Broken Chrome

Chapter One The Ghost I Left Behind There were some places you could leave without ever really escaping. Blackwater, Georgia, was one of them. I realized that the second I passed the rusted county-line sign and my fingers tightened around the steering wheel. WELCOME TO BLACKWATER. WHERE FAMILY COMES FIRST. “That’s bullshit,” I muttered. My grandmother would’ve slapped the back of my head for saying it. Then she would’ve agreed with me. A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth before disappearing almost as quickly as it came. Ten years. I’d been gone ten damn years. And somehow, nothing had changed. The same two-lane highway stretched ahead of me beneath towering Georgia pines. The same little gas station sat at the intersection of Highway 19 and Miller Road, although someone had finally replaced the faded Coca-Cola sign. Fields stretched toward the horizon, burned gold beneath the late-afternoon sun. It should’ve felt like home. Instead, my stomach twisted tighter with every mile. I hadn’t come back because I missed Blackwater. I hadn’t come back because I wanted to reconnect with old friends or reminisce about the girl I’d been before life taught me how stupid it was to trust people. I’d come back because three nights ago my grandmother had fallen in her kitchen. She’d spent almost seven hours on the floor before her neighbor found her. That phone call had been enough. I’d packed a suitcase, arranged time away from the hospital, loaded my car, and driven six hours back to the one town I’d promised myself I’d never call home again. Because regardless of everything else, Grandma Ruth had raised me. She’d been there when my mother wasn’t. She’d held me through my first heartbreak. And she’d been the one who picked up the pieces when Ryder Callahan shattered what remained. My chest tightened. No. Absolutely not. I hadn’t even reached town yet, and I was already thinking about him. I turned the radio louder. A country song filled the car. Unfortunately, it was one about lost love. “Seriously?” I stabbed the button and shut it off. Silence was better. Anything was better than letting my brain wander toward a six-foot-three tattooed mistake I’d spent the better part of a decade trying to forget. Ryder “Ghost” Callahan. Even his name still did something terrible to my heart. I hated that. I’d loved him once. God, I’d loved him. Not the careful kind of love that developed after years of sensible dates and conversations about mortgages. I’d loved Ryder recklessly. Completely. The kind of love only a twenty-two-year-old girl could give a man everyone warned her would destroy her. My grandmother warned me. My friends warned me. Even Ryder warned me. I hadn’t listened. Then he’d proven all of them right. I swallowed hard. Ten years ago, I’d stood beside this same highway with two suitcases and enough foolish hope to fill a lifetime. Ryder had promised he’d come. We were leaving Blackwater together. No club. No violence. No Iron Saints. Just us. I waited four hours. He never showed. No call. No explanation. Nothing. By sunrise, I understood. He’d chosen them. And I’d chosen myself. I left town that morning. I hadn’t seen Ryder Callahan since. Until today. Not that I planned on seeing him. Blackwater wasn’t that small. At least that was what I told myself. Then the sound came. Low. Deep. Familiar. My stomach dropped. Motorcycles. I glanced into the rearview mirror. Six headlights appeared behind me. “No.” The word escaped before I could stop it. The motorcycles gained on me. My heartbeat matched the thunder of their engines. Black bikes. Leather cuts. Men riding in formation. I knew that formation. I knew those colors. Black and silver. Iron Saints MC. “You have got to be kidding me.” I stared straight ahead. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t— I looked. The first motorcycle pulled alongside my driver’s-side window. The rider wore faded jeans, heavy boots, and a black leather vest over a charcoal T-shirt. His arms were covered in tattoos. A black helmet hid most of his face. But I didn’t need to see his face. I knew those shoulders. I knew those hands. And God help me, I knew the way that man sat on a motorcycle. My breath stopped. Ryder. Ten years disappeared. For one horrible second, I wasn’t thirty-two anymore. I was twenty-two. Barefoot on Grandma’s porch. Ryder’s motorcycle parked in the driveway. His hands around my waist. His mouth against mine. His voice whispering promises against my skin. I’m getting you out of here, Em. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The rider turned his head. Even through the dark visor, I felt him looking at me. Then he slowed. The other motorcycles continued forward. But he stayed beside my car. My pulse hammered. “Don’t recognize me,” I whispered. “Please don’t recognize me.” His head tilted slightly. Shit. He recognized me. Of course he did. Ryder had always been able to find me in a crowded room without even trying. The motorcycle dropped behind my car. I watched him in the mirror. My heart was trying to break through my ribs. Then another bike pulled alongside him. The rider gestured forward. Ryder didn’t move. The other man gestured again. Finally, Ryder accelerated. One by one, the motorcycles passed. Ryder was last. He pulled alongside me again. This time, he lifted two fingers from the handlebar. The same casual salute he’d given me hundreds of times. My throat tightened. Then he accelerated and disappeared down the highway. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Welcome home, Emma.” ⸻ Grandma Ruth’s house looked exactly the same. White siding. Green shutters. A wraparound porch desperately needing another coat of paint. Three hanging ferns she’d somehow managed not to kill despite spending the last several days recovering from a fractured wrist. I parked beneath the pecan tree and sat there for a moment. Ryder’s motorcycle was long gone. My heartbeat wasn’t. “Get yourself together.” I grabbed my purse and climbed out. The front door opened before I reached the porch. “There she is!” Grandma Ruth stood behind the screen door wearing a floral housecoat and a bright pink cast. “Grandma!” I hurried up the steps. “Don’t you grandma me. Took you long enough.” “I drove straight here.” “Six hours isn’t straight.” “Unless you’d prefer I teleport—” She pulled me into her arms. Everything inside me softened. She smelled like lavender lotion, coffee, and home. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. I closed my eyes. “I’m here.” “I know.” Her arms tightened. For a few seconds, I let myself be that girl again. The one who believed Grandma could fix everything. Then she pulled away. Her eyes moved over my face. “You’ve gotten skinny.” I laughed. “There it is.” “What?” “The grandmother greeting. Hello, I missed you, you’re too skinny.” “You are.” “I’m not.” “You eating?” “Yes.” “Men?” I blinked. “What?” “You seeing anybody?” “How did we get from eating to men?” “Both can leave you disappointed.” I stared at her. Grandma shrugged. “I’m seventy-eight, not dead.” I burst out laughing. God, I’d missed her. She smiled before stepping aside. “Come inside.” I grabbed my suitcase. The house was exactly as I remembered. Family photographs covered the hallway. My childhood. School pictures. Christmas mornings. Grandma and Grandpa before he died. And one picture I desperately wished she’d removed. Me at twenty-one. Standing beside Ryder. His arm around my shoulders. Both of us laughing. I stopped. Grandma noticed. “I’ve been meaning to move that.” “For ten years?” “Haven’t gotten around to it.” “Convenient.” She shuffled toward the kitchen. I followed. “I saw him.” Grandma stopped. Slowly, she turned. “Who?” “You know who.” Her expression changed. “Ryder?” Hearing his name spoken aloud somehow made everything worse. “He rode past me outside town.” Grandma sighed. “I was hoping you’d get at least twenty-four hours.” “So he’s still here.” “Where else would he be?” “I don’t know. Prison?” “Emma.” “What?” She gave me the look. I lifted my hands. “Fine.” Grandma lowered herself into a chair. “He’s different.” I snorted. “Men like Ryder don’t change.” “Everybody changes.” “Not him.” “You haven’t seen him in ten years.” “And that’s been wonderful.” It hadn’t. We both knew it. Grandma didn’t challenge me. Instead, she reached for her coffee. “He’s president now.” My stomach dropped. “President?” “Of the Iron Saints.” I laughed once, humorless. “Of course he is.” Ryder had once told me he’d leave the club. Apparently, instead, he’d inherited it. “His father?” “Dead.” That caught me off guard. “When?” “Four years ago.” I looked away. I hadn’t liked Silas Callahan. But Ryder had worshipped his father. Despite everything, a small piece of me hurt for him. “How?” Grandma hesitated. That told me enough. “Club business?” “That’s what people say.” Of course. Blackwater hadn’t changed. Neither had the Iron Saints. I reached for a glass. “I’m not here for Ryder.” “I didn’t say you were.” “I’m here for you.” “I know.” “I’ll help until you’re back on your feet, then I’m leaving.” “Okay.” “I mean it.” “I know.” “And I don’t want anything to do with the Iron Saints.” Grandma took a slow sip of coffee. “Then you’re probably not going to like who’s been mowing my grass.” I froze. “Grandma.” “What?” “Who?” She suddenly became extremely interested in her coffee. “Ryder.” I stared at her. “You let Ryder Callahan mow your lawn?” “My wrist is broken.” “Your wrist has been broken for three days!” “He’s been doing it for two years.” My mouth fell open. “What?” “He checks on the house.” “Why?” She looked at me. And for one terrifying second, I didn’t want the answer. “Because he promised somebody he would.” “Who?” Grandma’s expression softened. “You.” The kitchen went silent. My heartbeat stumbled. “No.” “Emma—” “Don’t.” “He never stopped—” “I said don’t.” Grandma sighed. I grabbed my suitcase. “I’m tired.” “Your room’s ready.” “Thank you.” I started toward the hallway. “Emma?” I stopped. Grandma’s voice was gentle. “Some stories don’t end just because somebody leaves.” I didn’t turn around. “Sometimes they should.” ⸻ I couldn’t sleep. At eleven thirty, I gave up. I pulled on shorts and an oversized T-shirt and wandered downstairs. Grandma was asleep. The house was quiet. I stepped onto the back porch. Warm Georgia air wrapped around me. Crickets chirped. Lightning bugs flickered beyond the fence. For the first time all day, I breathed. Then I heard it. An engine. My entire body went still. The motorcycle slowed in front of the house. “No way.” The engine shut off. A gate creaked. Heavy boots crossed gravel. I stood. A figure appeared around the side of the house. Tall. Broad. Tattooed. Ryder Callahan stepped beneath the porch light. And every carefully constructed wall inside me cracked. Ten years had changed him. He’d been handsome before. Now he was devastating. His dark hair was shorter along the sides, messy on top. A beard covered his jaw. Tattoos disappeared beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt. A scar cut through his left eyebrow. His eyes hadn’t changed. Blue. Cold to everyone except me. At least, they used to be. His leather cut hung open. A patch rested over his chest. PRESIDENT. Iron Saints MC. My stomach twisted. His gaze moved slowly over me. He didn’t smile. Neither did I. “Emma.” My name sounded different in his voice. Rougher. Older. Too familiar. “Ryder.” His jaw flexed. “Ghost.” “What?” “People call me Ghost now.” “I don’t care what people call you.” Something almost resembling amusement flickered in his eyes. “There she is.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Act like you know me.” His expression changed. “I know you.” “You knew me.” Silence. Ten years sat between us. Every unanswered phone call. Every tear. Every night I’d wondered what was wrong with me. Ryder stepped closer. I stepped back. He stopped immediately. That somehow hurt more. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Checking on Ruth.” “At midnight?” “Just got back.” “From where?” “Club business.” I laughed bitterly. “Some things never change.” His eyes hardened. “Some things do.” I folded my arms. “Grandma told me you’ve been helping her.” “She needed it.” “Why?” His eyebrows drew together. “Why what?” “Why help her?” “She’s Ruth.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.” Anger flared. “Still deciding what everyone else deserves to know?” That landed. I saw it. His face barely moved, but Ryder had never been able to hide pain from me. Not completely. “Emma.” “You don’t get to say my name like that.” “Like what?” “Like you missed me.” His jaw tightened. I immediately regretted saying it. Because suddenly the air changed. Ryder took one step closer. “Would you rather I lie?” My heartbeat kicked. “You’re good at it.” His face went still. I hated myself for enjoying the hit. “You should leave.” “I probably should.” But he didn’t. Neither did I. His gaze dropped to my left hand. I knew exactly what he was looking for. No ring. His eyes returned to mine. “Married?” “None of your business.” “Boyfriend?” “Definitely none of your business.” “So no.” “That’s not what I said.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Got kids?” That question hit differently. Harder. Pain flashed through me so quickly I nearly lost my breath. Ryder noticed. Of course he noticed. His expression changed. “Em?” “Don’t.” “What?” “I said don’t.” I turned toward the door. His voice stopped me. “I waited.” My hand froze on the handle. I slowly looked over my shoulder. “What?” Ryder stood at the bottom of the porch steps. “I waited for you to come back.” My chest burned. “For how long?” His eyes held mine. “Ten years.” I laughed. But there was nothing funny about it. “You don’t get to do that.” “Do what?” “Make yourself the heartbroken one.” “I’m not.” “You left me standing beside Highway Nineteen with two suitcases!” His jaw tightened. “I know.” “Four hours, Ryder.” “I know.” “I called you thirty-seven times.” “I know.” My eyes burned. “I thought you were dead.” His face changed. Just slightly. Then I saw it. Guilt. Not regret. Guilt. There was a difference. And suddenly, something inside me knew. There was more to that night. Something he’d never told me. “Why?” He looked away. “Why didn’t you come?” Silence. “Ryder.” “I can’t tell you.” Ten years later, those words broke my heart all over again. I nodded. “Of course.” “Emma—” “No.” I opened the door. His hand closed around the porch railing. “You’re in danger.” I froze. Slowly, I turned around. “What?” His entire demeanor had changed. The man I’d loved disappeared. The president of the Iron Saints stood in his place. Cold. Controlled. Dangerous. “Why am I in danger?” Ryder looked toward the dark road. “Because somebody saw you come into town.” “Who?” He didn’t answer. Fear crawled beneath my skin. “Ryder.” His blue eyes returned to mine. “The Devil’s Creed.” I knew that name. Everyone around Blackwater knew it. A motorcycle club two counties over. Men even the Iron Saints didn’t trust. “What do they want with me?” His silence told me I wasn’t going to like the answer. “Ghost.” It was the first time I’d called him that. Something flickered across his face. Then disappeared. “They want leverage.” “Against who?” He stared at me. And suddenly I understood. “No.” “Emma—” “No.” I stepped backward. “They don’t know me.” “They know enough.” “Because of you?” His jaw clenched. “Yeah.” Anger exploded through the fear. “I’ve been gone ten years!” “I know.” “I haven’t spoken to you!” “I know.” “So why would anybody think hurting me matters to you?” Ryder walked up the steps. One. Two. Three. Until only inches separated us. I should’ve moved. I couldn’t. His scent hit me. Leather. Motor oil. Soap. And something unmistakably Ryder. My traitorous heart remembered him. He looked down at me. His voice dropped. “Because everybody who knows me knows there’s only ever been one thing in this world I couldn’t lose.” I stopped breathing. His eyes held mine. “You.” The word destroyed every defense I had. “Don’t.” “It’s the truth.” “You lost me ten years ago.” Pain flashed across his face. “I know.” “Then tell them that.” “I did.” “And?” “They didn’t believe me.” “Why?” Ryder stared at me for a long moment. Then he reached into his vest. He pulled out his phone. Tapped the screen. Held it toward me. A photograph filled the display. My blood turned cold. It was me. Taken earlier that afternoon. Standing outside Grandma’s house. Underneath was a message. GHOST’S GIRL CAME HOME. My hands began trembling. “When did you get this?” “Twenty minutes ago.” “Who sent it?” “Unknown number.” I looked toward the dark yard. Suddenly every shadow felt alive. Ryder put his phone away. “Pack a bag.” I looked at him. “What?” “You’re coming with me.” I almost laughed. “Absolutely not.” “Emma.” “I would rather sleep in a police station.” “Police can’t protect you from these men.” “And you can?” His expression turned frighteningly calm. “Yeah.” That confidence should’ve terrified me. Instead, some deeply buried part of me remembered what it felt like to believe Ryder Callahan could protect me from anything. I hated that part of myself. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” “Then I’m staying here.” “No.” “Not negotiable.” “This is my grandmother’s house.” “And until I know who’s watching it, I’m not leaving you alone.” “I don’t need you.” His gaze softened. “Maybe not.” He stepped closer. “But you got me anyway.” A motorcycle engine roared somewhere in the distance. Ryder’s head snapped toward the road. His entire body changed. His hand disappeared beneath his vest. “Inside.” “What?” “Now, Emma.” Something in his voice made me obey. He followed me through the door and locked it. Then he pulled the curtains closed. My heart hammered. “Ryder?” He looked at me. For the first time that night, I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before. Fear. Not for himself. For me. “Welcome home, sweetheart.” Outside, another motorcycle slowly passed the house. Ryder’s hand settled at the small of my back. Protective. Possessive. Familiar. And as the engine disappeared into the darkness, one terrible truth settled into my bones. I hadn’t come back to Blackwater to find Ryder Callahan. But somehow, I’d walked straight back into his world. And this time, leaving might not be my choice.