Divorced by Him, Claimed by the Biker King

A

fixes. Just an endless loop of mistakes, regrets, and battles I never signed up for. My latest fight with my fath

as why

lade, leaving nothing but numbness behind. It was freedom, even if it was temporary. The city blurred past me, streetlights streaking like faded me

ty; the next-there she lay, crumpled like a discarded doll, her soaked clothes clinging to her fragile frame. I swerved hard, the tires of the bi

sels in distress. Not anymore. My life was complicated enough without adding unconsc

vo

wn into the fabric of who I was, though I spent years trying to rip them o

ugh my jacket as I rushed to her side. Her face was pale, framed by wet strands of hair plastered to her skin. Sh

. My boots splashed through puddles as I carried her back to the bike, securing her as best I could before speeding toward the hospital. The rain lashed

etting in. This seemed to be Fate that just thro

d hospitals. Too clean. Too quiet. Like they were trying to cover up the fact that people bled and died here every day. But I would stay. I sat on

ainwater onto the pristine floor, feeling like I'd made a mistake getting involved. I wasn't the hero type. Never

pped out, his white coat wrinkled from a long shift. His dark eyes met

" he said, his voice low but carrying that fam

the last layer of armor I had. But finally, I yanked it off, runni

a smirk. "Didn't know you'd s

p enough to cut steel.

over this. "So what did or didn't

"I don't know. She was just there, lyin

. "Zane 'Ice-Heart' has feelings now? Dam

olling my ey

a heart, buried somewhere under all the wreckage. Or maybe it was just guilt-o

cessity than concern, though I wasn't su

t strike her. She wasn't even hurt from the road-just... exhausted. Shock, m

y thoughts and the rhythmic beeping of machines in the backgroun

ceful in sleep. My gaze drifted to her hand resting on the blanket, a faint wound on her finger catching my attention. Something about it

en, she

tinct screamed at me to leave, to vanish before she could look into my eyes and see somethi

... brin

s shoved deep in my pockets to hide the shaking of them. "Y

s. The girl from camp. My mother's. The same softness, the same brokenness hidden beneath a

ered, "Th

ng to do. But instead, I found myself asking, "What the hell

er face crumpled, and tears started, carving silent tracks down her cheeks. I don'

He's been having an affair with my... with my

o many tattoos and a temper he couldn't keep under control. But there it w

wasn't my problem. I dealt with criminals, not with cheating husbands and stolen paintings. My world was darker, an

pital chair, my voice rougher than I'd intende

ink snaking down my arms, the faint shadow of a scar above my eyebrow, and the leather jacket slung over the back of the chair.

voice thick with disbelief, as if I

my jacket and pulled out my ID, flicking it open with a practiced motion. The laminated card caught the harsh hospital light, my

thing she'd been holding in crashed down again. Her fingers, trembling, wiped at her face, lea

e?" I asked, my voice quiete

n, but then something in her eyes flickered like steel beneath that so

voice now shaking it more than tears. "I want revenge. I want my

unyielding, that stopped me. In my line of work, I'd met plenty of people fueled by rev

s something I could understand