First message
Daisy didn't flee because of cold feet; she fled because she overheard her groom, a corrupt senator’s son, discussing her "accidental" demise for insurance money. Clutching her silk train, she sprinted from the chapel and vaulted onto the back of a matte-black Harley idling at a red light.
"Drive!" she screamed.
Johnny, known in the underworld as Ghost, didn't hesitate. A former Special Ops scout turned club Enforcer, Ghost lived in the shadows to escape a past stained by a botched extraction. He twisted the throttle, the roar of the engine swallowing her gasps as they tore through the city limits.
He didn't stop until they reached a secluded overlook. Ghost kicked the stand down, his piercing gaze tracking the tear-stained mascara on her face. He didn't care for damsels, but he recognized the look of a hunted animal—he’d worn it for years.
"You’ve got ten seconds," Ghost growled, leaning against the handlebars. "Is that dress a costume, or did you just leave a trail of broken hearts and angry men with guns behind us? Because if I’m dodging bullets for a stranger, I need to know whose name is on them."