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***

PRINCESS/ROGUE

Unlucky. Isn't that what they say when the groom sees the bride the night before the wedding?

Tyler's tongue sweeps through my mouth, the growl in the back of his throat demanding as he grinds his crotch against the apex of my thighs. I came to the clubhouse to look for my sister—and Tyler caught me. He's a shark smelling blood in the water. There's no circling, just a straight-out attack. After he tossed me over his shoulder to the cheers of his brothers, he marched me to his room, and now I'm pinned against the bedroom wall.

"Let's get married right now so I can fuck you sore tonight," he says with a husky grumble, cupping my breasts and squeezing to the point of pain. I moan on cue, rotating my hips.

I've studied Tyler over the years. He's all about precise movements, moaning at the right time or a congratulations afterward with a sated sigh. "Come lie down with me." He tugs on my arm, dragging me toward his bed. The heavy scent of booze, smoke, and bad decisions lingers in the room. The sheets are rumpled and stained. The last dregs from a beer bottle leak onto the carpet from the trash can beside the bed. Gross. I'd rather be home with Harley, having a girls' night.

"I came to find my sister," I protest between kisses, attempting to wiggle free and failing. Tyler is a good-looking man and fifteen years my senior. He has a confidence about him that you only get with experience.

His sandy brown hair is pulled back from his face and tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. The scruff of his beard hasn't seen a razor in weeks, but the scrape of it is familiar and almost comforting as he deepens our kiss. The taste of liquor burns my tongue from his evening of drinking in celebration of his last night of being "single."

Such a joke.

There's no way Tyler will be faithful. He hasn't been up to this point.

If only I could magic up enough emotion to care.

Resting his forehead against mine, he closes his eyes to catch his breath, offering me a reprieve from his drunken onslaught.

"Your sister isn't here." He wrinkles his brow as his hands creep down to grab my hips, the possession and need bruising as he digs the pads of his fingers into my supple flesh. I like the bite of pain, and he knows it. "If she is, I haven't seen her," he adds.

Shit. I thought for sure Harley would be here. She lives for club parties.

He adds pressure to my hips when I remain silent, and a moan slips past my lips. "Stay the night," he begs.

Music vibrates the walls. The brothers' raucous laughter carries down the hallway, reminding us there's a party happening a few feet away. "You're missing the fun," I tempt, my fingers dancing over the president patch on his cut. Leaning forward, I kiss the club colors. I love this club, I love him, but it's not an overwhelming love. It's a familiar love. A love you have when you've known someone your whole life—grown up with them—a family love.

"You're the only fun I care about." He exhales, thrusting his hips forward.

"It's bad luck," I tell him, biting my lip.

"Like you give a shit about tradition," he scoffs.

I don't. But I do want to find Harley. We made a pact to spend tonight doing sisterly stuff. This wedding has been coming for a long time, but there's a hummingbird inside me flapping her rampant wings, trying to free herself from the cage I've trapped her in. I need my sister.

Pushing the unwanted thoughts away, I refocus on Tyler. "She hasn't been home since the party yesterday." My tone is firmer. I manage to loosen his grip on me.

He sighs and releases me, backing away. Slipping off his cut, he drags his t-shirt over his head, displaying the ink decorating his toned torso.

"It's my last night as a Stewart," I pout. I sway my hips as I walk toward him. My hands come up to stroke his now bare chest. The enormous skull tattoo inked on his skin, complete with devil horns, comes to life under my touch. "Tomorrow, I'm all yours. Forever," I say, ignoring the pit widening in my stomach at the reality of those words.

Wrapping his arms around my waist, he flattens me against him, the heat of his breath dispersing over my lips. "You've always been mine." There's ownership in his words. A warning. He knows I haven't been with anyone but him. It would be a death sentence to any poor soul I took to my bed.

Yet, the claw marks on his shoulder prove it's a one-way rule. My eyes flick to my short nails, painted with a clear polish and black tips. No, it wasn't me who made those marks. No doubt it was Jenna, a.k.a. Barbie, his favorite club slut with her ridiculous fake nails that look more like talons.

"What are you thinking about?" He frowns, strong fingers tugging a strand of my auburn hair.

"You, tomorrow, and finding Harley," I lie with a shrug.

"Fine." He exhales, exasperated before releasing me once more. "Go see Bear. If anyone knows if she's been here, it's him."

I slip my hands into the pockets of my jean shorts and give him my best sweet-girl smile. I pissed him off by not submitting to his requests, but I'm an ol' lady, not a club slut—I will not be sucking his dick and stroking his ego just because he's horny.

"Which Bear will I be getting today?" I ask.

Bear is the club's sergeant at arms. His road name comes from the contradiction of his personality. On any given day, he's either a mother bear, taking care of us all, or a bear with a sore head, tearing everyone a new one.

Tyler pushes a hand through his hair, swipes up a half-empty bottle of bourbon, and takes a deep swig. "You have him wrapped around your finger. You always get mama bear." He scoffs. I'm almost at the door when he calls out. "Come back, though, yeah? I need to feel you tonight." He throws himself onto the bed and grabs his crotch to rearrange his junk before tipping back the bourbon.

I don't know why everyone gets drunk the night before their wedding. Hangovers are an idiot's game. Feeling like shit and puking is not how I want to spend my wedding day. I hope he keeps drinking. It gives him a limp dick. He won't be able to feel it later, let alone use it.

"Can't wait," I mutter under my breath, righting my clothing and slipping out of his room.

***

It's rowdy at the clubhouse tonight, with the energy amplified. It's been a while since we've had a wedding. Mine has been on the table for some time, but I made Tyler wait until I finished my veterinarian degree. I didn't want to end up knocked up and drop out. He talks about getting me pregnant as soon as we're married. Being a mom isn't something I've really thought about, but I've wanted to be a vet since I was a kid and a monster figured it would be funny to strap a firework to my cat's tail and set it off. His family didn't find it funny when my daddy burned down their house.

The familiar twinge tightens my chest at the thought of my dad. Thirteen years since his death, and I'm still raw. Everyone tells you that time heals wounds, but it's a lie. Time only slows the bleeding.

Mom tried her best to pick up the pieces after his death, but she was useless even before he died. She was a teen mom when she had me still trying to raise herself. That's why Harley and I are so close. I practically raised her.

I rap my knuckles on Bear's door, surprised to hear his deep, aggressive voice call out, "Better be fucking good."

I hide my grin. His mood will shift when he sees it's me. I push the door open, and the smell of bike grease and sweat hits me in the face as I cross the threshold. Bear's mammoth figure dwarfs the desk he's curled over. Whatever is on his screen has him transfixed.

"Isn't porn beneath you?" I jest, sitting my ass on the edge of his bed.

His head whips up, the chair beneath him straining from the sudden movement. "Rogue," he beams. The lines on his forehead iron out. A flood of warmth expands in my chest. His pet name for me is the same one my daddy used. Dad used to say that I was nothing like my namesake. I was more like him, a rule breaker.

"No one is above watching porn. You know you're in a clubhouse, right?" Bear mocks.

"Yes, do you?" I raise a brow. Every other brother is out in the main room getting drunk. The place is full of women desperate for the chance to spend the night with a Devil, and here he is, in his room, leaning over his computer like a teenage boy.

"It's not porn. It's business," he says dryly.

Bear is constantly dealing with business. If it weren't for him, this place would probably collapse. He's old school and rose through the ranks during my father's era, when Tyler's dad was the club president. Tyler was too young to take the baton at the time, and Bear knew it, but brothers like tradition and loyalty. Tyler had been raised to take over the club, it was just...no one had expected it to happen so soon.

A sudden sound screeches from a machine on a small table beside the bed. I grip my chest, smiling as Bear's deep chuckle reverberates through the room. "Sorry, Rogue. It's a printer, not a bomb." Lights begin flickering from the machine. After a couple of seconds, it spits out what looks like photographs. "Pass them over, will ya?" He turns back to his computer and taps on the keyboard.

"Who are they?" I hand over the first couple of images.

"Kings of Sin members," he grunts, disdain coloring his tone. My stomach knots at the mention of my father's killers.

"Why?" I ask, blowing out a shaky breath.

He takes them from me, then jerks his chin toward the printer as it deposits more images into the tray. "We need to know the members and their ranks. I keep a record."

That's smart.

"Their president was killed last night," he says with a somber grunt. My heart pounds. Tyler didn't mention anything about it. Why didn't he tell me?

"Us?" I ask, a tremor snaking through my blood.

"No," he states, his voice hard, shutting my brain down before it can even run with the possibility or the repercussions if one of ours had killed their president.

The Kings of Sin have grown exponentially over the last decade. Compared to us, they have more chapters, wealth, and connections. To make a move on their president would be suicide. The rift between our clubs will always be there—there's too much pain to wash away—but there haven't been any violent attacks in years.

"Rogue, don't start overthinking," he warns, jabbing a finger at the printer.

"Oh, right. Sorry," I say sheepishly, handing him more pictures.

Collecting the next photo, I pause. Heat blossoms in my lower stomach. My pulse skitters. A dark-haired man with a half-hooked smile stares up at me like he's posing for the camera, as if there's a secret they share, and goddamn, I want in on it. He's breathtaking. Too beautiful to be real. The tattoos spiraling up his forearms and the patches covering his leather cut do nothing to harden him—not with that smile.

"Don't let the pretty face fool you. He's a stone-cold killer," Bear informs me, reading my thoughts.

Embarrassment claws up my cheeks. "He's a King. He could shit gold and have a nine-inch, bent-tipped dick and I'd never touch him." I shiver as my vagina betrays me, soaking my panties.

Bear scrunches his nose and snatches the picture from me. "Glad to hear it. Because he's their VP, the club's his now."

"I'm a Devil through and through." I scoot off the bed and stroke a hand through my hair, hoping he doesn't see how flushed my cheeks are. I've never reacted to a man like that before, but I meant what I said. He may as well be made of stone and live on the moon.

I'd never give myself to a King. Ever.

"Damn straight you are. Now, what did you come in here for? I know it wasn't to help me. Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep, or whatever the fuck you girls do before your weddings?"

The mention of the wedding is like a bucket of ice water dumping over me. "I'm looking for Harley. I thought she may have come here tonight."

"Haven't seen her. She hasn't come through the gate."

"How do you know?" I cross my arms over my chest.

"It's my job to know." He cracks a smile and clicks on the computer mouse. A security camera screen comes up. The front gate is the only place this club has them. When I asked Tyler why, he said, "Cops can't use anything against you when it's not there to see." He's paranoid.

"She probably went into town and picked a victim for the night. He'll wake up tomorrow with no wallet and a credit card bill he'll be paying off until he's dead." Bear chortles, rocking his entire frame.

"You're right. Will you call me if she shows up?" I ask, though it's more of a statement. Before he answers, I open the door to leave and pull my phone from my pocket. I close Bear's door behind me and shoot Harley another text.

Me: Super pissed you blew me off. He better be worth it.

The message bounces back, a failure notification lighting up the screen. What nineteen-year-old doesn't charge their phone? Dammit, Harley.

"Oh, Princess, I didn't think you'd be here tonight." Jenna's high-pitched voice pierces my eardrums. I startle, my eyes flashing from my phone to her. Although it's my given name, she says Princess like it's a pet name for a child she's trying to force to like her.

Her blonde hair sits around her pretty face in a cropped bob. The red lipstick she's wearing has stained her front teeth. She lets out a small, uncomfortable laugh when I remain silent, her cleavage spilling farther from her two-sizes-too-small top. "I was just..." She stutters over her words, failing to come up with a lie.

There are only two rooms down this hall: Tyler's and Bear's—and there's no way she's here for Bear. I don't say anything. We both know I'm not an idiot. I know she messes with Tyler. But she doesn't get power over me. I'm the ol' lady. She's the trash that gets thrown out.

My phone pings, carving through the awkward atmosphere.

Mom: Come home.

Harley must be back. Pocketing my phone, I nudge past Jenna and slip out one of the side doors to avoid any of the brothers seeing me and making me stay to do shots. I'll text Tyler when I get home. If Jenna plans to keep him occupied, he may not even care that I've left.

Jogging to the front gate, I jump in my car and kick the engine over. The gate opens without the key remote and I smile. "Thanks, Bear," I say into the silence.

Nervous energy bubbles through my veins as I turn onto our street. My heart skips a beat when I see a cop car in our driveway.

I rush to the door and walk through the house on autopilot. A cold hand slithers down my spine, setting every hair follicle on end. I follow the mumbled voices coming from the kitchen. They become silence when I round the doorframe, soaking me in fear.

"Mom?" I choke out. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Tears stream down her cheeks. "What is it?" I ask, my voice cautious. When she doesn't answer, lead fills my shoes. "Mom..." I edge. The tension in the room pushes in on me, crushing the air from my lungs.

"Mommy?" The words fall out in a desperate plea.

"Princess, it's bad, baby."

"Who?" The words clog my throat. Stones fill my stomach. I know. I know before she says it.

Please don't say it.

I drop to my knees, shaking my head.

"Harley is dead."