chapter 15

Motherfucker.

Of all the fucking bars in all the fucking cities in this country, Kian has to walk into this one when I least expect him. I’m three drinks in, filled to the brim with a burger and fries, and half-dead from traveling all day.

Things just got really complicated.

He’s standing in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the bar for an open table. I’m transported back to Keggers in Montana, watching him walk into my life like a human wrecking ball. Here he is, doing the exact same thing in an obscure hole in the wall in middle-of-nowhere New Mexico like nothing’s changed.

Things have changed though. In the three years since I last saw him, he’s gotten harder, both in his face and in his sinewy, muscular body. His hair’s longer with a hint of curl at the tips, like he’s forgotten to get a trim. He still has broad shoulders and an imposing height as he looms in the doorway—a demon in black jeans. He’s got more tattoos, too, swirling up both sides of his neck and down to his wrists on e