Chapter 1
I shouldn’t be here.
The Iron Horse Saloon is definitely not the kind of place Daddy would approve of me being on a Friday night. Or any night, for that matter. But after four years of college and coming home to find nothing has changed—still being treated like I’m made of glass, still being “protected” from anything remotely interesting—I’m done being the good little princess.
The bar is exactly what I expected from a biker hangout. Dark wood, neon beer signs, the smell of leather and motor oil, and enough testosterone to choke a horse. Most of the men look like they could bench press my car, and every woman here seems to know exactly how dangerous this place is.
Perfect.
I slide onto a barstool and order a whiskey neat, ignoring the looks I’m getting. My sundress and cardigan definitely mark me as an outsider, but I don’t care. I want to taste the world Daddy has spent twenty-two years keeping me away from.
“You lost, sweetheart?”
The voice comes from behind me, deep and rough with just enough authority to make my spine straighten. I turn around and immediately forget how to breathe.
The man standing there is easily six-foot-four, all broad shoulders and lean muscle wrapped in a black t-shirt and leather vest. Dark hair shot through with silver, sharp green eyes, and the kind of face that’s seen enough trouble to know how to handle it. He’s probably twice my age and absolutely, completely gorgeous.
“Do I look lost?” I ask, taking a sip of my whiskey and trying to play it cool.
His smile is slow, predatory. “You look like you wandered into the wrong fairy tale, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl.”
“No?” His eyes travel over me slowly, taking in every detail. “What are you then?”
“A woman having a drink.”
“In a biker bar. Alone. At midnight.”
“Is that against the law?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
The bartender sets my whiskey down, and I notice the way he nods respectfully to the man beside me. Whoever this is, he has serious weight here.
“Let me buy you that drink,” the stranger says, settling onto the stool next to mine without invitation.
“I can buy my own drinks.”
“I’m sure you can. But I want to.” He signals the bartender and nods toward my glass. “Put hers on my tab.”
There’s something in his voice that makes it sound less like an offer and more like a statement of fact. Like he’s decided he’s buying my drink and that’s the end of it.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Damien.” The bartender brings him a whiskey—top shelf, no ice. “And you’re Reagan.”
I freeze, my glass halfway to my lips. “How do you know my name?”
“Lucky guess.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting right now.” He leans closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine that makes my head spin. “What brings you to my neighborhood, Reagan?”
“Your neighborhood?”
“I have a vested interest in who comes and goes around here.”
The way he says it, with quiet authority and just a hint of threat, makes me realize this man is far more dangerous than he appears. And God help me, that makes him even more attractive.
“Maybe I’m just exploring.”
“Maybe you’re looking for trouble.”
“Maybe I am.”
Damien’s eyes darken, and something passes between us that makes the air crackle with electricity. “You should be careful what you look for, sweetheart. You might just find it.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
Damien raises his glass toward mine.
“To finding what you’re looking for,” he says.
“And what am I looking for?”
“Something your daddy doesn’t want you to have.”
The words hit like a physical blow. How does he know about my father? How does he know anything about my life?
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice sharper now.
“Someone you should stay away from.”
“That’s not an answer either.”
“It’s the best one you’ll get tonight.”
But even as he says it, he’s moving closer, his hand coming to rest on the bar beside mine. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“What if I don’t want advice?”
“What do you want?”
The question is loaded, dangerous, and we both know it. I look into his green eyes and see something that makes my pulse quicken—hunger, possession, and something darker that I can’t quite identify.
“I want to stop being treated like I’m made of glass,” I say honestly.
“Trust me, baby. Glass is the last thing I’d compare you to.”
“What would you compare me to?”
“Fire. The kind that burns everything it touches.”
Before I can respond, his phone buzzes. He glances at it and his expression hardens.
“I have to go,” he says, standing abruptly.
“Wait—”
“This was a mistake. You being here, me talking to you—all of it.”
“Why?”
For a moment, he just stares at me, and I see something like regret in his eyes.
“Because I’m exactly the kind of trouble your father spent twenty-two years protecting you from.”
“How do you know how long—”
But he’s already walking away, leaving me sitting at the bar with more questions than answers and the lingering scent of his cologne.
I finish my whiskey and order another, my mind racing. Damien knows who I am, knows about my father, knows things he shouldn’t know. But more than that, he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
And God help me, I wanted him to.
As I finally leave the bar an hour later, I make a decision. I don’t know who Damien is or why he thinks he’s trouble, but I’m going to find out.
Because for the first time in my life, someone looked at me like I was fire instead of glass.
And I’m not giving that up without a fight.
