Chapter 2

Up on the second-floor metal catwalk, Chloe pinched her nose, leaning back slightly as if my very existence was emitting toxic fumes.

Deep in the shadows of the dimly lit chop shop below stood Daryl. Broad-shouldered and built like a damn tank, his chiseled face was stone-cold, devoid of any signs of life.

This was the future boss of The Yard. He was also the same cold-blooded bastard whose emotional abuse had slowly drained the life out of my twin sister in my previous life.

I pulled the key from my bike, hefted my dead-weight tool bag, and trudged through the muddy water, completely ignoring the woman on the catwalk.

"The contract." I stopped right in front of Daryl and shoved the mud-caked bag hard into his chest.

He caught it effortlessly. Didn't make a sound. His gaze shifted from the canvas bag up to my face. Not a single word.

I shook out my dripping wet hair and shot him a cold glare. "I'm Samantha. Sign it, then tell me where the shower is. I've been riding non-stop for three days, and right now, I smell like a busted exhaust pipe."

Chloe's trembling voice wafted down from above. "Daryl... why is she so completely classless?"

I didn't even bother looking back. "Buckle up, sweetheart. I'm just getting started."

I casually hung my helmet on a rusty metal rack and strode deeper into the shop without waiting for his response. He could either lead the way, or I'd find it myself.

Ten seconds later, the heavy thud of leather boots sounded behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. There was Daryl, effortlessly carrying my heavy tool bag, wearing that same deadpan expression.

Perfect. A walking brick wall. No wonder Serena was trapped here with absolutely no way out. Chloe played the helpless victim, fanning the flames, while he countered with absolute silence. Against that dynamic, my proud, gentle sister never stood a chance.

But I didn't have her temper. If someone crossed me, I had no problem burning this piece-of-shit garage to the ground. Or just skipping straight to violence.

The marriage arrangements moved fast. A few days later, our so-called "wedding" took place right here in the gang's underground garage.

No priest, no vows. The air was thick with the stench of cheap liquor, stale cigarettes, and harsh motor oil. Nobody gave a damn about giving their blessing—every tattooed thug in the joint was just waiting for a punchline.

"I'm so jealous of Samantha."

Chloe's voice drifted through the crowd. Soft. Trembling. Perfectly timed.

"Sitting pretty as the lady of the house, all thanks to a piece of paper signed by the elders. She's so lucky." She dabbed at her reddened eyes. "If only I could..."

The heavy metal music cut out. The chatter died. Dozens of gang members snapped their heads around—first to her, then to me.

Chloe stood there, covering half her face, her frail shoulders quivering. This manipulative, passive-aggressive bullshit was way too familiar. If it were my sister, she would have been paralyzed by this silent guilt trip, made to feel like the ultimate bully.

I wasn't buying a single ounce of it.

I didn't waste a breath talking. I closed the distance to Daryl in a few long strides, grabbed him by the lapels of his black leather jacket, and yanked the massive guy down to my level. Tilting my head up, I smashed my lips against his.

It was entirely predatory. I sank my teeth into his lower lip without a shred of mercy until I tasted copper.

A dead silence blanketed the underground garage. Everyone's eyes were practically bulging out of their skulls. An outsider had just brutally kissed and drawn blood from their ruthless boss in front of his entire crew.

I pulled back just enough to wipe the smear of crimson from the corner of my mouth with my thumb, then finally turned to look at Chloe. She was frozen in place, her jaw slightly slack, eyes wide with sheer disbelief.

"When it comes to territory and men, you need to understand one thing." I reached up, my thumb arrogantly smudging the vivid drop of blood on Daryl's lip. "You don't get them by crying and begging. You take them because you can. And I just stamped my claim."

I leaned comfortably against Daryl's hard chest, wrapping an arm around his waist, and flashed a razor-sharp smirk at the runner-up. "Cry all you want. But when you're shedding tears over someone else's legal husband at their own wedding—do me a favor and bring your own tissues."

Daryl's expression remained entirely blank. But the tips of his ears were burning red.

The crowd erupted into a flurry of whispers. I didn't care. Every beast in this room had seen the blood I left on his mouth. That was enough.

Chloe blinked hard, forcing back her tears, and shifted into a mask of long-suffering martyrdom as she looked at Daryl.

"As long as you're happy, that's all that matters. I just wanted to remind you... tomorrow is the anniversary. Ever since that year, you've spent this exact night alone with me."

She swallowed hard, her voice trembling just loud enough for every single person to hear. "I've set everything up at the usual spot. But... if your new bride is going to throw a fit, please, don't come to me tomorrow. A rough night like that... I can get through it on my own."

I can get through it on my own.

The second those words dropped, the stares boring into me turned into mocking anticipation. Everyone was waiting for the lawful wife to throw a hysterical tantrum or shrink away in humiliation.

And Daryl? He didn't offer a single syllable in his own defense.

He simply gave a blank nod. "I'll be there."

My hand was still resting on his waist, but my knuckles turned bone-white as my fingers dug fiercely into the thick leather of his jacket.

A second later, without an ounce of hesitation, I brought my right knee up, using his complete lack of guard to drive a brutal, full-force strike straight into his gut.