Wounded Warrior, that’s what they call me. But that’s not who I am. I’m broken, physically and mentally, beyond repair. And I’m no warrior. The only thing I’m good for is sharing my story when the mood strikes me and ignoring the pitying looks when storytime is over.
Why, then, can’t I ignore the searing stare of the blonde beauty? I try but she is a perfect representation of my old life, my pre-war life. A life I took for granted. Even worse, she keeps dangling a very tempting carrot in front of me and tearing down walls that I carefully built to protect myself.
It’s not easy being the twin of an MC president but it’s a position I’ve accepted and learned to embrace. I grew up knowing that our club would always be my home, my North Star in a demented world. I never dreamed I would find another place, another family that would give me even more purpose in life. Working with veterans feeds my soul in ways the club can’t.
Then he shows up and rocks my foundation. He’s the very best of both worlds, but he doesn’t see it. Within minutes of first laying eyes on him, I vow to do whatever it takes to help him figure out how to bridge the divide. There’s a giant flaw in my plan though. I’m the one who ends up needing him. I’m the one who may not survive without his help. And I’m not entirely certain he’s capable of giving it.
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