THE BIKER'S NEW FOUND MATE

EVA The youth center smelled like cheap pine cleaner and teenage desperation. I wiped down the last table in the common room, watching Tommy Vega practice tricks with his butterfly knife in the corner. Nineteen years old and already covered in Crimson Reapers ink he had not earned yet. "You are going to cut yourself," I said. "I am good at it." He grinned, all cocky bravado. "Your old man says I might get my patch next month." My old man. Marcus Cross, president of the Crimson Reapers, the man who gave me life and made it a prison. "Tommy, you could still go to community college. That offer I told you about—" "Nah, Miss Eva. The club is my family now." He said it like he was quoting scripture. I wanted to shake him. Tell him the club would chew him up and spit him out bloody. But I learned years ago that nobody listened to the president's daughter when she talked about leaving. They thought I was confused. Ungrateful. My phone buzzed. A text from Aunt Ruby: Get home. Now. My stomach dropped. Ruby never texted. She barely knew how to work her phone. "I have to go." I grabbed my jacket and keys, ignoring Tommy's goodbye. The drive to my father's house took twelve minutes. I spent all twelve trying to convince myself this was nothing. Maybe he wanted to have dinner. Maybe he finally decided to have an actual conversation instead of grunting orders. I knew better. Six motorcycles lined the driveway. Not just Crimson Reapers. Steel Vipers too. The rival club. The enemy. My hands shook as I killed the engine. Steel Vipers at our house meant one of two things: war or death. I pushed through the front door into a wall of leather and testosterone. The living room was packed with men from both clubs. My father sat in his chair like a throne, gray ponytail and cold blue eyes. Beside him stood Knox Steele, the Viper president, all silver hair and predatory grace. And next to Knox stood the Ghost. Albert Morrison. Six-foot-three of muscle and ink and rumors. They said he could kill a man six different ways before the body hit the ground. They said he felt nothing, showed nothing, was nothing but a weapon Knox pointed at problems. Gray eyes met mine across the room. Cold. Assessing. Empty. "Eva. Sit." My father's voice cut through the murmuring conversations. "I would rather stand." "Sit down." Not a request this time. I sat on the couch arm, as far from the crowd as possible. Ruby stood in the doorway to the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, her weathered face unreadable. Marcus stood. The room went silent. "There has been too much blood," he said. "The war between our clubs is killing us both. We are losing territory, losing money, losing brothers. It ends now." My pulse hammered. A truce. They were calling a truce. Relief started to flood through me. "To seal the peace, there will be a marriage. An alliance between families." Marcus looked directly at me. "Eva will marry Albert Morrison in three days." The world tilted. "What?" The word barely made it past my lips. "You heard me. You will marry the Ghost. You will live together, present a united front, and bind these clubs together." I shot to my feet. "No. Absolutely not. You cannot—" "I can and I have." Marcus's voice was iron. "This is not a discussion." "I am not a piece of property you can trade!" My voice cracked, rising. "I have a life, a job, plans—" "You have responsibilities." He stepped closer, towering over me. "To this family. To this club." "I do not want this life! I have never wanted this!" I was shaking now, fury and panic twisting in my chest. "I am leaving. I have been planning to leave for months." "Where?" Knox Steele's smooth voice cut in. "California? We know about your savings account, Eva. Your apartment applications. Did you really think we would not notice?" My blood ran cold. Albert finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "I did not ask for this either." I whirled on him. "Then say no! Tell them this is insane!" Those gray eyes held mine. "We do not get to say no." "The terms are already set," Knox continued. "One year minimum. You will live together, appear together at club functions, and produce an heir. Any violation means war and execution of the responsible party." "You are talking about my life!" I looked at my father, desperate. "Dad, please. You cannot do this to me." Something flickered in his eyes. Pain, maybe. Regret. Then it was gone, replaced by the cold president mask. "It is already done. You marry him in three days, or we go back to war. And this time, Eva, we all die." The room was spinning. I looked at Albert Morrison again. He stood perfectly still, face carved from stone, and I saw my future: chained to a killer I had been raised to hate, trapped in a world I had spent my whole life trying to escape. "I will run," I whispered. Ruby finally spoke from the doorway, her raspy voice cutting through everything. "Then they will hunt you, baby girl. And they will find you." Albert's jaw tightened. Our eyes met again, and I saw it clearly: we were both prisoners. The Ghost and the Reaper's daughter. Shackled together in a peace treaty written in blood.