Chapter 1

The church bells rang with joy as I stood at the altar, my white dress flowing around me like a dream. The lace veil framed my face, and through it, I could see Ethan—my future, my forever—smiling back at me with promises of a perfect life ahead.

"I, Ethan Vance, take you, Aria Thorne, to be my wife..."

His voice was steady, sure. Everything I'd ever wanted was coming together. Our families watched from the pews, tears of happiness shining in their eyes. My mother dabbed at hers with a tissue, and my father's chest puffed with pride.

"To have and to hold from this day forward..."

Ethan squeezed my hands, and I felt the weight of his ring on my finger. Three more words, and our lives would officially begin together. The pastor smiled warmly, ready for my response.

But the words never came.

The church doors exploded inward with a thunderous crash that shook the stained glass windows. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass echoed through the sacred space, followed by screams as wedding guests scrambled for cover.

"Get down!" someone shouted.

I froze, unable to process what was happening as a dozen leather-clad figures stormed through the wreckage. Their boots thundered against the marble floor, the sound reverberating through my bones. Bikers. Actual bikers, with their jackets emblazoned with a snarling wolf logo.

My mother's scream pierced through the chaos. "Aria! Run!"

But I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The wedding guests scattered like frightened birds, some ducking under pews, others bolting for side exits. A woman's heel broke as she tried to flee, sending her crashing to the floor. No one stopped to help her.

At the head of this nightmare procession walked a man whose presence seemed to suck all the air from the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a jagged scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. His eyes were black as midnight, cold as winter steel.

Jax "Ripper" Ryder.

I'd heard whispers of his name, rumors of his brutality. Leader of the Dark Night Wolves motorcycle club. The man whose very existence seemed to defy justice and morality.

Beside him strode another biker, thinner but no less menacing. His smile spread across his face like a predator enjoying the hunt. Cain "Spike" Malloy, Jax's lieutenant. The man who carried out the dirty work.

They moved forward in formation, a wall of leather and muscle. And they were heading straight for us.

"Keep going," I whispered to Ethan, my voice trembling. "Say your vows."

But Ethan had gone deathly pale, his eyes fixed on Jax with naked terror.

Jax approached the altar with deliberate, measured steps. Each footfall echoed in the sudden silence that had fallen over the church. He didn't spare Ethan a glance. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and something in his expression shifted—not quite recognition, but something that made my skin crawl.

"Aria Thorne," he said, my name sounding like a death sentence on his lips.

Ethan stepped back, his hand slipping from mine as if burned.

Jax reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was stained with something dark—blood, maybe—and creased from being handled roughly. He unfolded it slowly, deliberately, before holding it up.

"Ethan Vance," Jax said, his gravelly voice filling the church. "IOU: Fifty thousand dollars. Payment due upon demand."

Ethan's face crumpled. "I can explain—"

"You don't owe me explanations," Jax cut him off. "You owe me money."

"I need more time," Ethan pleaded, his voice cracking. "Just a few more weeks—"

Jax's laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. "Terms have changed."

He stepped closer, and I could smell leather and something metallic—blood, definitely blood—on him.

"Collateral has been arranged," Jax continued, his eyes never leaving mine. "Your debt is settled by her."

My heart stopped. The world tilted sideways as I looked between them.

"What?" I whispered.

Ethan stumbled backward, his face pale with relief rather than horror. Relief? I stared at him, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"I had no choice," he muttered, not meeting my eyes. "They said they'd kill me if I didn't agree."

No protest. No fight. Not even a glance in my direction as he essentially handed me over to these monsters.

"She'll understand," he added, as if that somehow made it better.

The man I was about to marry—the man I'd given everything to—had just sold me like cattle.

Something inside me shattered. Not just my heart, but my entire understanding of the world.

Without thinking, I turned and ran. My wedding dress tangled around my legs as I stumbled toward the church's side exit. White satin caught on my heels, but I didn't care. I had to get out. Had to escape.

The massive oak door loomed ahead. Freedom.

I pushed against it—

And couldn't budge it.

A mountain of a man stood in front of it. Marcus "Grizz" Jones—another of Jax's lieutenants—blocked the exit with casual ease. His arms were crossed over his chest, a beard covering most of his face except for his eyes. Cold. Watching.

"Let me out," I demanded, trying to push past him.

His hand shot out, gripping my arm with gentle firmness that nonetheless held me in place.

"Let me go!" I screamed, struggling against him.

With one fluid motion, he lifted me off my feet. I kicked and clawed at him, but it was like fighting a statue.

My bouquet fell from my grasp, scattering white roses across the floor like fallen tears.

As Grizz held me there, suspended and helpless, I heard Jax's boots approaching behind me.

"It seems," he said softly, almost gently, "that you're coming with us, Aria Thorne."