The steering wheel jerked violently before the world slanted at an impossible angle.
Then, everything stopped.
There was a heavy weight of gravity pulling me sideways. The screech of metal against the guardrail sounded distant, like a radio playing in another room.
I saw the bridge, the dark water below, and then—the car flipped—a slow-motion tumble that felt like being trapped in a washing machine.
When it finally came to a halt, a suffocating quiet that made my ears ring. The smell of smoke and iron rose from the engine, mixing with the smell of my own blood.
I couldn't move. I couldn't even blink.
I turned my head, and through the shattered windshield, I sawhim.
The motorcycle was lying on its side, the headlight still carving a path through the dust.
Damiano was sprinting toward me. His expression was of pure terror, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.
The world began to gray at the edges as I watched him reach the car, his hands clawing at the twisted metal.
He looked beautiful in the moonlight, even when he was desperate and scared.
He came for me,the realization making me smile, as my limbs went cold.
My last view before the darkness swallowed me was of the man whom I would be dragging to hell with me.
Chapter 1
Damiano
BANG!
I jump to my feet and grab the gun from the nightstand like instinct.
With the Beretta in hand, I quickly pull on the boxer shorts I find on the floor, my head throbbing with the sudden onset of a hangover.
I raise the gun and slowly stalk out of the room, down the hallway, and then right towards my kitchen, making no sound. My heartbeat rises but levels out just as fast, used to dangerous situations.
As soon as I reach the kitchen, I stop at the sight. My eyes snag on a woman’s bare ass and a fall of long dark hair. In an instant, I reach for the overhead cupboard to hide the gun.
Shit. Who is she again?
Every time I come home with a woman I meet at my club, they usually know to leave before I’m awake. Apparently, this one didn’t get the memo. And I already forgot her name.
I clear my throat, and the sound makes her jump. When she turns to look at me, my eyes fall on her tits first, then on her hands that are holding a milk carton on the right and an egg on the left. Then finally, her face.
Oh yeah, Christine.
“OMG, you scared me! Did I wake you up? Sorry, the pan fell.”
“Good morning,” I say, a frown forming on my face. “You’re still here?” I add.
“I thought maybe we could have breakfast. I’ll make you some pancakes.”
I blink at her.
Surely, she didn’t think I would be interested in having a meal with her?
When my obvious disinterest doesn’t give her a hint, I sigh.
