The past is called the past for a reason. Two years, four months, and three days ago, I walked away from my life to save myself. I’ve moved on, but never forward. I don’t want to look back; all I want is my sister and to get the hell out of Archer’s Creek – but he won’t let me. Always there, he refuses to let my secrets stay hidden. He’s not my type: old, opinionated, and dangerous – I hate him. Except when he touches me; then I don’t hate him at all.
The person you are is a product of the things you do. The last ten years I’ve found ways to deal with the shadows that haunt me. My life is good: ride-club-fuck repeat. I don’t want or need anything else. But now there’s her and I can’t stay away. She’s angry, lonely, and hiding a past that might be as dark as my own. She hates me, and I love it.