Chapter 1
Ami
“There is no way in fucking hell I’m giving you a divorce.”
So much for not causing a scene. I’ll admit that bringing divorce papers to my nephew’s christening probably wasn’t the best idea in the world. The gathering is so massive that it overflows out of my sister’s backyard into the front and spills onto the street like a swollen river rushing over its banks, and each and every single person there now gets to witness the throwdown between me and a certain soon to be ex-husband.
The problem—up until two minutes ago, he had no idea that my presence was going to fuck up his day.
I just didn’t know when I’d get another chance to serve him.
Greg Ambridge. Club name, Gage.
A man I am legally married to but who’s still little more than a stranger. I also haven’t seen him in a year. Not since the fateful morning after our wedding night when I told the entire world—his MC, his Prez, his VP, that he’d beaten me.
Tall. Dark. Chiseled from stone, with a jaw, cheekbones, brow, and attitude that are just as severe. He’s like a dark thundercloud, one made of raven black hair tied up at the nape of his thick, bronzed neck. I thought, for all his severity, he’d godown easy. That he’d want freedom as badly as I did. That the ball and chain thing was a little old. Apparently, I was wrong.
“If you think you can just walk back into Helena after a year of no contact and demand that I sign divorce papers, when you haven’t had the courage to so much as call me or send a message through one of your siblings, you have another fucking thing coming.”
Just like that, the party grinds to a halt. The sounds of children’s laughter die away. Someone shuts the cheery, annoying as shit, juvenile music—nursery rhymes and songs about nonsense—right the fuck off. Static silence blares over the backyard so loud that it fills up the front too.
Men in leather and worn denim turn their heads in unison to stare at me. My father. My brothers. Wearing the same leather with the Steel Riders MC patch on the back, turn to gape.
The thing is, I haven’t seen any of them since I left. Not my sisters. Not my brothers. Not my mother or the man who lays claim to donating seed to make me. Not that I’d call him a father. In passing, yes. At the heart of me, never.
Even the kids stare. Open mouths. Wobbling lips. Huge tear-filled eyes, because of course they can sense the tension.
There’s a chorus of throat clearing and shuffling of big black biker boots. An embarrassed female laugh from somewhere in the crowd.
More radio silence, crackling over the hot dog and burger scented air. My sister hasn’t even brought the cake out yet and I walked in and spoiled it all. It’s a common theme in my life. Everything I touch goes to shit.
My sister, Steph, calm, graceful, as beautiful as ever with her big eyes and her pale skin, her sweet, heart-shaped face, willowy build, and honeyed blonde hair, breaks the spell. She lets out a half choke, half laugh sound and leaves her husband’s side to float over to me. She takes my arm in her dainty hand and bends to study me, since there’s almost a foot height difference between us.
“Come have a piece of cake, Ami. We were just about to bring it out. Adam and I are glad you could make it. You didn’t tell me you were coming, but that doesn’t matter.” She grabs the stack of papers from me and smiles softly—the way only Steph can—like I didn’t just barge into her backyard. Like I wasn’t there for all of two minutes before I spotted Gage, stalked up to him, and shoved the stack of papers into his hands.
“I need those papers,” I hiss under my breath, trying to grab for them, but Steph tucks them further away.
“After cake.”
“Now.”
She sighs and purses her lips. “It’s not every day that my baby turns one. Cake first. This can wait until later. When you’re out of my yard, away from here, where you can discuss things like rational adults in private.” She glares at me pointedly before her light green eyes swivel over to Gage to skewer him on the spot. She looks like a pissed off mother bear, and it’s hard as hell to argue against that.
Gage sweeps a hand through his dark hair, mussing it all over the place, since it’s tied up at the back of his head. A few dark strands pull loose, and I try not to look at him. Not to focus on his high cut cheekbones or his stony jawline. Not at his black velvet eyes. He looks hard. He is hard.Twenty-seven. He’stwenty-seven, but he has that look of someone ancient, someone who’s seen too much life, and at six three, big enough to scare the life out of most people with just a scowl.
In another lifetime, I might have found him attractive. Thrilling, even. In another lifetime, I might have enjoyed being married, if I wasn’t little more than a pawn. Three sisters married to three strangers all on the same day. The same wedding. Traded away by their fucking father.
My sisters found happiness. My father and my brothers and the rest of his men became Steel Riders MC Jacksonville chapter. Their business is booming. Life is good for them.
In another lifetime, I might not have been damaged beyond repair.
“Yeah.” Gage mutters. He stares at me like I’ve just broken my year of self-imposed exile to breathe the plague on them all. When his eyes sweep back to my sister, they’re much softer. “Sure thing, Steph. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Steph smiles and offers a genuine laugh.
She’s nice like that. Always has been. The years haven’t changed her, but why should they? She has a nice house now. A husband who obviously loves her, if the way he looks at her like she’s hung the damn moon, is any indication.
She turns back to me like I have a right to be there. Like I didn’t just waltz into the place and act like a capital bitch when I should be celebrating a nephew that I’ve never met. A little boy who looks exactly like his mother. Beautiful. Sweet. Blond with huge green eyes and a charming, chubby-cheeked smile.