I wasn’t running toward anything the night my car crashed on that mountain road. I was running from him — from the man who’d spent three years teaching me what his fists felt like.
I thought the worst was behind me.
Then the bikers pulled me from the wreck.
Their president has cold grey eyes, a scar across his throat, and a voice that makes my blood go still. He tells me I’ve wandered into a territory that doesn’t exist on any map. He tells me I can’t leave.
He’s not human. None of them are.
And the way he looks at me — like I’m something his body has been searching for long before his mind caught up — terrifies me more than anything my ex ever did.
Because I’m starting to feel it too.
He says I’m his. His wolf decided the moment it caught my scent.
But I didn’t survive one cage just to walk into another… did I?
