Jilted Ex-Wife? The Biker's Queen Returns

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rbs gave way to decaying factories and graffiti-covered walls. The air itself c

uching the silver ring at my chest. It was warm now from my sk

ed by a high chain-link fence came into

arked out front like sleeping iron beasts. A few men

entrance, my tires screaming on the oil-stained asphalt

d their cigarettes. Their expressions turned hostile. They moved to su

e door. My tall boots made a solid thu

muttered under their breath, I walked straight to the

tle, and asked what a "cager" like me, looki

cord from under my shirt and shoved the silver rin

rom his face, replaced by a look of stunned

ng. "Who you here to see?" he asked, his voi

e to see your Prez," I said, my

uld dare to speak the name of their feared leader so directly.

. A blast of deafening heavy metal music and the thick

vering both arms stepped out. This was Cole K

ssing any questions, he simply jerked his

r. It was filled with drunk, loud bikers and scantily

hostility and jealousy, as if I w

e last remnants of "Mrs. Prince" flaking off me like dead

at the very back of the bar. The entrance

was instantly cut off. The only sounds were the hum

a man sat alone. He was as large and immovable

nife, the blade flashing in the dim light a

ed, the dim light finall

sculinity that instantly commanded the room. He had sharp, aristocratic cheekbones, a chiseled jawli

his shoulder. A faded scar cut through his left eyebrow, a

e most dangerous, most powerfu

stalgia washed over me. Looking at him felt like finding an anchor in a storm. An undeniable, deep

action of a second on the silver ring resting against my colla

the room, pulling the heavy door shut

hunk. He leaned forward slightly, and his voice, a low, gravelly ru

of his tone wrapping around me. "You fi