I just didn’t bank on me being one of the top shooters in my class. I had never held a gun in my life and knew jack-shit about shooting. But the moment they placed that piece of metal in my hands, it became an extension of me. I was good—so fucking good that they sent me to Afghanistan on the first tour out after boot camp. Seeing what I saw, living through what I lived through, I knew I couldn’t touch June again. She deserved more, she deserved everything, and I would never be worthy of her.

Hearing a bike pull up behind me, I look in my rearview mirror then smile when I see Harlen swing himself off his Harley.

“Heard you were over here,” he mutters, hefting himself up into the passenger seat of my truck and slamming the door.

“Sweet of you to come keep me company.” I grin, and his eyes narrow.

“We’re gonna look at the bike I told you about this morning. Owner’s part of Brew’s crew.” He lifts his chin toward Brew’s house. “He’s meeting us here.”

“Thanks for looking out.”

“You don’t have the right equipment, and you’re too big to ride bitch when your piece of shit bike breaks down.” He grins, and I feel my lips twitch then look in the rearview mirror when the roar of the pipes hits the block. I watch as a Harley Fat Boy cruises down the street past my truck, and pulls into Brew’s driveway.

Getting out of the truck, we walk across the yard, stopping next to the bike as the owner gets off.

“Shock,” Harlen greets the guy with a handshake then dips his chin to me. “This is Evan.”

“What’s up, man?” Shock rumbles as we shake hands, and he steps away from the bike and crosses his arms over his T-shirt-covered chest. “This is her. I hate parting with her, but I’m upgrading,” he says as I walk around the bike. The matte black paintjob sliced between with liquid black is seamless. The chrome all looks new and well maintained. “It’s a ’94, but it has a 127ci Ultima engine and six-speed transmission, with less than five hundred miles on it. The engine also has a polished Mikuni carburetor and a Dyna 2000 ignition system. She’s the shit wet dreams are made of.”

“You’d say that, since that bike got you more gnash than you know what to do with,” Brew says, walking toward us down the driveway. Shock doesn’t reply verbally, but his smile broadens and he smacks Brew’s shoulder when he’s close and then looks at me.

“You wanna take her on a ride?”

Looking over at June’s, I start to shake my head.

“No one’s gonna fuck with her while I’m standing on my front lawn,” Brew promises low enough for just me to hear. I look at him and dip my head then look at Shock.

“Toss me the keys.” Catching them when they fly through the air, I swing my leg over the bike, start her up, and back out of the drive. I don’t go far, but pull out onto the main road and open her up, hitting forty-five. I grin—the fucking sound alone is enough to draw attention, but the bike is a work of art. The power and body is exactly what I was looking for. Pulling back onto the block, I glance at June’s front door and see her and JJ standing in the doorway. Lifting my chin at them, JJ smiles, but June…June doesn’t. No, her eyes go dark, and not in a bad way. They go dark in a way that makes me want to see them change like that up close. Pulling into Brew’s driveway, I shut off the bike and look at Shock as I swing my leg over.

“How much are you asking?”

“Nine. A quick sale, cash only.” He grins.

Pulling in a breath, I look at the bike then back to him. “You got a deal.” He chuckles then pats my back.

“I’ll get your info from Harlen. We can set up a meet tomorrow, or I’ll swing by the shop in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” I agree and chance a look at June’s front door. This time, it’s closed and I rub my chest over my heart, wondering when the fucking pain there will go away.

Chapter 3

June

Moving around my room after adjusting the sheets, I toss the duvet from the floor onto the bed. I sleep rough; I always have. I know there are people who can fall asleep in one position then stay that way the whole night, but that’s not me. I move constantly, so much so that I’ve fallen off the bed in the middle of the night more times than I can count.

Grabbing the ends of the duvet, I struggle to lift it like they do in laundry detergent commercials then give up, letting it fall into place messily. When I bought it a year ago, I didn’t go cheap. It’s probably three-inches thick, full of feathers. Between my duvet and the feather-top mattress pad on my bed, I fall asleep in heaven every night. Tossing the pillows on next, I then fling the throw blanket, which serves no other purpose than to be cute, onto the corner then stand back, admiring my handy work.

I love the bedroom set my mom picked out. I told her what I wanted when I knew I was going to buy my house, and she took over from there. The distressed wood of the bedframe, dresser, and side tables make the room feel warm, while the dusty purple duvet cover that looks like velvet, and grey toss pillows and sheets, make it elegant. Creating a mental list to pick up curtains and to find lamps, I head for the bathroom to finish getting ready, since my dad will be here to take me to lunch soon. Turning on the bathroom light, I sigh when I see my reflection. I don’t like wearing a lot of makeup, but the dark circles under my eyes leave me no choice. Digging through my makeup drawer, I find my tube of concealer and go to work.