Forget the flowers and tender kisses. I’m marrying a man who took a bullet for me tomorrow, and I don’t have a choice.
Did I say he’s an outlaw? Asphalt has slayed more men on the road and taken more women between the sheets than I can ever count.
He’s arrogant. Savage. So handsome and wild I should slap him for being this beautiful while he does every sin in the book. When he tells me I’m going to say I do, and mean it, I want to believe him.
Especially when he’s the boy I left behind. All the insanity I tried to escape when I stopped being the sheltered club princess.
So, why the hell can’t I keep my lips off his when he gives me that smirk and whispers filthy things in my ear?
She thinks it’s pretend, and club business is the only reason I’m slapping my brand on her skin. What a damned joke.
Elle got away from me years ago. Never again.
I’m putting her where she belongs the second I hear “kiss the bride.” Yeah, I told my brothers I’d go along with this sham marriage to save the Grizzlies MC. They don’t know how bad I need her.
This isn’t pretend anymore. The good girl act won’t save her this time. I’m keeping my bride.
I can’t forget the kiss that turned me into an obsessed lunatic. I’ll own her on my bike, in my bed, wreck her for any other man, or I’ll be dead.
Elle’s always been mine. Don’t care how much I suffer ’til she learns that’s law.
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