Prologue
Kat
If I had known what was going to happen … I would have begged him not to go. I would have even fought him to keep us from walking through those doors. That’s the thing about fate, though—you’re never given a heads-up. But I should have known because everything was just right. When everything is perfect, it’s eventually all going to crumble and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it.
* * *
Four years ago
* * *
As my heels click against the cement stairs and I walk into the garage, I note that it feels like home. I know every square inch of this place. I’ve practically grown up inside of these four walls. With an arm wrapped around my waist and the bite of the night chill outside waning, all I can do is let a smile slip into place.
Everything is familiar, from the smell of the oil that’s ever present to all the mechanic tools hung neatly on the walls. Any item you could ever need to repair or build a motorcycle is here. Hell, I don’t care in the least about the work that’s done here, yet I bet I could name most of the tools, just from Cill asking me to hand them to him over the years. At a glance I could tell if any of them were out of order—that’s how much time I’ve spent here. Hours and days and years. Basically my whole life. It may seem strange to other people, but the rumble of bikes paired with the loud laughter and hollering that come with the men who are always here is my kind of heaven. I bet ordinary people feel like this when they walk into a cozy living room.
My leather jacket presses against Cillian’s leathers with a faint squeak as we squeeze by the narrow opening to the rest of the three-story building.
The best part by far is holding Cillian’s hand, just like I’ve done for years. His fingers loop easily through mine like we’re meant to be together. We are meant to be together.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a crush on him. In high school we started dating with approval from both of our fathers. My heart warms to think about him as my high school sweetheart. My father said it would make sense; his father said it was a business decision done right. Mob connections from my father, MC from his.
I’m head over heels for the boy I’ve always been told I’m meant to be with. Now that we’re older, it’s only gotten more intense.
An hour ago, we were in his bed. With his hard body pressed against mine and a cold sweat slipping across my sensitized skin, I cried out his name and he murmured his love for me in the crook of my neck.
Cillian’s tall, with hard but lean muscles that work against me. I just barely come up to his shoulders. I don’t think anyone could imagine a man like him saying the sweet things he does to me when he comes, whispering his adoration and promises for our future. It’s like he’s showing me some secret part of him that no one else will ever get to see. I hold that secret close while we walk into the garage together. He pulls me tighter as we move through the door to the staircase at the side of the building.
One thing everyone does know: he’s my ride or die and I’m his, and we’re both protected in every way imaginable.
With the rec room on the second floor only a threshold away, he bends down and kisses me. “I wish I could take you back to bed,” he murmurs, his voice throaty and laced with sin and sex appeal.
A shiver runs through my body and travels lower, bringing a blush to my cheeks.
“You should,” I tease him, nipping his bottom lip. I’d fuck him all night, every night. On more than one occasion we’ve fooled around till dawn. Nothing is better. He knows my body, every inch of it and every secret. Cillian’s my first, and I don’t want any other men.
“You want to turn back then and not go to Sunday dinner?”
“Yeah,” I say and capture my bottom lip between my teeth before adding playfully, “Let’s go before anyone sees us.” Tugging on his hand is useless and I already know it’s not going to happen.
Every Sunday, we have to be here for dinner. No exceptions. After all, it’s both a family and MC occasion.
He laughs and with his gaze lifting past me to the threshold, he seems to consider it. The rough pad of his thumb glides along the stubble on his chin before he looks back down at me, a wanting look I know well in his light blue gaze. “They’d wonder where we went. They’d talk about us.”