Five years ago, Creed "Havoc" Donovan stood in the shadows and watched the only woman he'd ever loved walk down the aisle toward a monster—and he let it happen. He told himself it was strategy. He told himself she'd understand.
He was wrong.
When Creed finally puts a bullet through Reaper Ceraldo's skull, he expects gratitude. What he gets is Alana Scanlon. Not the soft, yielding woman he left behind, but something forged in five years of fire. Sharp. Brittle. Unbreakable. She has no interest in being rescued by the man she holds responsible for every scar.
Now they're running. Reaper's successor has put a bounty on both their heads, and to him, Alana was never a wife. She was stock.
Trapped together in dustbowl safehouses and desert motels, they wage a war that looks like hatred and feels like something neither of them can afford.
She doesn't want to be saved. He doesn't know how to love without destroying.
Some rescues come too late. Some loves leave marks you can't wash off. Some wars only end when you stop running—from the enemy, and from each other.
He was wrong.
When Creed finally puts a bullet through Reaper Ceraldo's skull, he expects gratitude. What he gets is Alana Scanlon. Not the soft, yielding woman he left behind, but something forged in five years of fire. Sharp. Brittle. Unbreakable. She has no interest in being rescued by the man she holds responsible for every scar.
Now they're running. Reaper's successor has put a bounty on both their heads, and to him, Alana was never a wife. She was stock.
Trapped together in dustbowl safehouses and desert motels, they wage a war that looks like hatred and feels like something neither of them can afford.
She doesn't want to be saved. He doesn't know how to love without destroying.
Some rescues come too late. Some loves leave marks you can't wash off. Some wars only end when you stop running—from the enemy, and from each other.