I wasn't supposed to end up in an outlaw biker's bed. I wasn't supposed to love it. I definitely wasn't supposed to crave his fiery kisses, beg for his touch, or ache to know the man behind the evil looking ink and scarred smirk.
I was the good girl. He was the monster. Then everything changed.
I became a prisoner. I prayed for Skin to save me. He did - and he kept me for himself.
He's no saint, and I'm no angel. They've already taken so much from me. I'm scared he'll take what's left.
Never love an outlaw, they said. I believed it. So why can't I stop myself from falling for this bad boy so hard I break?