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Maddie Salvato
I’ve never felt as free as I do riding on the back of a motorcycle, my arms wrapped tightly around the waist of the man I love. It’s everything I never knew I needed. The morning sunlight warms us against the chill of the early fall winds whipping around us on the highway, carrying the salty scent of the nearby ocean.
The little beach town is a haven I didn’t even know existed before I met Jordan over a year ago in a Las Vegas bar. That was the day my entire life changed.
I became his wife and escaped the confines of my father’s prison when I hitched a ride to Rockland, Virginia, on a private plane with a group of bikers. Not just any bikers—Savage Kings, a motorcycle club that’s closer than most families.
Jordan quickly became my best friend, my soulmate, my favorite person in the world from the moment we met. It was like fate brought the two of us together right when I needed someonethe most. He loves me so much he would take a bullet for me in a heartbeat, without hesitation.
And I am a selfish girl who will never deserve such a good man.
Even though Jordan doesn’t have to be at the auto shop until it opens at eight, he wakes up with me at five-thirty to shower and have breakfast together. Then he gives me a ride to Greer’s bar. While he taught me how to drive a car, I still don't have a driver’s license because that would require me to use my legal name, creating a paper trail my father could use to find me.
I can’t go back to Vegas, not when Rockland, and Jordan, are now my home.
Since Rockland is a small town, we pull into the bar’s gravel lot way too soon. I could ride around with Jordan all day on his motorcycle, but I’m also excited to get to baking.
For the past three months, I’ve been rising with the sun, heading into Greer’s to use his wife’s huge new kitchen. Celeste convinced Greer to let me spend the morning baking dozens of cupcakes before the bar opens in the afternoon. It’s crazy how far I’ve come since I didn’t even know how to turn on an oven this time last summer.
Not only do I bake without burning down the place, but people from all over the country actually buy my cupcakes. I sell them in little glass jars from my store’s website—Wicked Delights Cupcake Company.
Jordan slows the motorcycle to a stop but doesn’t turn off the engine as he lowers the brake. I easily throw my leg over to climb off.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him like I do every morning, as I undo the chin strap on my helmet, freeing my long, brown waves.
He lifts his helmet’s visor so I can see his handsome face and warm smile. “I’ll miss you,” he says, as he does each day, even though he’ll be working just a mile away.
I lean forward just as his hand reaches up to cup the side of my face, bringing my lips to his for a searing goodbye kiss. The deep, sensual kind of kiss that makes me wish we were still in bed. But the money I stole from my father before leaving Vegas has dwindled down so that we both have no choice but to put in the hours to earn a living and keep paying the rent on our tiny, one-bedroom apartment.
“I love you,” Jordan says when he finally releases my face.
“I love you too.” It’s the truth. I do love him, which is why I hate myself so much for lying to him.
I’ve convinced myself that if I tell him the truth about who I am and that we’re not really married, that he might leave me. Jordan, the Savage Kings, and their wives, are all I have in this world.
Tucking my helmet under my arm, I dig the bar’s key Celeste gave me out of my crossbody purse. It’s sort of funny that people in this town even bother to lock their doors, since it’s probably the safest city on the East Coast. Or at least one of them.
Wherever the Savage Kings rule, there’s no crime, no poverty, just everyone living their lives trusting in the Kings to keep the peace, even if most are a little terrified of the men who wear the skull king patch. I’ve never been afraid of Jordan or any of the other gun-toting vigilantes, not when I was raised by a mafia king who is truly savage.
With a final wave of my fingers gripping my keys, I unlock the door and slip inside. The roar of Jordan’s bike is drowned out when I shut and lock the door behind me, since you can never be too careful, even when you’re the wife of one of the feared Savage Kings.
Like every other morning, I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my sneakers as I flip the switches for light after light, heading through the door behind the bar to the massive kitchen and storage room.
As soon as the florescent bulbs illuminate the pitch-black space, a scream rips from my throat.
No.No, no, no.
I blink at the sight before me a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating. But the gruesome image doesn’t disappear, no matter how hard I try to wish it away. It just becomes more grotesque as I notice even more details, like the retched coppery smell in the air. The scent of blood. A lot of it.
The bike helmet suddenly feels too heavy to hold as it slips away from my fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thud that startles me. I quickly scan the room for signs of anyone in the building with me as I back away toward the door, my purse clutched to the front of my body.
As soon as I’m clear of the kitchen, I turn around to sprint to the bar’s front door. Jerking on the doorknob that won’t turn has my panic ratcheting up a million notches. Trapped. I feel trapped. Imprisoned again.
I cry out in frustration when the doorknob won’t turn before I remember through my panic that I just locked it when I came in.
My trembling hand fumbles with the deadbolt as I check over my shoulder once more before I’m finally free. I barely suck in a shaky breath of the salty air before I take off running.
