Four years ago, her father's tow truck went over Devil's Shelf on a night with no traffic and no witnesses.

The county called it an accident. Mara Keene buried him, took over the shop he built, dragged it out of debt with her own two hands, and learned to stop asking questions the mountain wasn't going to answer.

Then a wrecked club bike brought Kade "Riot" Mercer into her garage, and she found the thing her father died hiding.

She doesn't need a man. She has a business to run.

At thirty-nine, Mara can rebuild a transmission, run a nine-ton wrecker on black ice, and stare down a drunk twice her size without raising her voice. She's been alone since the last man in her life asked her to sell the shop and become more convenient. She chose the shop. She'd choose it again.

He looked at her once and that was the end of it.

Kade Mercer is thirty-two, six-foot-three, and the man the Blackridge Reapers send in when something needs finishing. Rival clubs lower their voices when they say his road name. He doesn't posture. He doesn't need to. And he has never in his life wanted anything he couldn't take with his hands.

Until a woman in resoled work boots came down a scree bank with a chain and didn't look at him.

Now there's coffee on her workbench every morning, black, the way she takes it, though she never told him. There's a hand at her waist while she's under an engine. There's a man in her father's chair at three in the morning with a shotgun across his knees, waiting for her to decide.

Mara gets his patience. Mara gets forehead kisses and a voice pitched low enough that she has to lean in.

Everyone else still gets Riot.

Somebody wants what her father hid. They'll cut her brakes to get it.

An old motorcycle nobody came back for. A tape with two voices on it. Sixteen photographs of license plates, and one name that will split the Reapers down the middle, because the man who killed Walter Keene sits at Kade's own table and put the patch on his back when nobody else on earth wanted him.

Kade has ridden with his brothers for eleven years.

He knew Mara for eleven days before he laid his cut on the wood for her.

Heat level: High. Explicit, on the page, and worth the wait.

Standalone. Full-length. Guaranteed happily ever after.

He said the word once, on a scree bank, without deciding to.

Mine.

It took him two weeks to say it out loud. It'll take you one night to find out what it cost him.