“All good. I’m Detective Cole. This here is my partner, Detective Tate.” Detective Tate puts out his hand and I shake it in return. His touch is pleasant and innocent, so different from his partner’s. “We’re going to need you to see the paramedics.” He jerks his head to where the club’s front door previously stood. Now it’s in splintered pieces all over the place.

Searching his face for any sign of emotion of what passed between us, I come up blank. Nothing. It’s gone. Maybe I dreamt it all up when I hit my head. Flicking my gaze to Detective Tate, who’s walking away, I push away any thoughts of this total stranger. I break eye contact and pull myself together and ignore the hurt rising to the surface. Why do I care if he felt it too? Why am I searching for the magnetic touch I’m now craving so badly?

Chaos surrounds me. Rubble is on every surface. Blood spatters the walls. Law enforcement is everywhere and as I look around, my brows knit together because there’s no sign of Lucio, or the bikers, just two of Lucio’s men lying in pools of their own blood. Had I been so engrossed with Detective Cole that I didn’t notice them carted away by the police? Choosing that moment, my brain decides to catch up with my body and my limbs ache as if just feeling the initial blow. As we walk to the exit, I search the club for my sister. Hope flourishes. Maybe she had already left before I arrived? Stepping around the deceased, broken glass, and God knows what else as we go, dread languishes the hope. Shit, where is she?

Halting to a stop, my hand raises on its own accord and rests on Detective Cole’s chest. He looks down at my hand then back up at me, raising an eyebrow at my unexpected closeness. The tension between us thickens. He must feel it too? I quickly drop my hand and internally slap myself for touching him. I don’t act irrationally around men. Every word spoken, every gesture is a planned tactic. Normally, I’m in complete control of my emotions and actions, never displaying genuine affection, and in turn, showing them no weakness. Yet I’m letting this man I’ve known all of two seconds affect me in ways no other has even come close to.

“My sister,” I blurt out, like she’s the reason I just let my heart rule rather than my head. “She’s in here somewhere. We have to find her.”

Stepping closer, Detective Cole grasps my upper arm and gives me a reassuring squeeze. He swallows and I watch every movement of his Adam’s apple. He’s uncomfortable with the touch, in my presence. So he did feel it too.

“You don’t need to worry. We’ll find your sister, but for now, you need to see the paramedics. What’s your sister’s name?”

I frown, pursing my lips. This won’t get me anywhere I need to be searching for Alison, not chatting with a police officer.

“Alison Jenkins. She works here. I was here to pick her up.”

He grimaces at Ali’s name. The lines bunching around his eyes showing his age. He knows her.

“Detective Cole, I’m going to find her. I’m fine, just a few scratches.” I stand up straighter with my chin up, hoping my words are somewhat believable as I ignore the pain shouting from my weakened body. Before he can answer me, Detective Tate and a small female with a mass of blonde hair step into my vision and I instantly recognize her frail body. Alison.

“Jesus, just let me go. How many times do I have to tell you I’m okay? I just want to go home.” Ali’s obnoxiously loud voice booms through the building for everyone to hear. I gasp with relief hearing her groan at Detective Tate. She can’t be too badly hurt if she’s running her mouth.

I take her in. She’s walking fine, no limp, no bleeding, and no cuts except for one on her lip. I shake my head at her nonsense. Drama. It follows her around like a bad smell. I cringe, imagining what she has gotten herself into now.

“Never mind, Detective, there’s my delightful sister.” I gesture toward Ali with my hand.

Detective Cole’s face hardens at the sight of Alison and the fact he clearly knows her on some level sends a burn of unwarranted jealousy toward Ali, straight through my chest. Shaking off the ridiculous feeling, I come to my senses and rush over to her.

A strong force grips my forearm, preventing me from moving any further. The hairs rise on the back of my nape and without even turning, I can distinguish his touch.

He spins me around. His thumb caresses my cheek, slides over my dry, blood-crusted lip. It shouldn’t feel so good, but it does.

“You’re hurt. Those cuts on your hands look nasty. Go see the doctor,” he demands, his demeanor serious, leaving no room for argument. A tingling need for closeness subsides and a surge of annoyance takes over at the use of his controlling tone.

Yanking my arm from his hold, I stand tall, narrowing my eyes, ready to give him a piece of my mind. “Firstly, the cuts are fine. They’ll heal, not that my wellbeing is really any of your concern. Secondly, I don’t take kindly to being told what to do. Now, I’m going to ask you to politely, get out of my way,” I snap back, voice low.

To my surprise, he takes a step back giving me space. The even bigger surprise, he steps away with a gleam of curiosity in his eyes and a smirk that I nearly miss but catch at the last second. Doesn’t he know curiosity killed the cat?

CHAPTER THREE

Lindsey

I didn’t realize it at the time, but this day, this second, was the fundamental moment that would change everything. When paths would be crossed for reasons still unknown, when lives became intertwined.

Side stepping and shifting past everyone in my path, I reach Alison and throw my arms around her, squeezing her against me. She can probably feel my heart thundering out of my chest and into hers. She’s a giant pain in my ass, but the love I have for her isn’t like any other. I raised her after our father died on tour while he served our country. Our mother checked out of this world the day she lost her soul mate, and the worst part was I couldn’t blame her. She’d lost the biggest part of herself, a part she’d never get back because her heart died along with our father. A love so strong was hard to hate even with the downward spiral our lives took after his death. My mother left two naïve little girls to fend for themselves. We grew with no one to teach us life skills and had to journey through our childhoods without warmth or love from a mother. At least that’s how life was until Mom met Jeremy. He became our protector, defender. He warded off our mother’s internal enemies, battling against her day in, day out, and guarded us against her verbal assaults. She’d never change, though, not even for the man she believed loved her, and us.

He cared for us until he stopped. He loved us until he didn’t. It’s because of him I’m fueled by hatred. I hate what my stepfather did to us. I hate that I let his betrayal lead me into a world I’ll never escape. But more than that, I hate it twisted me into a place where I can justify taking another human life. I was only fourteen years old when Jeremy broke our hearts as well as our bank account. I’m not a naïve little girl anymore, but I still yearn for strength and independence I lacked back then. Those events didn’t carve me into the woman I am today, but they did change the path my life would take. I never could forget the feeling of betrayal. It stayed with me and turned my teenage world upside down. For a long time, I was confused, what did we do to make him hate us? Why would he leave Ali and me behind? These thoughts spun around in my mind until they turned me into a bitter, angry young woman. Gone was the hurt from the betrayal. Resentment reared its ugly head and quite happily took its place.