Chapter One
Winnie
“You wantme to go to a biker bar?” My best friend, Abbie’s, voice raises three octaves. I tighten my jacket as a cool wind blows through me. I stare up at the neon-lit roadside hole in the wall. This place is the antithesis of who I am, who the world expects me to be—namely, my father. It’s absolutely perfect.
“Live a little, will you?” I nudge Abbie’s shoulder and head for the front door, secretly swallowing the fear swirling in my gut.
“Going in there and not living is exactly what I’m afraid of, Winnie. I don’t have a death wish.” The girl has a point, but I’m not about to turn around now. “Stop for a second and hear me out.”
“Abbie, I don’t want to hear any logic right now. We finally graduated from college. I want to live a little. Break free from my father’s grip.”
“And you think that what, going into a biker bar is going to help?”
“I don’t know what I think, Abs. I just know that I need to prove to myself that I’m more than my family name, that I’m not some prissy princess whose father owns half of Thunder, Minnesota. I’m my own person, and unless I start proving that to myself, I’ll turn out like everyone else in our position—bored as hell.”
Abbie’s in the same position that I am. We grew up together, in the same social circle, debutantes, cheerleaders, the whole shebang. She gets it, which is why she grunts and shuffles toward me. “Fine, but you owe me.”
I don’t know exactly what we’re doing, but I don’t care. A grin spreads across my lips as I lock arms with my bestie, and we make our way to the door.
We’re not three steps in when the proverbial record scratches. All eyes flicker toward us, and I think to myself that this may have been a bad decision. When other rich kids rebel, they turn to drugs, excessive spending—stealing, even. Why I chose to come to this biker bar is still a mystery. It just felt right, and if there’s one thing I trust, it’s my gut.
In the blink of an eye, everyone in the bar goes back to their business. Everyone except a big, burly, bearded man playing pool in the corner. He chalks his pool stick, slowly and methodically undressing me with his eyes. My panties nearly melt down my thighs.
“I don’t like it here,” Abbie mutters from the side of her mouth.
“Give it a chance,” I say, still eye-fucking the tall drink of trouble on the other side of the room. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to soothe the ache before making my way toward the bar. Something tells me they don’t do champagne or specialty cocktails, but four years of college earned me a tolerance for beer.
The bartender, a tattooed older woman who could probably knock me out with one punch grunts in our direction. I remind myself that I belong anywhere Ichooseto belong. Two light beers, please.
“We ain’t got light beer here, princess.” She mutters through the few teeth she has left.
“Full flavor, then.” I lean forward, furrowing my brow. The only way to win over a brute is by not backing down.
The big gal shrugs and pulls two bottles from the cooler behind her. I set my clutch on the bar, digging for my wallet. “Cash only,” she says, and I pay up so I can get away from her as fast as possible.
I spy an open booth over by the pool table. As we pass by the burly babe, I make sure and sway my hips a little just to give him a show. This is normally not like me, but tonight I want to be the opposite of anything I’ve ever been before. As expected, I catch him watching me. I sit in the booth so that my back is to him, teasing him a little bit because it’s fun. Abbie sits opposite me.
“What the hell are you doing, Winnie?”
“Drinking a beer.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” She leans across the table, scrawled and scratched with signatures and crude carvings. “I mean, what are we really doing here?”
I take a long swig of my beer, hoping it’ll relax me a little. “Next week, I’m supposed to meet Cane Danson.”
Abbie’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull. “TheCane Danson? The billionaire’s son who’s set to inherit every ounce of his dying father’s fortune?”
“That would be him.”
“Holy shit,” Abbie mutters and takes a sip of her beer. “That’s bonkers. Is it a setup?”
I let out a long sigh, nodding. “I don’t know what to do. My father is so insistent on this meeting like I’m betrothed to the guy or something. I’ve never even met him.”
“Jesus, that’s so old-fashioned.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me. But, you know my parents. It’s like they have a business arrangement of a marriage, and I think that’s what he’s planning for me.” A wave of nausea rolls through my guts. “I don’t know what to do other than something crazy.”
“Just tell him you won’t do it.”