She had to go back to Wynette. But … “I’m—I’m a coward, Meg. I can’t face my family yet.”

“Luce, they love you. They’ll understand.”

“Tell them I’m sorry.” She fought back tears. “Tell them I love them, and I know I’ve made a horrible mess of everything, and that I’ll come back and clean it up, but … Not tonight. I can’t do it tonight.”

“All right. I’ll tell them. But—”

She disconnected before Meg could ask her any more questions she had no way of answering.

A crushing fatigue swept over her. She’d slept badly for weeks, and today’s awful events had used up whatever energy she had left. Panda had disappeared in the woods, and as he came out, she decided to let him get drunk in peace. She gazed at the blanket spread on the hard ground and thought of the narrow, comfortable beds in the private presidential quarters of Air Force One and the blackout shades that covered the windows with the push of a button. She gingerly lay back on the farthest edge of the blanket and gazed at the stars.

She wished she had a biker name to hide behind. Something tough. Something strong and menacing. Everything she wasn’t.

She fell asleep thinking up biker names. Snake … Fang … Venom …

Viper.

Chapter Two

THE DAMP MORNING CHILL AWAKENED her. She eased her eyes open to see straws of peach pushing through the low clouds. Her body ached everywhere; she was cold, dirty, and as nauseated now as she’d been when she’d fallen asleep. This was the first day of what should have been her honeymoon. She imagined Ted waking up, thinking the same thing, hating her …

Panda slept next to her in his wrinkled white dress shirt. He lay on his back, his wild, irresponsible hair in chaotic twists and snarls around his head. Blue-black stubble covered his jaw, and a dirty smudge marred his blunt-tipped nose. She hated being so close to him, so she came awkwardly to her feet. His suit coat slipped off her and dropped to the blanket. She winced as she wedged her feet into her stilettos and limped into the trees. On the way, she spotted six empty beer bottles tossed in the weeds, sordid symbols of what she’d gotten herself into.

Ted had rented a honeymoon villa on the beach at St. Barts. Maybe he’d go by himself, although what could be worse than a honeymoon for one? Not even waking up at the side of a river in the middle of nowhere next to a surly, hungover, potentially dangerous biker.

When she came out, he was standing by the river, his back to her. Last night’s fantasy of Viper, the tough-talking biker girl, faded away, and it seemed rude to ignore him. “Good morning,” she said quietly.

He grunted.