President of Savage Kings MC. Leather. Scar. Lethal. He thinks I’m a quiet clerk from the Ministry of Corporate Affairs. He doesn’t know I see both his faces. “Your paperwork says wheat,” I told him. “Your warehouse smells like blood and gasoline.” His smile was a knife. “Maybe you should audit my bedroom next, sweetheart. I promise the only thing bleeding will be you.” Now I’m on the back of his Harley, his hand fisted in my hair, his voice in my ear: “Join the ride, sweetheart... or I’ll strap you on myself.”