyes of the club are everywhere. Will one of them see me? Will they report this?

I can only assume the men organized this so that there wouldn’t be anyone here.

I have the woods to myself.

My heart expands, snapping some of those weights tying me down. For a few minutes there, I really feel like I could spread wings and take off, that I could, even as a sinner, somehow become an angel.

The road continues up toward the old cemetery, the one with actual gravestones, that’s been on this property since forever ago. Seems fitting, right, that the club would create a new cemetery where there once was just a house, and then buy the adjoining plot of land that already had a cemetery on it?

Life is weird.

I go all the way up to the top, where the road turns into a cul-de-sac with nothing but trees around it. There are old signs on two of the plots, dirt squares with much smaller trees. The developers were going to build houses here before Cat’s predecessor got ahold of this property—thanks to Cat’s guidance. Guess even when he was partying, he was a valuable member of DBD.

I park right there in the center of all that cement and climb off, tearing my helmet over my head and tossing it onto the pavement. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back, and I listen to the naughty fingers of the wind in the trees. It’s pretty, even if I know all it’s doing is stirring up more fire.

“You’ve got this, Gidget,” I tell myself, sliding both of my gloved palms over my face. “You can do this.”

I’m not sure what it is, exactly, that I’m promising myself I can do. Rescue Reba? Marry Beast? Win the war? Take over the club? Destroy the mafia?

Get four officers as my paramours.

Who knows? Does it matter?

Whatever it is, I’ll conquer it. I’ll climb it.

I drop my chin and open my eyes, shaking out my hands before heading back to my helmet. I carry it back to the bike and climb on, enjoying the peace and solitude for a moment before putting it back on.

I head back down the road to find Sin waiting for me, completely unconcerned, arms crossed over his chest as he watches me.

I park within a foot of him, leaving my helmet hanging from the handlebars.

“Guess I don’t need these lessons much, do I?” I ask, swaggering up to him and sliding my hand into his pocket to steal his cigarettes and lighter.

“Guess not,” Sin agrees as I light up and then offer him the pack. He takes it from me, letting his bare fingers tangle with my leather-wrapped ones. “Damn shame.”

I smile and take a deep inhale, glancing back at Sin’s bike again.

This won’t be the last time I ride it.

But eventually? This bitch is getting her own bike.