Havoc Stole Her From His Best Friend

The night of my engagement party, I walked barefoot out of the Hounds' chapel with my shoes in my hand and my heart in the trash. Two years in Corpus Christi, two years of a strip-mall chair and a decent man who flosses. Then Crow dies, and Havoc rides five hours south to tell me to my face. He could have called. He rents the unit next door. He buys the building. He stands outside in the rain and doesn't knock. He is ten years older than me, twice as dangerous as the man who broke me, and the only person who ever told me the truth about Crow. This isn't a wedding story. It's a get-out-of-my-way-and-watch-me-heal story, with a man on his knees at the end.