Biker's Forbidden Desire
I was going to throw myself at his feet, beg for his forgiveness, and hold my son until my arms ached.
Then, my dashboard console began flashing frantically. Seventeen missed calls. All from Ricci.
A cold knot of dread coiled tightly in my stomach. I pressed the Bluetooth button, connecting the call. "Ricci? What's wrong?"
"Donna—I mean, Mrs. Moretti," Ricci’s voice came through the speakers, cracking with a pure, unmitigated panic I had never heard from him before. "There's been a catastrophic incident. A massive prison break at the federal maximum-security facility upstate."