But “Stay Alive,” along with every song I’ve ever heard by the masterful Gonzalez, is essential to life.

I took chances with this series, starting with Knight and onward through the tortuous beauty that followed with Creed, Raid and Deacon. As ever and always, I thank my readers, my fabulous Rock Chicks, those who had a direct cheerleading hand in the birth of this series (and you know who you are) to those who championed it simply by buying the books.

I love it that you love my worlds.

As much as I may try to explain how much, no words can express it.

I’m blessed by legions of champions.

How do you express gratitude for that?

The only way I know how is to give you the best story I can.

To that end, I hope with all my heart you fall in love with Sebring.

You’re here forever and you’re by my side.

Prologue

For Her

Nick

“Nick.”

He was sweating. His wrists torn raw. His muscles strained well beyond pain. The gag in his mouth filthy, and not just with his blood and saliva.

His eyes were locked to hers.

“Nick.”

As the asshole made his approach, his gun aimed to her head, he didn’t speak. Didn’t touch her. Didn’t take off her gag and let her say a thing.

She was speaking, though.

To Nick.

Her eyes were filled.

With love, as usual.

And fear.

“Nick!”

He jolted awake.

Instantly gripping the wrist at his shoulder, his body knifed up and twisted off the couch. Yanking the wrist up a man’s back, Nick forced him forward with the intent of shoving him against the wall.

“Nick,” the voice was soft now. “Brother.”

That voice hit him, the fact the man wasn’t struggling hit him, he let him go and stepped back.

His brother, Knight, turned to face him.

Bending slightly, Knight switched on a light by the couch. Through the now-illuminated room, he caught Nick’s eyes.

“You’re not sleeping well,” Knight told him quietly. “Heard you all the way down the hall.”

This wasn’t good. He was sleeping on his brother’s and his woman, Anya’s couch. They had two little girls. Little girls needed their sleep. What they never needed was their uncle losing it down the hall and waking them.

Nick tore his hand through his hair and turned his head away, muttering, “Sorry.”

He felt something and twisted his neck, looking to the doorway where Anya was standing, wearing a long, gray cashmere robe, her beautiful face troubled but her eyes were warm on him.

Knight saw her too.

“Go back to bed, baby,” he called gently.

She didn’t look from Nick. “You need anything, Nick?”

“I’m good, Anya,” he lied. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her face no less troubled, her eyes still warm but also concerned and moving to her man.