Love is a powerful force, but it doesn’t compare to guilt.
And just like most people, my guilt eats me alive.
I went from being an irresponsible kid who didn’t know any better to an irresponsible man who does.
I make no apologies.
Don’t take my carelessness for strength.
My blood is as deadly as the bullet that killed my brother, and once I’m cut, there’s no stopping the river of rage.
My past is dead. I’m not like my MC brothers. Nothing is going to come bite me in the ass.
Or so I thought.
Because life gave me Mary, the little hellraiser who tries to be reckless.
She’s only looking to escape the nightmare of what happened to her in Atlantic City.
She’s a good girl. The kind to wear pearls and fancy cardigans. She doesn’t belong in this life.
Even if I know she belongs with me.
She paints her lips in red lipstick, but I know it’s an effort to hide the pain.
There’s more than the fact we are too different to be together.
Her past isn’t dead.
And mine has come back to life.
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