I had it all. Or, at least, that’s what everyone else thought. Between my husband being the president of the Demons of Hell and his club, I had a “family.” Except the only thing that made us a family was my husband’s persistent reminders that it was. But a family doesn’t turn a blind eye to things. A family doesn’t let one of their own become a punching bag for their mistakes. For all the pent-up anger and frustration for something that isn’t even my fault. My “family” was the reason I nearly died. And when Rage came into my life, he was all I could see. The only thing that suddenly mattered. Too bad I didn’t listen to the warnings before I became obsessed. After all, with a name like Rage, what was I expecting?