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I knew coming back to Redemption Creek was a mistake the second my battered Honda coughed its last breath on Main Street.

It's now Ten years of running, hiding, surviving. And now I was back where it all began, with seventeen dollars in my wallet and bruises I could not explain away anymore.

The engine ticked as it cooled. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, tasting blood where I had bitten my lip too hard. My ribs screamed with every breath—courtesy of Derek's boots three nights ago in that motel parking lot outside Tucson.

"You cannot run forever, Jenna," he had said, his voice cold as winter. "I will find you again."

But I had run. Again.

A rumble split the air. Deep. Mechanical. The kind that made your bones vibrate.

I lifted my head and saw them. Six motorcycles rolling down Main Street like they owned it. Leather. Chrome. The devil's head patch on their backs—red eyes, fangs bared.

Devil's Reign MC.

My blood turned to ice.

The lead bike pulled up beside my car. The rider kicked down the stand and swung off in one fluid motion. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair touching his collar. When he pulled off his helmet, the world tilted sideways.

Colt Richardson.

Those steel-gray eyes locked onto mine through the windshield, and for three heartbeats, neither of us moved. His jaw was harder now, shadowed with stubble. Scars traced his knuckles. The boy I had loved wore a man's face now—all sharp edges and controlled fury.

He crossed to my door and yanked it open. "Get out."

Not "Hello." Not "Jenna, is that you?"

Just a command.

I stumbled out on shaky legs. The other riders had stopped, engines idling, watching us like wolves circling prey.

"Colt—"

"Ten years." His voice was granite. "Ten years, Jenna. Not a word. Not a letter. Nothing."

"I can explain—"

"You ran." He stepped closer, and I backed against the car. "The night before our wedding. You ran."

The wedding. God, I had almost forgotten. White dress bought on layaway. His grandmother's ring. Promises I could not keep because my father—

"My father said he would kill you," I whispered. "He said if I married you, he would put a bullet in your head."

Colt's expression did not change. "Your father's been dead for five years."

The words hit like a slap. "What?"

"Heart attack. Died in his club's garage." He tilted his head, studying me like I was something broken. "You did not know."

I could not breathe. Could not think. My father—dead. The man who had controlled every second of my life. The man whose threats had chased me across state lines.

Gone.

"You are wearing Devil's Reign colors," I said, my voice cracking. "My father's enemies."

"Your father's club fell apart after he died. We absorbed what was left." Colt's smile was sharp. Dangerous. "I run Redemption Creek now, Jenna. Every street. Every back road. Every person who walks through here answers to me."

One of the other riders laughed. "Boss, this girl? The one who—"

"Shut up, Razor." Colt never took his eyes off me. "Why are you back?"

Because I had nowhere else to go. Because Derek would not stop hunting me. Because I was so tired of running I could barely stand.

But I said none of that.

"My car broke down."

"Try again."

"I needed—" My voice broke. "I needed somewhere safe."

"Safe?" He laughed, cold and bitter. "You think running back to the man whose heart you shattered makes you safe?"

"Please." I hated how small I sounded. "Just let me stay a few days. I will leave. I promise."

"Like you promised to show up at the church?" He leaned in close enough that I smelled leather and motor oil and something darker. "Like you promised you loved me?"

"I did love you." The words ripped out of me. "I still—"

His hand shot out and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. His thumb brushed my split lip, and I flinched.

The change in him was instant. His eyes went flat. Cold.

"Who hit you?"

"No one. I fell—"

"Jenna." My name was a warning. "Who. Hit. You."

"It does not matter."

"It matters to me." His grip tightened just enough to make his point. "You are in my town now. Under my protection. Whether you want it or not."

"I do not need your protection."

"That split lip and those bruises say something different." He released me and stepped back. "Razor, get her car towed to the garage. Jenna, you are coming with me."

"I am not going anywhere with you."

He smiled then, and it was the most frightening thing I had seen all week. "You can ride behind me, or I can throw you over my shoulder. Your choice."

The other riders were watching now, waiting.

I was so tired. So broken.

"Fine."

Colt handed me his helmet. "Hold on tight. I drive fast."

As I climbed onto the bike behind him, his words from ten years ago echoed in my memory: *"You are mine, Jenna. Always."*

I wrapped my arms around his waist, felt the heat of him, the solid muscle that had not been there when we were kids.

He was right about one thing.

I was back in Redem

ption Creek.

But I had a terrible feeling I would not be leaving.

Not without paying for every promise I had broken.