Raiden:
She was gone.
Not just out of bed. Gone. No note, no number, not even a goddamn whisper left behind.
Just me… and the f*****g echo of her name in my head.
I sat up in the sheets, dragging a hand through my hair. The room smelled like her — vanilla and trouble. The sheets were tangled from the way we’d twisted ourselves together the night before, primal and breathless. My skin still burned from her touch, from the way her fingernails had raked down my spine like she was claiming me.
And now?
Silence.
A part of me should’ve expected it. Girls like Ella Claire don’t stick around after nights like that — wild and feral and raw. Girls like her run back to safe things. Clean boys with buttoned collars and family names, not inked-up bikers with a reputation and a blacked-out past.
