All Chapters of The Biker King's Black Widow : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Zara's POV Pain was the first thing that dragged me out of sleep. A vicious ache throbbed behind my eyes, spreading down the back of my skull until even breathing seemed to make my head pound harder. I groaned and shifted beneath the sheets, trying to escape whatever nightmare I had been having, only to feel a man's arm tighten around my waist. My eyes flew open and for one confused second, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. The next second, I felt the warm body pressed against my back. I reacted before my brain had caught up. I twisted violently and drove my elbow backward. The man beside me grunted as my elbow caught him somewhere beneath the ribs, and I heard a curse as he jerked awake. I didn't stop. I shoved him hard enough to send him rolling toward the edge of the mattress, grabbed the sheet and scrambled upright. "What the fuck!" Damon Veyron stared at me from the other side of the bed. My sworn enemy. The man I had spent four years wanting to punch every

Zara's POV The ceremony is barely over before I turn away from the altar and start looking for Victor.I can still feel the weight of Damon's hand around mine, the wedding ring sitting far too heavily on my finger, and the stunned silence that followed the final words of the ceremony. Everyone is watching me, waiting to see what I will do now that the wedding I spent months planning has ended with me married to the one man I never intended to stand beside.I don't give them the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.If Victor wants to believe what he saw in that hotel room, that's his choice, but I am not going to stand around and let him rewrite what happened simply because it is easier for him than admitting something doesn't make sense.I find him near the entrance to the reception room, speaking to one of the guests as though this is an ordinary wedding and not the complete destruction of everything we were supposed to have."Victor."He turns toward me and for a moment, neither o

Zara's POVI pull the door shut behind me and take three steps before slamming straight into a wall of solid muscle."Watch where you're going, Little Dove."I look up, and naturally, the universe has decided that the last thing I need tonight is Damon Veyron standing in my way with that infuriating smirk on his face.I glare at him."What the fuck are you doing here, Beast? Don't you have a motorcycle to crash into or a biker gang to terrorize?"His grey eyes travel over my face, and his smirk deepens when he notices the anger I haven't quite managed to hide."Funny you should mention crashing into things, considering you just walked straight into me. Again.""Maybe if you weren't built like a fucking brick wall, I would have seen you.""Maybe if you watched where you were going instead of stomping around like an angry little bulldog, we wouldn't have this problem."I stare at him in disbelief. "Did you just call me a bulldog?""Would you prefer Chihuahua? You've certainly got the at

Zara's POVI am still standing beside the table with a glass of water in my hand when Damon returns from his conversation with Serena, looking as though he has just dealt with an irritating business problem rather than ended a relationship with a woman who was apparently comfortable kissing him in front of his entire club.He walks straight toward me, his expression unreadable, and stops close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes."Are you planning to glare at me all night, Little Dove, or would you like to tell me what's going through that stubborn head of yours?"I take a slow drink of water before answering, mostly because I refuse to let him know how much that ridiculous nickname annoys me."First of all, stop calling me Little Dove. I'm not a fucking bird, and if you keep it up, I'll introduce your head to this glass."His mouth curves."That's a lovely way to welcome your husband.""You're confusing marriage with permission to irritate the living hell out of

Zara's POV By the time night settles over the city, I have reached the end of my patience.My father’s voice is still lodged in my head, ordering Theo upstairs as if the little boy were a dog who had wandered into the wrong room. My mother’s expression follows me from room to room, that familiar mixture of disapproval and indifference she wears whenever I refuse to behave like the daughter she wishes she had. And then there is Theo, standing in front of me with his small fingers wrapped around mine, asking me not to leave him behind.That one hurts the most.I have spent years learning how to take a punch without flinching. I have learned how to break bones, how to read an opponent’s movements, how to keep my feet beneath me when someone twice my size tries to put me on the floor. I have learned how to walk away from people who think they own me.Yet a three-year-old boy looking at me with frightened eyes can still make me feel as if someone has driven a knife straight between my rib