Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 41918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
There are a few things important to me—my bike, my motorcycle club, and the safety of my town.
Then I see Emma Lawson for the first time, touching my Harley, and she becomes all that matters.
I will keep her safe and show her my love. I will make her mine—body and soul. No matter what.
I want to touch her, taste her, and claim her.
God help any man who thinks of standing in my way.
Emma
Before Luke Morgan appeared, fear owned me. Terrifying memories lay in the darkness.
That is until an Iron Guardian pierces the night and banishes those terrors.
There’s a connection from the very first moment I see him, so powerful it shocks me, and as the motorcycle rumbles under me and the wind rushes through my hair, I can’t deny that I’m in trouble.
Will Luke, my Iron Guardian, be able to heal me and chase my stalker ex away at the same time?
And will we be able to find our happy ending, or will it all go down in flames?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
EMMA
Idream about that night quite often, when Macy stepped in front of me and was thrown to the ground. It replays over and over again—the sound of her head hitting the pavement, the smell of the dank, mildewy alleyway, and my screams echoing off the stone walls.
It doesn't matter that Macy recovered. It doesn't matter that she probably doesn't blame me for what happened. Because I blame myself. We were only sixteen, but I should have been braver, and maybe Macy wouldn't have had to move away. Maybe I wouldn't have lost her.
I'm not sleeping now, but the images and memories of that night are almost as vivid as if I was. Standing in the breezeway of Stonebridge University's library, clutching the straps of my backpack like two nylon lifelines, all I can see when I look out into the darkness is the horror of that alley. The gaslight street lamps and the emerald green grass of the concourse, even the few students milling about, aren't enough to settle my nerves. Logically I know I'm safe, but fear like the kind residing inside me doesn't follow logic.
How could I have been so stupid? I had everything planned out in my head—study until right before sunset, and then walk back to my dorm while there was still light outside. What I hadn't planned for was finding the perfect source for my essay and getting so distracted with it that I lost track of time. Which is why I'm standing here, the library about to close behind me, and the gathering darkness spreading out in front.
The shadows seem to be creeping toward me, ready to swallow me whole. The streetlights aren't nearly enough to keep them at bay, and every flicker or shift is a fresh jolt of dread. I could call for a cab or an Uber, I suppose, but there's no guarantee they could get to campus quickly, especially if they're busy on a Friday night. And the librarian isn't going to let me stand here forever.
So I have to walk. There's no helping it. With a deep breath, I push the glass doors open, and the cool night air rushes in to greet me.
Slowly, deliberately, I walk down the concrete library stairs to the sidewalk. It's a ten-minute walk to my dorm.
It's a ten-minute walk and you'll be fine.
With my shoulders hunched and my eyes focused straight ahead, I start down the sidewalk.
I try to stay aware of my surroundings, to hear and see anything approaching. But the wind picks up, rustling the leaves that have already fallen from the trees in early autumn and making the streetlights waver even more. My ears strain, picking out footsteps and any hint of danger.
By the time I'm halfway there, I'm a tightly wound ball of anxiety. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage like a jackhammer, and my inhalations are shallow and quick.
I stop to catch my breath, pressing a hand to my chest and closing my eyes. My knees are trembling, and I'm afraid I might collapse. The feeling of vulnerability is overwhelming, like I'm a mouse trapped out in the open.
I need something—someone—to help me feel safe. Even for just a moment, even if it's irrational. Swallowing hard, I look around for any sort of business to step into for a respite. There’s nothing, though. At least not on this stretch of campus.
My salvation is totally unexpected. When I turn the next corner, I expect another empty street, the old stone buildings dark for the evening now that class is done. Instead, there's a small grouping of motorcycles, parked in the side lot of a bar. I squint, barely able to make out the lettering on a few of the bikes—Iron Guardians. I've heard of them. They're the motorcycle club that serves as protectors in the local community. Their reputation is solid, and they've done a lot for Stonebridge.
Before I can think better of it, I find myself walking toward the bikes. They are all immaculately maintained, with silver shields painted on them, but one bike in particular catches my eye. It's big and imposing, made of sleek black metal and chrome, but this one has a gold shield, and the black paint is shot through with hints of turquoise when the streetlamp light hits it just right. Instinctively, I reach out and touch it, running my fingers along the handlebars. The metal is cold beneath my fingertips, but somehow the sensation is calming, grounding.
"Like what you see?" a low voice rumbles.
Startled, I jump back, my heart racing. A tall man steps out of the shadows, moving closer to me but not totally into the light. Panic rears its ugly head, making me press a hand over my pounding heart and stumble until I bump into the bike. Then it registers that he’s wearing a jacket, emblazoned with the same gold shield as the bike behind me, and I relax a few degrees.