All Chapters of Craving The Wrong Man: Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

MIAThe first thing I do when I wake up is touch my stomach.It is almost ridiculous because there is nothing to feel yet. No little kick, no tiny movement beneath my palm, nothing that could prove the secret growing inside me is real. Still, my hand settles there before I am even fully awake, and for a few seconds I lie beneath the sheets with my eyes closed, smiling at the ceiling because I know something Saint doesn't.It is our anniversary and I'm pregnant.The thought still feels too big to fit inside my head.I turn slowly onto my side and look at the man sleeping beside me.Saint is facing away from me, one arm tucked beneath his pillow, dark hair slightly messy against the white sheets. He looks nothing like the man everyone else sees. There is no leather jacket, no gun resting against his hip, no hard expression that makes grown men lower their voices when he walks into a room. Right now, he is simply my husband, asleep in our bed with his back turned toward me.For a moment,

MIAThe Night Saints clubhouse is already alive when we arrive.Motorcycles line the front of the building, their chrome catching the afternoon sunlight. Men move in and out through the doors, some carrying boxes, others talking in low voices. The air smells like gasoline, leather, coffee, and whatever someone is grilling around the back.This place has never felt completely like mine.It belongs to Saint now.It used to belong to my father before him.Sometimes I feel like I am only borrowing a corner of it because I happen to wear the president's ring.Saint places his hand lightly against the small of my back as we walk inside.I look down at it. Then at him. He doesn't seem to notice what he's doing.But I do. I notice everything."President." One of the men greets him.Saint nods.His hand leaves my back and I immediately miss it.God. I really am hopeless.We make it halfway across the main room before I hear a familiar voice."Saint, the meeting with the Red Vipers has been mov

MIAWhen I wake up, the first thing I notice is the cold.It seeps through the clothes against my skin and settles somewhere deep inside my bones, and for several seconds I don't understand why I'm lying on a floor instead of my bed. My cheek is pressed against rough concrete, my hands are numb behind my back, and there is a dull ache spreading through my head that makes it difficult to remember the last thing I saw.I blink slowly, staring at a gray wall a few feet in front of me.The room smells like damp stone, gasoline, and something metallic—blood.The realization makes my stomach turn.I try to move, and pain shoots through my shoulder. My wrists are tied tightly enough that the rope has already rubbed the skin raw, and when I shift my legs, I discover those are restrained too. Panic rises into my throat, hot and immediate, but I force myself to breathe through it because panic won't tell me where I am, and it certainly won't get me out.The last thing I remember is the SUV.I s