Chapter One
Antonia
Once upon a time, a young, beautiful woman wanted to do anything to make her parents love her as much as they loved the woman’s twin brother.
She colored her hair platinum blonde and spent an obscene amount of time straightening it flat every day, foregoing her natural dirty blonde curls. She even kept a diary of her eating habits because, according to her mother, she always needed to lose three pounds.
The young woman studied hard in school so she could study law at Yale and become like her father, one of the best lawyers on the West Coast. The young woman devoted hours to helping her dad with cases when he was defending the worst of the worst—rapists, pedophiles, and politicians.
The beautiful woman was named Antonia Chadwick. Growing up, her best friends were her twin brother Josh, short for Joshua, and Quinn, the girl living next door. The three of them grew up together, raising hell. Rosalind, Quinn’s mother, treated Antonia and Josh as if they were her own flesh and blood. The love they received was returned tenfold.
Everything changed when the twins turned eighteen and held an extravagant birthday bash. The joyful night turned into a nightmare. The kind with blood and without a happy ending.
Josh died.
Antonia became scarred for life.
Me.
It happened to me.
My name is Antonia Chadwick, and I’m already tired of narrating my story like it’s a fairy tale because it's not. Far from it. My life is a complicated mess. And staying with a bunch of outlaw bikers—the Death’s Soldiers MC—has only made my life messier but also a lot more fun.
I nod my head along to the music. The rock tunes do good things for my soul. I scan the bar. Church, or Mr. C as I call him, the president of the Death's Soldiers and Quinn’s biological father, hangs back in a corner with the vice president of the club, Liam ‘Cash’ O’Connor.
Mr. C doesn't even notice Cash making eyes at my girl. Quinn and Cash have been forced to keep their relationship a secret because Mr. C ironically doesn’t approve of his daughter being with a biker.
Men!
Can't live with them and can't live without them. Well, one could adopt a dog instead. Now, that's a thought.
Apart from my beastly roommate, I rather much enjoy the MC environment. The Death's Soldiers are one weird, dangerous family, and I find myself fitting in quite well with the black sheep.
Speaking of the devil, Beast is lounging in one of the two sofas along the wall. With his legs spread wide and his head thrown back in a what-ya-want motion, he's the picture of power. As the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, he deals with the shit when it hits the fan.
Throbbing veins crawl up Beast's arm as he curls his fingers around the beer bottle in his hand. His dark mane is slicked back. I want to yank it. Mess it up. I rub my thighs together, and my jeans skirt rises slightly. I might not like Beast, but something about the scruff on his square jaw makes me think it was created to be between my thighs.
Really, the only problem with Beast is that he is him. Mean, violent, ill-mannered, crude, and verbally impotent. I hate his guts as much as he hates mine.
My subtle investigation has led to the discovery that Beast O’Connor is former Special Forces. Dishonorably discharged after a mission went wrong. The same mission that gave him most of his scars and the limp on his right leg. After returning home, he joined his brother by blood, Cash, in the Death’s Soldiers MC.
The main point is that I hate Beast. Luckily, we don’t interact much despite us sharing his room. With that said, we can't avoid each other all the time. I cringe as I recall him catching me sneaking a peek of him fucking a club whore over a couch.
So embarrassing.
I ran back to our room and hid beneath the covers like a common coward. When he finally returned, he had the nerve to ask in that husky, sexy voice of his whether I enjoyed the show. I stayed quiet because that ridiculous notion was clearly not worthy of a reply.
Beast’s sex show was erotic and strangely annoying at the same time. I was wickedly turned on by watching him having sex, yet madly annoyed that it was with some random club bunny and not with me. But it’s not something I will let my mind dwell on ever again.
The MC has been on lockdown for what seems like forever. It has been weeks, and Quinn's evil stepdad is still on the loose. In the long run, lockdown is boring as fuck. I’m only allowed to leave the clubhouse if Beast is by my side. I’d rather go to the dentist than hang out with Beast.
Quinn has used the time to sneak around and loving Cash, while I've been having fun with the guys. Not the sexy kind of fun, but the joking around kind of fun. Not that the scenario of having dirty sex with some of them is appalling. Most of the brothers are incredibly fuckable. On a scale from one to ten, most of them are hotter than the burning fire of hell.
The party that the club is throwing tonight comes just at the right time. I need some fun. Deserve it even.
For the first time since I arrived, the clubhouse is alive and kicking. I squeal with excitement and head to the bar. Tonight’s celebration is for Quinn. She’s getting her bone marrow transplant tomorrow. After the procedure, Quinn will be as good as new.
Bye-bye leukemia.
The club is swarming with brothers, old ladies, and club whores. People are drinking as if they were getting paid for it, but surprisingly, not many are doing drugs. I’ve only seen Bones and Banshee and several of the club bunnies stuffing their noses in the white powder.
The music is blasting through the speakers, and people are dancing everywhere—on the tables, stools, and the stripper poles. Beast and Ripper look mighty comfortable getting lap dances from two practically naked women.
Whatever.
I casually gaze around the room, absorbing all the madness. I flag down the prospect behind the bar. Ten seconds later, I’m armed with a beer and three shots. Throwing my head back, I kill the shots one by one.
Quinn plumps down on the barstool next to me. Despite her ghostly white flesh, hollow cheek, and dark circles under her eyes, my sister by choice is still runway material. Quinn’s natural beauty is a sight to behold. Her brown locks and doe eyes remind me of chocolate. They're always leaving me snack-hungry.
‘’Hey, sis. How are you holding up?’’ I ask. I’m so fucking happy Quinn is getting her treatment tomorrow. She deserves the best of the best in this world.
‘’Doing great. Just tired,'' she yawns. ''And it sucks that I can’t party with you.’’
‘’Well, maybe if you didn’t spend so much time with a certain cha-ching person, you might have more energy for other things,’’ I whisper and waggle my eyebrows suggestively.
Quinn gives me an offended and a tad sad look. I wonder what that’s about, but Church interrupts our conversation before I can question her further.
I spend the rest of the night drinking and occasionally dancing with Quinn and some of the brothers. I’m having fun and letting loose. I shake my curves to the rhythm of the music. When hands roam my body, I don’t object. The alcohol in my veins obscures all my rational thoughts like alcohol should. Let's be honest; it's alcohol's primary job.
My body is burning up, but it’s not from the liquor nor from the hands currently positioned on my hips. I look around the room, trying to find the source causing the fiery sensation on my skin. Beast catches my attention immediately. His cold, murderous eyes set off my internal alarm bells. He looks like he wants to devour me and punish me at the same time.
I should reduce my alcohol consumption; it’s clearly making me delusional. No way could Beast be staring daggers at the hands clutching my hips while he himself is letting a whore grind her ass into his crotch.
I’m not proud to admit it, but I break our staring contest first by escaping to the bar to get another drink. I cuss myself for being such a wimp. I, Antonia Chadwick, do not back down. I am the queen of sass. Man the fuck up, girl!
A club bunny is manning the bar. I snap my fingers at her when she refuses to even look at me. When she finally worthy me with her services, I ask for a shot. I swallow the clear liquid in one go and slam the empty glass down on the table. I bend over the bartop, aiming to steal the bottle, when something large and hard pokes me in the ass.
I gulp.
It's Beast.
I would recognize his caveman scent anywhere.
Grease and sweat.
Yikes.
Beast hovers behind me, engulfing me in his delicious body heat. His huge paws glide up my sides, cupping my hips in a possessive grip, yanking me closer. I shudder involuntarily, and a forbidden moan slips past my lips. An arrogant laugh from Beast fills my ear as his teeth nibble my earlobe.
‘’Stop letting all those fucking men touch you like you’re a whore open for business,’’ Beast says in a dark, angry tone.
How on earth can his voice intimidate and arouse me at the same time? Get a grip, Antonia! How dare that bastard! I’ve only been dancing. He’s the one who’s been fucking whores in plain sight.
‘’You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do, Beasty,’’ I taunt with disdain. It gives me a carnal pleasure to mess with him. I imagine breaking into Fort Knox would be easier than getting a reaction out of Beast. But we all need a hobby.
‘’If you were my woman, Anton,’’ Beast growls, throwing his ugly nickname for me back in my face. ‘’I’d lock you up so no fucker could ever lay a hand on your luscious body ever again.’’
‘’There's a word for that. It's called kidnapping.’’
His nose trails up the side of my throat, and his lips glide over my heated skin. Why does it feel so good?
‘’I’d fuck you so good that you’d forget everything but my name.’’
I wet my lips. ''You mean Beasty?’’
He thrusts forward, making a point out of shoving the lethal weapon in his pants so far into my behind that I have to close my mouth to contain a moan. Someone sure is locked and loaded.
‘’Careful, princess.’’
‘’Or what?’’
‘’It'd be my pleasure to ruin that sassy mouth of yours, not to mention your prissy ass.’’
Beast’s words leave me speechless. The man who, for the most part, stares daggers at me and grunts disapproving sounds my way is dirty-talking to me. I’m appalled and turned on by the things he whispers in my ear. Damn him and his rough hands and husky voice.
‘’I’m not yours,'' I state and stand straighter, accidentally thrusting my butt out, nudging his shaft. Shit. ‘’I don’t belong to anybody. Never have and never will.’’
I get nothing but his typical grunt in response. A second later, Beast is gone, along with his delicious body heat.
The rest of the party goes relatively smoothly. I drink and have a great time until I catch myself looking for a specific monster.
I locate him easily. Beast is back on the couch with a new woman sprawled across his lap. He doesn’t seem the least bit interested in her because his eyes continue to imprison me with an intensity only he can muster. He takes a swig of his beer, cocking a brow, challenging me. But to what?
The memories of a special night spent in Beast’s bed come crashing back to me....