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certain that once he caught my gaze in his, I’d never escape.
    I tracked up his legs, clad in faded jeans that were especially worn in the crotch area—deliciously so—and up his broad chest to his shoulders. He wore a black T-shirt stretched across his chest, along with a black leather vest with a snake patch on the front.
    Black leather.
    MC patch.
    Snake.
    I breathed harshly when I saw the scars, bunched like cords along the side of his neck. I didn’t know what would happen when I looked up farther, but I wasn’t worried. I found myself staring at a pair of angry, beautiful eyes, a calm expression that looked fierce because of scars running down the left side of his face and neck. The fresh scars that riddled his cheek did nothing to diminish his handsomeness. If anything, they made him inexorably more sexy.
    â€œCalla.”
    The voice was hoarse. Raw. Dangerous.
    Calla.
    That one word. I’d fallen in love with him when he’d said my name on the phone that very first time. It was him.
    Christian Cage Owens.
    There were so many emotions flying through me at the moment, they all fought for equal attention. When I opened my mouth, I had no idea what would come out . . .
    â€œI thought you were dead.” Not a bad
opening.
    â€œI told you I don’t break promises, sweetheart.”
    I’d been led to think he was dead for nearly two months and that’s all he could say? “Alive,
and
an asshole.”
    He gave a clipped nod of his head, but something flickered behind his eyes before they went cold and hard again. “Now that we’ve got that shit out of the way, let’s go.”
    In every dream, every fantasy, Cage came back for me, and I went with him without hesitation.
    But we were firmly entrenched in reality. “Go? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
    * * *
    If it had gone smoothly, Cage probably would’ve flatlined. Again. Instead, he stared at Calla,knowing there was no way to keep the hunger from his eyes. In his mind, he’d already laid claim to her. She’d given him something to hang on to—a reason to fight, to live, something to come back to. He’d come back for her because she’d reminded him that there was always a reason to keep fighting.
    He’d rehearsed what he was going to say to her the entire ride here.
    Hey, I didn’t die. Good to meet you.
    Thanks for taking one for the team.
    I hope you had unlimited cell phone minutes.
    Because really, what did you say to someone after she offered to help you and, in return, you fucked up her entire life? Calla Benson had a bounty on her head, because the Heathen chapter up in New York knew she’d worked for Bernie. And they knew she was missing. And even if she’d run away for reasons entirely unrelated to his shit, the Heathens would be looking for her, just in case.
    He had a bounty on his head too, but that was nothing new—he’d been born with it in place.
    And since he still hadn’t known what to say, he’d almost turned back. As it was, he’d been avoiding Tenn for weeks. Talon too. And Preacher, even though he and Tals had visited him in the hospital, had known he wasn’t dead even beforeTenn did. As soon as Cage had pulled through, they’d all walked out and now he was left with finding a way to make amends to all of them.
    But Calla was first on the list. Preacher was going to kill him anyway, so what the hell difference did it make?
    Calla.
    She was gorgeous. He’d had beautiful women before, but Calla Benson was in an entirely different league. He’d researched her as soon as he could sit up. And he hadn’t been prepared to play bad boy from the other side of the tracks to her “I’m a rich girl pretending to be something I’m not” act.
    Although maybe it wasn’t an act.
    He stilled as she stared at him. The stare was expected; the softness in her eyes while she did so, not as