PROLOGUE
Aislynn
The first time I laid eyes on Pagan Sinclair was a revelation.
His all-knowing onyx stare met mine across a crowded room, and everything shifted, not only under my feet, but also inside my soul. The way he edged toward me was mesmerizing. His big, muscle-rippling, steel-like body crept like a panther moving in for the hunt, and it thrilled me. I remember feeling the danger of him, the purity of his menace, and the deep-rooted wickedness that clung to his bones. ThePagan Effectrocked my foundations so forcefully, so emphatically, that I shook with it from the inside out.
I wasn’t a stupid girl; the knowledge that one day he would shatter my world into tiny pieces was as real to me as a living, breathing entity.
Everybody warned me. My brothers, my friends, even my mammy, but I brushed their gentle concern off with the age-old adage that if I were honest, I knew, even then, was utter bullshit.
I can fix him.
However, I came to learn pretty quickly that nobody could fix something that was broken beyond repair. You could glue the bits together and make it resemble what was once whole, but it would never be the same, and it would never be perfect.
But then, wasn’t perfection just an illusion? Weren’t we all broken in some way?
The night I first laid eyes on Pagan Sinclair was a revelation.
And it was also the beginning of my demise.
—————
I wasthe youngest of four siblings, and the only girl. My da, Lorcan, had passed just weeks before. It had left me feeling vulnerable, like a level of safety I’d always taken for granted had been ripped away.
Da had left a stake of the family bar, The Lucky Shamrock, to all of us, with the main shareholder being Callum, my eldest brother and the only O’Shea sibling to have any interest in carrying on the family business.
After my daddy’s passing, Callum married an old acquaintance of the family, Maeve Monroe. Between them and my middle brother, Donovan, they’d given the bar a total overhaul and created a range of new brews.
The big reopening party for the Lucky Shamrock was underway. The place was packed, the music loud, and the drinks were flowing. Laughter and chatter filled the room along withbodies swaying in time to the pumping, sexy music filtering through the speakers while they waited for Dischordium—a local band who were on the verge of hitting the big time—to begin their set.
I’d been talking to my sister-in-law, Maeve, and a few of the men from the local motorcycle club, the Speed Demons, who had been regaling me with stories about their members and the shit they got up to.
That was when I saw him.
Pagan.
He walked through the door, and the air around him seemed to thicken. I couldn’t see much of his face, but I was immediately aware of his size, his aura, and his edge.
“Are they bikers?” I asked my sister-in-law. “They don’t look like any Speed Demons I’ve ever met.”
Maeve looked over her shoulder to see who I was talking about when Atlas, the Speed Demons’ sergeant at arms, lifted his hand and yelled, “Over here, Pagan.”
My heart fluttered.
“Oh,” Maeve exclaimed. “They’re the Kings of Anarchy boys. It’s a new MC based near Rock Springs. We went to a party at their clubhouse a couple of weeks back. It was grand.”
My gaze traveled over the group of men heading our way.
I’d heard about the Kings of Anarchy.
Months before, the Speed Demons had welcomed them into Southern Wyoming in an effort to keep a handle on the rising crime in the area. The Demons ran the more unsavory characters from our town, but it was becoming harder to keep a hold on things. By striking a deal with the Kings, they’d passed on the problem and the headache, while at the same time gaining an ally.
The Speed Demons used to be a one-percenter club, but gave up that status years before and now earned their moneylegitimately. However, the Kings were an outlaw club with chapters all over the United States. I’d even seen their Colorado chapter occasionally riding around town in Denver.
Their reputation preceded them, and everybody knew their club motto.
Nobody fucks with the Kings.
