Why Do Roads Have Zigzag Lines?

The woman standing there was nobody that Scars had ever laid eyes on before, but holy God, he knew her. He knew her on a cellular level. In his blood. In his bones. In his heart and in his cock. He’d dreamed about her and he’d waited for her. He’d been looking for her forever, and now here she was. ** Six years ago, Zoe Parish fled Denver after a brutal encounter with a motorcycle club man, swearing never to trust one again. Now a mother and desperate to help her oldest friend, she returns when Wolf Connor promises his club is out of the life and she’ll be safe. Back in Denver, Zoe keeps her guard up, especially around Scars, whose effect on her is far more unsettling than she wants to admit. Vic “Scars” Innis has spent twenty-two years loyal to the Road Devils, earning his place as Vice-President. He thought he was content, until he meets Zoe. From the first look, he knows she’s the missing piece, even if she despises everything he represents. As danger closes in and an enemy threatens to destroy their fragile peace – and take Zoe’s child – Scars and Zoe are forced to confront their pasts and each other. The question is whether their bond will make them stronger… or finally tear them apart for good.

In two steps he was on her, yanking her up straight and turning her around to face the wall. She gasped at the change in dynamic: her teasing and taunting were shoved roughly to one side and now he was in full and total control. Jo trembled as he dropped a slow, sexy kiss on her right shoulder, then lightly nipped her soft skin before moving his mouth to her ear. “Don’t you move, angel,” he murmured. “Keep facing forward.” **** Jolene Angeles is fresh out of a nightmare marriage and parked at a roadside biker bar hunting for one thing: Mr. Right Now. In a few days, she’ll have a new job, a new city, a new life, and a single, forgettable one-night stand feels like the perfect way to burn the past down. Then she meets Zeke. Silver-eyed, dangerous. Exactly the kind of mistake she wants. One night, no names, no aftermath. Zeke “Silver” Bennett doesn’t lose control. Ever. He learned that lesson once, and it nearly destroyed him. So when he spots the dark-eyed woman across the bar, he knows the rules: one night, clean break, no complications. Until fate throws them together again... and secrets start detonating. They didn’t tell each other the truth. Now they’re forced to decide: can trust be built on lies? And if the truth finally comes out – raw, painful, unforgiving – will either of them be brave enough to risk real love?

Ice had seen courage under fire, in many cases literally, back in his SEAL days. But he’d never seen anything like Vixen that day. When he first caught sight of her, she was standing with her feet wide apart, solidly braced on those mile-high, mid-thigh black boots, the ones that he loved fucking her in. Her minute green skirt had ridden high and tight up her perfect legs, and her dark eyes were dilated to black as she grimly stared down the approaching vehicle, shooting and shooting, both hands holding the gun. She’d looked every inch the hot female assassin in some blockbuster Hollywood movie, right down to her hair flowing behind her in the autumn wind. **** Ice Johansson is the Road Devils MC’s Chief Enforcer: cold, ruthless, and built for violence. He doesn’t feel guilt, except where Vix is concerned. Weeks ago, he crossed a line with the one woman who mattered to him. Now an enemy attack leaves her badly injured, and Ice wants one thing: to protect her, if she’ll let him close again. Victoria “Vixen” Shaw owns her reputation as the club’s favorite ride. No shame. No apologies. For eighteen months, though, she’s been Ice’s alone. What he did shattered her trust, but when Ice becomes her caretaker – no sex, no demands, just presence – she begins to see the man beneath the ice. As the Road Devils are pushed to the brink, Ice and Vix find intimacy where they never expected it: clothed, raw, and vulnerable. But if Ice reveals the darkest parts of himself – the violence he embraces to protect his family – can Vix accept him? And even if she does, can loving a man like Ice ever truly be safe?

A blizzard had buried the mountain, turning every road into a death trap. Locals called it Deadman's Pass—seventy-two icy switchbacks with zero room for error. As the only person who had ever made it through without a scratch, I'd just gotten a million-dollar rescue call from beyond the final curve. Ten years ago, I went there once. My seventeen-year-old daughter, Maya, was skydiving with her classmates when a violent air current forced an emergency landing. The rescue came too late. She died there. Later, I learned my husband, Jayden Boone, had ignored Maya's safety. He poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into the rescue effort and redirected every team to save his ex's daughter instead. The girl had only sprained her ankle on a hiking trip. The day Maya died, I walked away from my career as a professor and stayed here, living as a broke driver. I risked my life running Deadman's Pass again and again until I knew every turn by heart. In the ten years since, no one else had died on that road. Today, a friend shoved a million-dollar rescue job in front of me and told me to leave right away. I looked at the face in the photo—the one I could never forget. Then I smiled and tossed my keys onto the table. "I can't take this job."

By the seventh year of my engagement to Tristan, he postponed our wedding for the third time. The reason was simple. His childhood sweetheart, Gabriella, had returned to the country. She had just gone through a divorce and was emotionally unstable. Tristan personally retrieved every invitation we had sent out, his tone calm and steady. "Gabby has no one by her side right now. I can't upset her at a time like this." I held the ring that had already been resized twice and asked, "What about me?" Tristan glanced at me. "You're different. You're sensible." I had been hearing that word for seven years. Sensible. When his startup failed, I sold the old house my grandmother had left me to help him pay off his debts. When he suffered a gastric hemorrhage, I stayed at the hospital for three days straight and missed my own promotion defense. When his mother said my background was too ordinary for him, he only rubbed his temples and said, "Tori, don't make this difficult for me." Every time, I nodded. He once told me that no matter how thick the fog became, he would always leave a light on for me. Until the day Gabriella stood in front of the mirror wearing my wedding dress and smiled as she asked, "Victoria, you don't mind, do you? Tristan said your wedding's being postponed anyway." Tristan stood behind her. He did not deny it. He even reached out and adjusted her veil for her. The fog lamp he had given me with his own hands sat by the display window of the bridal shop. It was still lit, illuminating someone else in the white dress I had waited seven years to wear. Only then did I realize that some roads were not lost because the fog was too thick. It was because he had never planned to come for me at all.

On the heavy traffic road rushing my father to the hospital due to a cerebral hemorrhage, we ran into my husband, who was directing traffic as a police officer. My mother was about to wind the window down and beg him for help, but I immediately stopped her and decisively turned the steering wheel, taking a narrow side road instead. In my previous life, at this exact situation, after a brief moment of hesitation, my husband had chosen to clear a path for us and personally escorted my father to the hospital. That very night, his childhood sweetheart, out of spite because he hadn't answered her calls, turned on the gas and killed herself. He seemed utterly unaffected by her death. He even organized a welcome-home party for my father when he was discharged from the hospital. But on the day of the party, he poisoned every dish on the table. "It's because of you and your damn father! If it weren't for you, Rosalin wouldn't have killed herself! You're the ones who drove her to death! You should pay for her life!" When I opened my eyes once more, I had returned to the day my father collapsed. This time, my husband answered the phone. Without a second thought, he ran to his childhood sweetheart. Yet, why had he still come to regret it?