Claimed by the Ruthless Biker
At the end of the path, standing under an altar made of rusted chains and white roses, was Ruan.
He took my breath away. He was wearing a black suit that emphasized the massive, powerful frame of his body, but it was his face that destroyed me. The hardness was gone. The King’s mask had been laid aside, replaced by a look of such raw, unadulterated adoration that I felt my knees weaken. His blue eyes were fixed on me, and in that moment, the rest of the world—the Board, the war, the blood—simply ceased to exist.