Chapter One

RUN

Vicious scrapes covered my arms and legs. Pain throbbed steadily in my left cheek. Dull shockwaves pounded against the inside of my skull like someone repeatedly hitting my brain with a hammer. But worst of all, my eyes stung.

The tears threatened to fall, and I couldn't stop them. It was all so out of my control. All of it. The whole situation.

Everything was broken.

As my rock star boyfriend, Jax, leaned his chest against my back on the rumbling motorcycle, his soft, irregular breaths blowing against my ear, I knew nothing would ever be the same after tonight. If only we could rewind everything, to go back to that beautiful night in Las Vegas when it seemed like our world was unshakable.

I reluctantly brushed my cheek with the back of my hand, sweeping away the tears along with my hopes.

We can't go back. Not now. Not after what had happened.

My mind flashed back to how that ruthless biker gang, the Reapers, spit on Jax while he laid on the ground, broken and bloodied. They were led by Darrel, Jax's father—the monster who had beaten Jax as a child so many years ago, leaving him scarred, on the outside and the inside. I couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to grow up with an abusive parent. To be small and helpless against the one adult who was supposed to love and protect you. He was the reason Jax walled himself off from everyone. He was the reason Jax holed himself off in his room, the Fortress of Solitude, escaping from the world through writing music.

And after all these years apart, he had beaten Jax again.

My hand tightened around the throttle as my sorrow boiled into anger. White-knuckled with my teeth clenched, I struggled to contain the storm brewing inside my chest until I couldn't anymore. Liquid fury rushed through my veins. They hurt him. They hurt Jax.

No one was going to hurt the man I loved and get away with it.

No, this wasn't fucking over yet.

In the driver seat, ready to go, I secured Jax's arms around my waist and raised the flaming bottle above my head.

"What are you doing?" Jax managed. His voice lacked the strength I'd grown accustomed to over the course of the tour, and I could barely hear him over the rumbling of the motorcycle.

My heart breaking for him, I lifted his bruised hand to my mouth and kissed it tenderly. "Burning away the past."

My fingers gripped the bottle hard. With the burning blouse sleeve hanging out the top beginning to singe my hand, I cocked my arm and heaved the bottle at full strength toward the house.

The bottle spun wildly, the flame at its tip lighting up the darkness as it ascended into the night sky. For a brief moment time stood still. All the anger. All the frustration. All the pain disappeared—eclipsed by one beautiful image—a jagged orange streak suspended above a row of rusty trailers stitched together like segments of a decomposed centipede.

That squalid hovel had been Jax's home, once. A house full of demons. He'd brought me to this place to show me his pain, to share with me the ugly scars he'd hidden from everyone else around him. It meant so much to me. It meant more than I imagined anything could.

Silhouetted against the blackness, the bottle flipped end over end as it began to descend, ushering a surreal silence in its wake.

The sound of my own heart pounded in my ears as an electric numbness washed over my body. My eyes widened in anticipation as the bottle fell toward its target.

This was it. The moment we fought back.

With a crash, the bottle struck a tree branch belonging to a gnarled cypress overhanging the driveway. Glass and alcohol exploded in a shower of fire, raining tiny orange-red comets onto the grass and asphalt below, shattering the stillness.

The street erupted into fast-moving chaos. Liquid flames sizzled out into the lawn, igniting the dry California grass. Fire crackled around Darrel's Cadillac and the bikes nearby, sending tendrils of hazy smoke into the air.

My stomach knotted with sudden, spiraling fear.

Oh God. What have I done?

I'd been stupid for boyfriends before. I'd done things I shouldn't have. But I'd never done anything like this.

Jax's mouth was open. His half-swollen eyes were wide. Dancing red-orange flames reflected off his dark irises. I tried to read the emotions I saw in the hard lines on his sculpted face, but his eyes were somewhere else.

Then, something charred and acrid stung my nostrils. My heart pounding, I shot a glance at Darrel's Cadillac parked in the driveway and saw the tires melting into the asphalt, bubbling up clouds of black smoke.

My limbs froze as I stared with horror at the growing inferno.

Through the haze, something shifted. The sound of rusty hinges creaking pierced through the crackling fire.

When I realized the source, my heart raced faster.

The door to Darrel's trailer.

"What the fuck?" A deep voice cried out. "Hey, boss, the bikes are on fire!"

I couldn't make out through the smoke who was talking, but then an unmistakable second voice boomed above the first one. "I'm gonna get that little punk!" Darrel growled. "And his bitch girlfriend, too!"

The situation hit me in full force. Darrel and his gang had let us go. We'd been free to leave, wounded with our tails between our legs, but free nonetheless. But now, after what I just did . . . A series of sobering realizations bombarded me in a sudden, sickening rush: Could I drive this motorcycle? Did I even remember how to get us out of here? What the hell was I thinking?

My stomach coiled viciously. I wanted to vomit.

We might not live through tonight. And it's all my fault.

The smoke rose in black plumes, burning my nose as I breathed in, making me gag, but I managed to stop myself from heaving.

Then I saw where the flames had spread, and my eyes widened in horror. Crackling at the underside of the black Cadillac—Darrel's car—not far from the gas tank, the flames licked against metal.

"Hang on!" I cried to Jax frantically. "I'm getting us out of here!"

Jax moaned a wordless reply and I twisted the throttle. The engine growled in response, sending the bike speeding along the asphalt. We shifted precariously from side to side, Jax's weight on the back throwing the bike off-balance. Heart pounding against my ribcage, I turned left at the stop sign, hoping to god it was the way out.

Behind us, the Reapers shouted to one another.

"Get a fucking hose!" one bellowed.

"Our goddamn bikes!" another shouted.

As I turned the next corner, their voices began to fade. A feeling of thankfulness slipped into my chest, momentarily placating the fear and anxiety that had lodged there.

We were out. We were going to make it.

Suddenly, the ground shook beneath us.

BOOM!

What sounded like a missile exploding thundered somewhere from behind us. My grip on the handlebar jolted.

The gas tank of the Cadillac.

The bike careened off course toward the side of the street. The wrecked car I'd seen earlier stood directly in our path.

Screaming, I yanked the handle and jerked us back to the road—narrowly avoiding a head-on collision, but knocking off the right rear-view mirror in the process.

I righted the bike, managing to go straight ahead for the next few blocks without crashing. Barely. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't. I knew they'd be after us. I needed to get us as far away from this place as possible.

The cold wind whipped my hair wildly and raised goosebumps on my skin. I briefly clasped my hand over Jax's hand around my waist, ensuring he was holding onto me. His arms squeezed against my sides weakly.