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Cora Maddox should stay the hell away from me. I see her behind that bar night after night, all curves and fire, trying to pretend she's not watching me just as hard as I'm watching her. She doesn't belong in my world-not with the patch on my back and blood on my knuckles-but something about her quiet defiance keeps dragging me in like a hook to the gut. I told myself I was just stopping in for a drink. Instead, I ended up throwing fists to keep her safe, staring down one of my own brothers as he crossed every line. And now? Now I'm following her home like a damn shadow, bruised, bleeding, and already in too deep. She patched me up with hands that shook and eyes that didn't. And when she kissed me, I stopped thinking altogether. For one perfect moment, nothing else mattered-not the club, not the threat crawling closer, not even the blood on my shirt. But I've got enemies, and she's the one weakness they'll aim for. I should walk away. I should push her back behind that bar and pretend none of this ever happened. But if anyone lays a hand on Cora Maddox, I'll burn this whole city down. Because she might not wear my patch-but she's mine.

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