She came home with tamales and left with nothing but her bike.

Violet didn't plan to find another woman in her robe.

On her side of the bed.

In the house she built with her own hands.

Her husband, Gideon, president of the Ironveil MC, had been holding the gavel for four years.

He had also been holding something else for eleven months.

Violet rode south that night and didn't stop.

She rebuilt herself in a town nobody knew her name.

Trading nine years of giving everything for sixty dollars and a narrow bed above a hardware store.

She went back to nursing.

She went back to herself.

And Gideon spent thirty months learning the devastating difference between needing a woman and loving one.