I was born a 1%ER. I earned the right to be a King. For the past ten years, I’ve dedicated my life upholding the legacy that is Kings of Carnage Motorcycle Club. My job as a Nomad is to ensure that King Nation thrives as a whole. And that the poor decisions of one charter doesn’t determine the fate of the patch. When I get the unsettling news that ghosts of the club’s past have come back to haunt our mother chapter, I head home to Uprising—prepared to unleash Hell on those who think they can take the kingdom myself and my brothers before me built. What I’m not prepared for is the loud, infuriating, foul mouthed brat with the ridiculous name who cleans the clubhouse. Despite her incessant talking and overly cheerful mood, there’s a sadness in her eyes that pulls at my protective instinct. Ignoring the feeling is easy. Until she comes up missing. And for the first time in ten years, I find myself questioning if King Nation is still most important thing in my life. When you’ve been cursed with a name like mine, you develop a thick skin and a high tolerance for jerks. But even Apple Seven VanHolland wasn’t a horrible enough name to prepare me for Kings of Carnage Nomad Bouncer. He’s the most narcissistic person I’ve ever met. Even his sexy tattoos, perfect body, and killer eyes can’t atone for his rudeness. He acts as though he can’t stand me. But I notice the way he looks at me—like he can see into my soul. Like he can sense my despair. My struggle. And most importantly, the war that rages inside me. Unbeknownst to him, I can see his too.