Chapter 1

The Man in the Rain

The first time Elena Hart saw Ryder Knox, he was standing over a man bleeding onto her shoes.

Rain battered the roof of the abandoned gas station, drowning out the distant hum of traffic. Water ran in silver streams across the cracked concrete, gathering around Elena’s boots as she stood beside her battered sedan, a paper bag of groceries clutched against her chest.

The injured man was crawling away from the stranger.

Or trying to.

His fingers slipped across the wet ground, leaving a thin trail of blood behind him.

“Please,” he gasped. “Knox, listen to me.”

The stranger crouched in front of him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in black leather. Rain glistened in his dark hair, and tattoos disappeared beneath the collar of his jacket. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow, giving his otherwise handsome face a permanently dangerous edge.

He didn’t look angry.

He looked disappointed.

“You’ve had three opportunities to explain yourself,” he said.

“I can fix it.”

“You said that last week.”

“I have the money.”

“No.” The stranger tilted his head. “You have excuses. Money is what you were supposed to bring.”

Elena should have left.

Every sensible instinct she possessed told her to get into her car, lock the doors, and drive away before the stranger noticed her.

Instead, she stood frozen beside the open driver’s door.

She had been back in Blackwater for exactly forty-three minutes. After eleven years away, she had returned to collect the remaining belongings in her mother’s house and find her missing younger brother.

She hadn’t expected to encounter a man who looked as though violence was as natural to him as breathing.

The injured stranger suddenly looked up.

“Help me!”

The man in black stopped speaking.

Slowly, he turned his head towards Elena.

Their eyes met.

His were an unsettling shade of grey, cold and watchful, and his expression changed as though he recognised something about her that she didn’t recognise in herself.

“Get in your car,” he ordered.

Elena straightened.

“I’m a nurse.”

“I didn’t ask what you did for a living.”

“And I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Behind him, one of the men standing beside several parked motorcycles made a quiet, disbelieving sound.

The stranger rose.

He was taller than she’d realised, with a solid, powerful build that made the space around him seem smaller.

“Do you know where you are, sweetheart?”

“At a gas station, unless the town has become so exciting that we name abandoned buildings after people.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Smart mouth.”

“Better than a stupid question.”

The injured man attempted to crawl away again.

The stranger didn’t even look at him.

“Dante. Take care of him.”

A broad man with a shaved head stepped forward. A silver ring pierced one ear, and his expression suggested that he found the entire situation entertaining.

“Got it, Prez.”

The word struck a distant chord in Elena’s memory.

Prez.

Black Thorns Motorcycle Club.

Her father had mentioned them when she was a teenager, usually in conversations that ended abruptly when she entered the room. She remembered the black motorcycles, the leather jackets, and her mother’s warning that certain people brought trouble wherever they went.

Her father had replied that trouble didn’t always arrive as a stranger.

Sometimes it wore the face of someone you trusted.

Elena had been sixteen when he died.

She had spent eleven years trying not to think about Blackwater.

Now she was standing in front of Ryder Knox, president of the Black Thorns, a man whose name was known throughout the town.

Some called him a businessman. Others called him a criminal.

Nobody called him harmless.

Ryder took a step towards her.

“What’s your name?”

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to know who keeps insulting me.”

“Then perhaps you should try being more likable.”

His gaze dropped to the grocery bag in her hands. A carton had split, and milk trickled over her fingers.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m standing in the rain beside a man who appears to have beaten someone half to death. Forgive me for not feeling relaxed.”

“He isn’t dead.”

“That’s a spectacularly low standard.”

This time, Ryder smiled.

It transformed his face just enough to reveal the man he might have been before life taught him to become someone harder.

It made him more dangerous, not less.

Elena stepped around him.

He caught her wrist.

The contact was sudden, his fingers closing around her skin with surprising warmth.

She looked down at his hand.

Then up at him.

“Let go.”

For a moment, neither moved.

Then he released her.

“There’s a reason I’m telling you to leave.”

“And there’s a reason I’m telling you not to touch me.”

She climbed into her car and placed the groceries on the passenger seat.

Before she could close the door, he spoke again.

“What’s your name?”

She looked at him over the door.

“You first.”

His expression hardened.

“You already know it.”

“Then you have the advantage.”

“Ryder.”

“I know.”

“And you are?”

She hesitated.

She had come home to find Mason, gather her mother’s things, and leave before the town could drag her into its old darkness.

But something about Ryder’s gaze made lying seem pointless.

“Elena Hart.”

The change in him was immediate.

His jaw tightened. His shoulders became rigid, and the faint smile vanished.

“Hart?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“You’re Daniel Hart’s daughter.”

It wasn’t a question.

Elena slowly straightened.

“You knew my father?”

Behind Ryder, Dante glanced at the other men. Their expressions had changed, too.

Elena felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain.

“My brother is missing,” she said suddenly. “Mason Hart. I thought perhaps someone here might know something.”

Ryder’s expression became unreadable.

“Your brother made a deal with men he should never have trusted.”

“What kind of deal?”

“The kind that doesn’t end when somebody changes their mind.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe.”

The casual admission infuriated her.

“What did Mason do?”

“He owes people money.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

Elena laughed bitterly.

“You people really do enjoy being dramatic.”

Ryder leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“Listen carefully. Your father made enemies in this town. Your brother inherited more than his name, and some of the people looking for Mason won’t care that you’re innocent.”

Her stomach tightened.

“What do you mean, my father made enemies?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“Then tell me what happened to him.”

For the first time, Ryder looked away.

It lasted barely a second, but Elena noticed.

Her father had supposedly died in a road accident on Route Nine. The police had called it a tragic combination of rain, a sharp bend, and a vehicle that had left the road.

She had never been satisfied with the explanation.

Now Ryder Knox stood before her, carrying the weight of something he refused to reveal.

“You knew him,” she whispered.

Ryder’s face closed.

“Go home.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“Not here.”

“Then where?”

He removed a black card from his jacket and placed it on the roof of her car. A silver thorn curled around a skull on its surface, beneath which was a telephone number.

“Call that number if someone comes looking for Mason.”

“And you’ll help me?”

His eyes held hers.

“If I can.”

“Why?”

“Because your father once did something for me that I haven’t forgotten.”

Before she could ask what, he turned towards his motorcycle.

The injured man began pleading again, but Ryder ignored him. He pulled on his gloves, swung onto the bike, and started the engine.

Before lowering his helmet, he looked at Elena once more.

“Lock your doors tonight.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No.” His eyes were cold. “I’m telling you somebody already knows you’re back.”

Then he rode into the rain.

The other motorcycles followed, their taillights disappearing into the darkness.

Elena picked up the black card.

On the back, someone had written a message.

ASK WHAT HAPPENED ON ROUTE NINE.

Her fingers went numb.

Route Nine was the road where her father had died.

She climbed into her car and locked the doors. Every shadow seemed threatening as she drove towards her mother’s old house.

At a red light, her phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

Elena, if you’re reading this, I need you to listen carefully. Don’t trust the police. Don’t trust the club. And whatever you do, stay away from Ryder Knox.

A second message appeared.

I’m sorry about Dad.

Elena stared at the screen.

Mason.

She typed a reply.

Where are you?

The message failed to send.

She tried again.

Failed.

Then her phone rang.

“Hello?”

For three seconds, there was only static.