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  This time, I had nodded obediently and done as I was told. There was a time and place to stand up for yourself, and this wasn’t it. I had gone to the kitchen with my hands still shaking and poured him a drink. I wasn’t sure if it was panic or reason, but I had the presence of mind to grab a couple of sleeping pills from the bottom right-hand drawer and slip them into the glass.

  I went out to Walter and offered them to him with my head bowed low. I didn’t want to see his face, and I didn’t want him to see mine. I was scared that my expression would rat me out and he would finish the job he had started only an hour ago and kill me.

  It had taken fifteen long minutes, but the moment I heard an unmistakable snore from him, I rushed to the room, grabbed my things, and headed for the door. The whole time, I could feel my heartbeat echoing in my ears like a dirge. If he woke up and found out that I had left him, he would kill me. I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  I had gone to the police station immediately. Cedar Grove was a small town, and in place of a police force, we had a small station that was run by the sheriff. So that’s exactly who I wanted to speak to when I ran in with dried tear tracks imprinted on my cheeks.

  “I need to speak to the sheriff,” I had said, to the man sitting at the front desk in a police uniform.

  “He’s out,” the officer replied. “I’m Officer Stallone. How can I help you?”

  “My boyfriend tried to kill me,” I gasped. “He threatened to finish the job if I ever left him and… I just left him.”

  The officer had stopped short and regarded me coolly. He was a young cop, possibly in his mid to late twenties, no more than a few years older than me. He had dark eyes and blond hair, and he looked me over like he was trying to evaluate me. I had become conscious of myself immediately, and it struck me that my appearance might color my credibility. I must have looked like a basket case in my dress, which Walter had ripped. I had a sleeve falling off my shoulder, and the hemline had a tear too, giving me a slit I didn’t want.

  My ragged appearance combined with my tear-stained face and my disheveled hair no doubt made me look less than reliable, but I clung to the hope that this officer would take pity on me and listen to my story.

  “What’s your name?” Officer Stallone had asked.

  “Mila,” I had replied breathlessly. “Mila Mikalson.”

  “And your boyfriend’s name?”

  “Walter Black.”

  Officer Stallone looked at me suddenly. When I glanced at him questioningly, he changed the expression. “What was that name again, Walter…?”

  “Black.”

  Then he had led me to a bench and told me to wait for him there. I had sat there for almost an hour, terrified that Walter was going to walk into the little station, point a gun at my head and shoot. But in all honesty, that was really the best-case scenario if Walter ever found me. I knew him well enough to know that he liked to play with people before he doled out his brand of ‘justice.’

  I shook my head and looked around my shoebox apartment. The only two windows had been shut tight, and I had drawn the blinds on them so that nobody could see inside. I glanced at the time. It was now past twelve, and still, there was no sign of Devon. I called him twice, but there was no answer.

  I had hated the idea of accepting his protection and staying in the clubhouse that he liked to call his second home, but I didn’t feel like I had a choice anymore. I was so scared that sometimes the fear paralyzed me, and I had this instinct inside me that Walter wasn’t just going to slink into the shadows and disappear from my life. He was not the kind of guy who forgot slights easily. He was going to come after me when I least expected it.

  Sometimes in quiet moments like these, it baffled me how I had even gotten involved with someone like Walter Black. He had seemed so different to me at the time. He was tall and definitely imposing in manner and build, and I had to admit, his dangerous look was what had initially drawn my attention.

  I remembered the day I had met him as clearly as if it had happened only a few hours ago. I had been walking to work, trying my best to make it on time for once, when I heard the sound of a motorcycle slow down next to me.

  “Hello there,” he had called to me, revving the engine slightly.

  I had stopped short, mesmerized by the beauty of the machine he was riding. It was gigantic and powerful, but there was a sleek grace to it as well.

  “Hi,” I had replied to the blue-eyed stranger who was smiling at me.

  “You look like you need to be somewhere in a hurry.”

  I smiled. “Work,” I replied. “I’m late.”

  “Hop on.”

  “I… really?”

  “Sure,” he nodded. “I’ll get you there with time to spare.”

  Feeling a burst of adrenaline, I had hopped onto the back of his motorbike and told him where I worked. Then, he had taken off down the streets. It had been an amazing feeling, zooming through the roads with the wind in my hair. We had gone so fast at one point that tears had been forced from my eyes.

  I was still recalling the memory when my front door flew open, and I screamed in terror. A huge, tall man in a facemask walked in and came straight for me. It was Walter; of course, it was. He had finally come for me. I didn’t even question why he might be wearing a mask, but it had to be him. His size and stature suggested that I was right.

  “No,” I screamed as I darted behind the sofa, looking around for some weapon I could use to defend myself.

  He didn’t come around the sofa. Instead, he scaled it in one easy step, and he had me cornered just like that. I backed into the wall, determined not to make this easy for him.

  He lunged for me, and I tried to claw my way out of my corner, but he grabbed my hands easily, pinned them behind my back, and slung me over his shoulder as though I weighed nothing more than ten pounds. I tried to fight and struggle against him, but his arms were like steel ropes holding me in place.

  I started to scream, but then I saw someone else materialize in the doorway, and the screams froze on my tongue.

  “Devon?” I gasped.

  “Calm down,” he said, holding up his hands. “It’s ok… you’re safe.”

  “What—”

  The man holding me threw me down onto my sofa and removed the mask so that I could see his face. It wasn’t Walter after all. He had the same height and build… but his features were very different. He had short, dark hair and hazel brown eyes that were piercing in their extreme lightness. He had a strong jaw, and I saw tattoos snaking up his neck.

  “Who are you?” I asked softly. “What the hell was this?”

  “I wanted to see if you could defend yourself,” he replied before Devon could. “And apparently you’re more helpless than a child.”

  I bristled at that. “You broke into my apartment—”

  “The person who’s trying to harm you is not going to make an announcement.”

  His tone was condescending, and his expression was arrogant, and I felt the need to slap him. Instead, I turned to Devon. “Who is this?” I asked.

  “The name’s Zack,” he replied again, cutting Devon off. “And I’m the man who’s graced you with his protection until your boyfriend can be found and dealt with.”

  I frowned. “You’re the president of the Fallen Angels?”

  “I am.”

  I clenched my jaw. He was younger than I had expected… but I supposed that was where his cocky arrogance came from. I could tell from Devon’s posture that he was slightly tense and unsure. I could also sense that he was weary of Zack and unsure of my reaction to him.

  “I wouldn’t have accepted your protection if I had any other choice,” I said.

  I saw Devon’s face pale a little, and he shook his head at me in an attempt to get me to shut up.

  “You disapprove of our lifestyle?” Zack asked quietly.

  “You’re all bullies and brutes who throw your weight around to stroke your egos,” I said, still recovering from the fake
break-in.

  “Your brother is my secretary-at-arms,” Zack pointed out.

  “He can do better.”

  Zack raised his eyebrows at me, and we stared each other down. It was the only standoff I could manage, and my bruised pride would not allow me to look away.

  “Maybe you would do better on your own?” Zack suggested threateningly.

  I clenched my jaw. He knew he had backed me into another corner. He knew I couldn’t afford to turn down his protection. I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for me to apologize, take back my words, and grovel.

  “I… I can’t,” I said softly, breaking eye contact.

  He smiled, and I felt a burning coil of anger rip through my body. I looked at the strong, powerful, brutish man in front of me. He was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on, and I hated him already.

  Chapter 3

  Zack

  Her eyes were narrowed in my direction. Her body was tense with frustration and anxiety, and her mouth was turned down in obvious distress. I could sense anger and dislike emanating strongly from her, and every negative feeling I could sense was directed at me. It didn’t faze me in the slightest, although it was a new experience to be sitting across from a woman who clearly wasn’t interested.

  “Let’s get going,” I said. “Bring the car out front.”

  Devon left immediately, and I turned my gaze on Mila. Her eyes were a soft, calm blue that was similar in hue to Devon’s, but apart from that, they shared very little in common. Mila had long red hair that some would call auburn, and large pouty lips that reminded me of Angelina Jolie. She was tall and willowy and clearly unaware of how attractive she was.

  “Come on,” I said, standing up.

  Mila stood gingerly and dusted herself off. She went to her bedroom to get her bags, and then she followed me out of her apartment without a word. After she had locked the door, we went downstairs where the car was waiting. I got into the passenger seat, and Mila slipped into the back.

  The drive to the clubhouse was a quiet one. I could sense that Mila wasn’t happy about having to come with us, and a part of me was annoyed by it. I could see her in my peripheral vision, and she kept wringing her hands together. Anyone else would think that we were the ones kidnapping her as opposed to protecting her.

  We got to the clubhouse in twenty minutes, and after Devon parked, we walked towards the entrance. I didn’t bother helping Mila with her bags. I wasn’t in the mood to be gentlemanly in any case. Devon and Mila followed behind me, and I could hear snippets of their conversation.

  “This is the clubhouse?” Mila was asking her brother.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s…larger than I expected.”

  “What… you expected to find us in some sort of hovel?”

  “A crack den no doubt,” I said, raising my voice.

  “I assumed no such thing,” Mila replied. “I just…didn’t expect this, that’s all.”

  The place was empty when we entered. I could hear sounds on the top floor, and I knew that a few boys would be upstairs.

  “You want anything to eat?” Devon asked.

  “I’m not hungry,” Mila replied.

  “You’ll have to pitch in around here,” I said, turning to her. “We don’t run a charity here. You’ll have to earn your keep.”

  “I have no problem with that,” Mila said as her blue eyes flashed at me.

  She was wearing a white t-shirt with a low V neckline that revealed a hint of cleavage. I felt my eyes slip before I forced them up to her face again.

  “I’ll add you to the roster,” I continued. “Everyone who spends the night here has chores they need to do.”

  “Fair enough,” Mila nodded curtly.

  “Housework should be something you’re familiar with,” I said.

  I wasn’t exactly sure why I was baiting her. It wasn’t like I meant what I said or that I was sexist in any way. I just knew that would piss her off and I wanted to get a rise out of her.

  “Excuse me?” Mila said, narrowing her eyes at me.

  I turned one corner of my mouth up in a tilted smile. “I hope to God you’re actually good at it though.”

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” she spat, and that only made me smile wider.

  “Come on, Mila,” Devon said, stepping in between us. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  “Don’t bother,” I said firmly. “I’ll show her where it is… after all, it’s right next to mine.”

  I saw Mila grit her teeth together, but she didn’t say anything. She grabbed her bags and followed me upstairs while Devon stayed in the living room looking supremely uncomfortable. I pointed out the door on the left to my room.

  “That’s you,” I said.

  Mila nodded once and headed towards it. I leaned against the doorframe and watched as she dropped her bags by the side of the bed. She looked around critically and glanced at me.

  “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

  “Two years.”

  “That’s it?” she asked, seeming surprised by that.

  “Yes.”

  “And how long have you been president for?”

  “Six months.”

  “That was a fast rise,” Mila pointed out. “Your father was president before you right?”

  “That’s right,” I nodded.

  “Nepotism at its best, huh?” she asked, regarding me coolly.

  She was just doing what I had done a moment ago… she was trying to get a rise out of me. It might not have worked if only for the fact that I was already touchy about my position in the club considering my family history with it.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” I replied. “My men don’t seem to think so.”

  “Is that what they say to your face?” Mila asked. “Because I wouldn’t take them at their word. I don’t think your men feel free enough around you to be honest with you.”

  “And you know this because of all the time you’ve spent with my men?” I asked sarcastically.

  “I read people pretty well,” she countered.

  “Says the woman who’s running from her psychotic ex-boyfriend.”

  Mila’s face fell immediately, and I realized that I had struck the nerve that had won this war of words. She looked down for a moment as though to collect herself, and when she looked at me again, I saw that the fight had left her eyes. She just looked sad and tired. I shouldn’t have cared about how I had made her feel…but much to my chagrin, I did.

  “You’re right,” Mila said softly.

  “It’s your own fault,” I said before I could stop myself.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You should have known.”

  “I should have known?” Mila repeated incredulously.

  “Every person…man and woman alike, exhibit signs…telltale signs that tell you exactly who they are,” I said. “You obviously weren’t paying close enough attention.”

  “I was paying attention,” she snapped defensively. “But some people—particularly men—are just really good actors.”

  “That’s just a lie you repeat to feel better about the mistakes you’ve made,” I said without softening my words in the slightest.

  “So what you’re saying is that I should have taken one look at him and just… known that he was an asshole?”

  “Yes,” I said shortly.

  “How long were you with this guy?” I asked.

  Mila paused. “A few months.”

  “How many exactly?”

  “Three,” she replied.

  “There would have been signs at the beginning,” I said with certainty. “Signs that tipped you off about who he was and what he was capable of.”

  “I was in too deep at that point,” Mila defended herself. “He was getting more and more possessive.”

  “Before that,” I said, shaking my head. “Before he started letting his guard down. There’s a vetting process with these kinds of guys. First, he needs to charm you, and then
he needs to reel you in. That’s the first phase.”

  “That’s my point… he was charming me. How was I supposed to know?”

  “You’re supposed to open your fucking eyes,” I said harshly.

  Mila stared me down for a moment. For a woman who didn’t know self-defense, she had a certain amount of confidence that baffled me.

  “You don’t know me,” she said at last. “Don’t pretend like you do.”

  “Oh… I do know you,” I corrected. “I knew you the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “Really?” Mila asked challengingly.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me,” she demanded. “Tell me about myself.”

  “You grew up as an only child,” I said. “You grew up alone… forced to look after people twice your age. You grew up poor… fighting for whatever scraps you could. You grew up wanting to amount to more than your parents did, but fearing that you’d never pull yourself out of the hole you were born in. You moved to try and run away from your past, but you realized that it’s not the place that’s the problem… You are the problem.”

  Mila looked scared for a split second and then her expression turned again. “That was almost convincing,” she said in a tone that was clearly unimpressed. “But you could have figured that all out from one conversation with Devon.”

  “You overestimate the relationship I have with your brother.”

  “That analysis doesn’t impress me.”

  I smiled. “No?”

  “No.”

  “Then how about this one,” I said dropping my smile. “You’re weak. You’re scared. And you’re most definitely defenseless. This guy… Walter whoever… he picked you because he recognized all that. He saw that you were alone… no family, no friends… Nothing real or stable or consistent to call your own. He saw someone he could pick apart. He saw someone he could control. He saw someone he could manipulate. He saw someone he could own.”

  With every word I said, Mila’s expression slipped deeper and deeper into darkness. My words struck a chord with her, and I could see the doubt in her eyes because she was afraid that everything I had just said was true. I saw the internal conflict rage inside her as she tried to figure out how to best combat my words. Should she just deny them? Should she refute them? Should she simply ignore them?