Novels by Lindsey Smith

LucyThe noise from downstairs had faded by the time I finally lay back on the bed. The lock was turned, the curtains drawn, but sleep wouldn’t come. The silence pressed too heavy, broken only by the muffled thud of music and the occasional shout that drifted up from the clubhouse below.I stared at the ceiling, mind racing. Every moment replayed itself—Jake’s smirk, Riker’s cruel word, the way Blake’s presence had shifted the air, silencing the room with nothing but a look.I should have been relieved. Safe, even. But instead, a different fear crept in.What if Blake was just another version of the same thing I’d already survived? Men who told me what to do, men who claimed protection only to use it as control. He hadn’t done that yet. He’d kept his distance, let me choose. But part of me whispered that it was only a matter of time. That I’d let my guard down and find myself in another cage.I pulled the blanket tight around me, willing my heartbeat to slow. I wanted to trust the loc

BlakeThe clubhouse was half-asleep by morning. Engines cold, bottles scattered across tables, brothers snoring in corners. The quiet before the storm.I’d been up before the sun, couldn’t rest even if I wanted to. Old habits. My body never forgot how to be alert, how to listen for sounds that didn’t belong. It wasn’t restlessness—it was survival, sharpened into my bones.I stepped outside, the gravel crunching under my boots. The lot was empty except for rows of bikes, chrome catching the pale light. I leaned against mine, lit a cigarette, and let the smoke curl out into the cool morning air.It should’ve been peaceful. It wasn’t. My head was too full.Lucy.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. That flash of panic when Jake got too close, the way her breath hitched like she was being dragged back into something I couldn’t see. She covered fast, but not fast enough. I’d seen too many broken people not to recognize it.And it clawed at me in a way I didn’t like.I shouldn’t car

BlakeJake was going to be a problem.I’d known it the second he smirked at her yesterday, and today only proved it. The kid had too much energy and not enough sense. Most of the brothers understood when I set a line—didn’t matter if I drew it with words or silence, they got the message. Jake thought rules bent around him. That’s how boys get themselves killed.When I saw him leaning too close to Lucy, coaxing her toward the bikes, I felt the old heat rise in my chest. The kind I’d trained myself to choke down years ago. I didn’t yell. Didn’t need to. A single word was enough to freeze him in place.He backed off, like I knew he would, but his eyes lingered. Curious. Testing.It wouldn’t happen again.Lucy had gone pale as stone, breath tight like she was drowning. I kept my distance after Jake walked off, gave her space to steady herself. She didn’t need me crowding her. But I didn’t miss the way her hands shook, or the way her shoulders eased only when she realized I wasn’t moving c

LucyThe day stretched long, noisy and restless. The men worked on their bikes, the sound of tools clanging against metal echoing across the lot, engines growling as they tested repairs. Every roar sent a shiver through me, though I tried not to show it.I stayed close to the edges, pretending to watch, pretending I was just curious. Really, I was calculating. Counting exits. Watching how people moved. Who looked at me, who ignored me, who lingered too long with their stares. Survival habits. I couldn’t turn them off, no matter how badly I wanted to.Blake was never far. He didn’t hover, didn’t smother me with questions or presence, but he was always there. Leaning against a bike, talking low to one of his brothers, checking the edges of the lot. Sometimes I thought he was watching everything—me included—without moving his eyes.It should have made me nervous. Maybe it did. But it also kept me breathing.I caught myself staring at him more than once. He looked like he belonged to this

LucyThe room was plain, but it felt more like mine than any place had in years. Four walls, a bed, a lock that clicked solid under my hand. That lock… it meant more than the clean sheets or the dresser or the quiet. It meant choice. It meant safety I could control.I sat on the edge of the bed, jacket still clutched around me, listening to the muffled noise of the clubhouse below. Laughter, boots on wood, the thud of music bleeding through the floorboards. This house breathed chaos. And yet, up here, I could almost imagine I was outside of it.Almost.My mind wouldn’t let me rest. Riker’s voice echoed in my ears, that cruel smile still burned into my memory. Pet. I’d told Blake I’d heard worse—and it was true—but sometimes the smallest cuts go the deepest. It wasn’t just the word. It was the way the others had looked at me, like I was a thing, a question mark, a problem they didn’t want to deal with.And maybe they weren’t wrong.I curled onto the bed without undressing, shoes and al

BlakeThe clubhouse was alive in its usual rhythm—boots on wood, laughter spilling sharp, engines snarling awake and cooling down again—but none of it held my attention the way she did.Lucy sat at the corner table, small frame folded tight like she was bracing for an impact that hadn’t come yet. She’d eaten the food like someone half-starved, careful but fast, then set the fork down like she was waiting for permission to breathe.Most people didn’t notice things like that. I did. Couldn’t help it.Her eyes darted every time someone walked by, like she was measuring the distance to the door, the angle of escape. That kind of vigilance doesn’t come from nowhere—it’s carved into you. She was wired to survive. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t recognize it.She caught me watching once, and her chin lifted just slightly, like she wanted me to know she’d noticed. Not defiant, not exactly, but not broken either. That small flicker of stubbornness—yeah, that caught me harder than I expecte