CHAPTER 1: CALLING DIBS ON SIN

STEEL

College sucks; cheap cologne, ambition, and desperation all mixed up in ramen noodles and late-night regrets. I wasn't like the others. Most had something. I had nothing. Orphanage kid turned adopted son of the sheriff. I know how fast the world will devour you if you don't bite first.

I was never supposed to be here, much less leading anything. But in a matter of one semester, I wore the captain's band like I had it all my life. Soccer was not a game for me; it was war with lines and a whistle. And I always played to win.

My name? Steel. Not what I was christened with, but what I had earned. Now the prez of Vikings MC, but then, just a nineteen-year-old junior attempting to push his way through a business degree with more ink than books.

And then she walked in.

It was orientation day, the previous summer. Campus was warm and buzzing, freshmen rolling in with wide eyes and dreams greater than their comprehension. I wasn't meant to be paying attention. Already had girls lined up like a damn parade. But I felt it; her arrival hit me before her form did.

She walked in resembling sin wrapped in sunshine – curvy, blonde, blue-eyed, and so fucking flawless she didn't belong in our world. Her hips rolled like temptation had personally danced on the stage. The guys started whispering, oozing like they hadn't seen a woman before.

"Bro… that's sin walking," one of the soccer boys complained beside me.

The nickname stuck before she provided her own.

Liza.

First-year student of art and design. Seventeen, not even legal yet.

And as soon as she gave that oblivious, sweet-as-pie smile to the welcome booth, I knew I was history. That girl was going to be the force behind breaking every rule I created for myself.

I was standing between the boys at that time. "She's off limits. I'm calling dibs."

They teased initially, but one scowl from me ended that shit fast.

"Come on, Steel, this isn't high school," one of them tried.

"Right. You boys should know better." I growled after her, teeth clenched. "She's mine. She just doesn't know it yet."

I followed her with my eyes all the way across campus, as if she were a walking secret I hadn't cracked yet. She didn't look my way. Not yet. But I felt something. A pull. Like she'd been carved out for me, shaped by whatever twisted joke the universe had planned.

Turns out it wasn't a joke, Destiny.

And destiny's a cruel mistress.

I didn't know then that her name wasn't actually Liza, that it was Angel Mark. And that one time, in high school, I had her heart in my calloused hands.

I didn't know she'd vanish one day, taking with her more than her memory.

And I sure as hell didn't know that eighteen years later, my feet would be planted in front of her twin babies' dead ringer impersonations of me, with her wearing some other man's last name and a diamond engagement ring he hadn't worked for.

But that day, during that summer heat with her locked in my sights and her curves rampaging in my blood, I made the decision that would turn everything on its head.

Sin was mine.

And I never abandoned what's rightfully mine.

I didn't wait.

The next day, I stalked her Art and Design class like a freaking stalker, back to the pillar, arms crossed, biker-cut vest hugging my large frame. She came out with her sketchbook clutched to her chest, eyes scanning the hallways like she was hiding from something or someone.

"Hey, Liza."

Nothing.

She walked past me like I was nobody. Not a glance. Not a second of her time. I wasn't used to that. Girls usually threw themselves in front of me, desperate for the kind of trouble I was. But her? She acted like I wasn't even there.

I wasn't sure if I was pissed or impressed.

So I kept at it.

I waited for three days straight. Offered her my seat in the café. Tried making small talk in the hallway. Even went as far as to lay down a compliment on the raven drawing I saw sticking out of her folder.

Nothing still.

That was until Thursday.

And everything changed.

I was heading to the gym for soccer practice when I cut through the rear hallway behind the arts wing. It was quiet there, too quiet.

And then I heard it.

A muffled "No".

Low, desperate, trembling.

I froze, senses on high alert. The kind of "no" that makes adrenaline pump through your veins.

I followed the sound and burst through the door at the end of the hall.

There she was...Liza...against the wall, being pinned by one of the Fine Arts professors. The bastard had one hand over her mouth, and the other was pulling her skirt up, whispering threats like the goddamn coward that he was.

I didn't think.

I tackled him, fist meeting his jaw so hard he crashed into the easel racks and dropped like a sack of garbage.

Liza stumbled backward, breathless, tears rolling down her cheeks, her blouse ripped at the neckline.

"You okay?" I rasped, voice low and rough, chest heaving.

She nodded unsteadily but didn't speak. Her eyes were wide... haunted.

I reached out cautiously. "Hey… you're safe now. I've got you."

She tolerated it. Just barely. My hand wrapped around hers, grounding her.

Campus security came. I had nothing much to say. Just handed over the scumbag and kept my arm around her the entire time. She did not let go.

Later, sitting on the steps of the admin building, the sun beginning to set, she finally spoke.

"I know who you are."

I looked at her. Her voice was muted but firm now. "You do?

She nodded. "We went to the same high school. I was a freshman when you were a senior. You were already on the sheriff's radar for driving without a licence and punching the principal's son."

I laughed. "Sounds about right."

"You don't remember me?"

I studied her face. Something ticked. A memory. A shy pair of eyes behind big glasses, always sketching in the corner at lunch.

"Wait. You're—"

"Angel Mark," she said. "But I go by Liza now."

I held my breath.

Angel Mark.

Her.

The one girl who made me nervous in high school. The one I'd find staring at me when she didn't realise I was looking. The one I wanted to talk to but never got the opportunity because I was too busy being caught up in my own mess.

My chest tightened. "You were the one who had the little raven tattoo on your sketchbook."

She looked taken aback. "You remembered that?"

"Yeah." I smiled, more gently than I meant to. "I remember you."

For the first time since she appeared on campus, she smiled back. A hint, but it was enough. Enough to know that whatever the hell this was, it had just begun.

And I wasn't going to let her slip away this time.