She left her groom at the altar and ran straight into the last man on earth she should trust.
I don't do detours. Not for weather, not for trouble, and sure as hell not for women. But when my headlights catch a girl in a ruined lace gown stumbling down Route 9 with no shoes and mascara tracked down to her jaw, something in me forgets every rule I've ever lived by.
She tells me she's got it handled. Her shaking hands say otherwise.
I've got a war brewing with the Ironclad crew pushing into our territory, a club that needs me thinking straight, and zero room in my life for a woman running from a wedding she was supposed to want. That's what I tell myself, anyway, right up until she climbs onto the back of my bike and I feel her arms lock around my waist like she was built to be there.
One night was supposed to be enough to get her somewhere safe and send her on her way. Instead it turns into a week I can't imagine living without. She fits against me in a way that scares the hell out of both of us, and every curve of her, every soft laugh she wasn't planning on giving me, makes it harder to remember this was never supposed to be permanent.
She thinks she's escaping the life that almost swallowed her whole. She doesn't see yet that she rode straight into the one man who'll never let her go.
Ryder is a standalone slow-burn-that-isn't small-town motorcycle club romance with a full happy-ever-after. No cliffhangers, no cheating, just a curvy heroine who finally gets claimed by a man who was made for her.
