HEIRS OF VIOLENCE

Zayden didn’t waste a second. The tires screeched as he peeled away from the curb, the street disappearing behind us.

A hand reached for me, pulling me across the seat. Caiden. He hauled me onto his lap, his mouth crashing into mine without a word. The kiss was hungry, desperate. His fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to make my breath hitch. I cupped his face, dragging him closer.

“Do we need to pull over?” Zayden asked, glancing at us through the rearview mirror.

Caiden broke the kiss just long enough to meet his eyes. “Dude,” he said flatly, “shut the fuck up and drive.”

I smacked his chest lightly, grinning. “Lay off him. He was only joking.”

“Yeah, and we’re family,” Zayden shot back. “You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

I laughed at their banter and rested my head in the crook of Caiden’s neck. His throat vibrated against my cheek as he continued to curse Z out under his breath. They argued over the smallest things—something I’d always found weirdly comforting. Business partners. College roommates. Cousins. It was inevitable.

Their fathers were brothers, the men who ran Rhodes Oil—the world’s largest oil manufacturer. Once Zayden and Caiden graduated, they’d step neatly into their fathers’ shadows and inherit everything.

Caiden’s arms wrapped around me, his lips brushing softly against the top of my head. It had been months since we’d last seen each other. Sneaking out was the only way now. Every time my father left, I followed—because I knew he always took my brothers with him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, mentally retracing every step of my plan. Every lie. Every contingency. That’s was why Z was driving Mia’s pink BMW. If anything went wrong, I could always say I’d been out with her.

The things my father would do to Caiden if he found out made my stomach twist. Torture would be the mildest option. Worse still, if he knew I wasn’t a virgin anymore. My father was a cruel man—unhinged in ways he hid behind power and money—and that was how he raised us.

Meeting Caiden a year ago shattered everything I thought was normal. He made me want out. He was pure—well, mostly, aside from his mouth when it came to Z. He was the love of my life. I’d do anything for him.

Which was exactly why I kept sneaking out, knowing full well my father would unleash hell on both of us if he ever found out.

“Focus on the road,” Mia snapped. “I swear to God, Z, if you wreck my car, I’ll personally put a bullet in your head.”

She dragged her fingers through her long black hair, eyes locked on him.

“Then why didn’t you drive?” Z shot back.

“Because I had to finish my makeup,” Mia replied without missing a beat.

“You’ll never be Suki,” Caiden called from the back.

We all burst out laughing. Mia flipped us off.

Mia Chen—my best friend—had been obsessed with Suki since we were kids. That obsession was the reason the pink BMW existed. She even street-raced with the guys whenever she got the chance. 

“That bitch wishes she could be me,” Mia said smugly.

Our dads were best friends. They bonded over shared trauma and bloodshed.

My father was sent to China with his mother after his own father murdered the head of the Matteo family. No one thought to look for them there—especially not in the rural outskirts where they hid under borrowed names.

That’s where he met Hiro. Hiro was a runner for a local drug operation—small-time, fast, and desperate. He knew the streets. My father knew violence.

Hiro taught him how to move unnoticed, who to trust, and how the city really worked. In return, my father taught him how to fight—how to survive when things turned bloody.

When my father eventually returned to America and took control, Hiro followed. Together, they built something dangerous—expanding their influence across the States and into China through networks, routes, and alliances that were nearly untouchable.

Our dynamic was strange—two girls raised in families that thrived on crime, paired with two preppy boys born into old money. Somehow, it worked. Caiden and I were in love, and Mia and Z gave off nothing but sibling energy. Against all odds, we always made it work.

A few minutes later, we parked Mia’s car beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. Mia pulled out a thick stack of cash and handed it to Bo. He was homeless, but he could fight like hell. He always watched Mia’s car whenever she disappeared. We’d been doing this since high school—her father would never suspect she’d talk to a homeless man, let alone leave her car under the bridge.

“You girls ready?” Z asked, strapping on his helmet.

He fired up his bike and revved the engine twice. It gleamed the perfect shade of blue. Mia rushed over, snatching her helmet from his hands and settling it carefully over her hair. Z caught her hand and helped her swing onto the bike behind him.

“C’mere, baby.”

Caiden leaned against his bike, helmet already on. I walked over, taking mine from his hands.

He lifted me easily, setting me on the back of his bike. He tightened the strap beneath my chin and tapped the top of my helmet gently before climbing on. His hands guided mine around his waist, securing my grip. The engine purred as he brought it to life, rolling the bike back before easing forward.

We pulled out from beneath the bridge and merged onto the freeway.

Z took off first, flying past us without slowing down. Mia’s hair streamed behind her in the wind. Caiden squeezed my thigh—a silent warning. Hold on.

He revved the engine, and we surged forward, climbing onto the bridge. We weaved in and out of traffic as horns blared around us. I tightened my grip, heart pounding, the city blurring into streaks of light as the night swallowed us whole.

I’d always felt a sense of freedom on the back of Caiden’s bike—like nothing could touch me there. Like the world couldn’t reach me. That feeling only pulled me closer to him.

That was how we met.

I’d been leaving a party—drunk, reckless, numb. A few hours earlier, my father had ripped me apart, and all I wanted was to feel something. Anything. I remember stumbling toward a group of guys sitting on their bikes, engines cooling, laughter lingering in the air.

One of them caught my eye. Brown hair. A perfect, stupidly white smile. Something about him felt calm in a way that pissed me off.

That was Caiden.

I told him to give me a ride. His black-and-red bike was mesmerizing, practically calling to me. He said no.

So I pulled out my gun and threatened to shoot him.

His eyes widened. Not in anger—just shock. He only had one helmet, and without another word, he handed it to me.

I think that was when I broke.

Heartbroken. Intoxicated. Furious at the world and desperate to disappear. We rode all night, the city blurring beneath us, and somehow… we never stopped.

We haven’t left each other alone since. 

We pulled into downtown Brooklyn, the bass from nearby houses already rattling the air. The University of Tandon always threw the best parties. Every Friday night, it got so bad the cops didn’t even bother showing up anymore—they just blocked off the surrounding streets and let the chaos burn itself out.

A few of Caiden’s old high school classmates went there. They lived in a frat house just off campus.

Caiden and Z parked the bikes across the street. Mia hopped off first, fixing her hair and reapplying her lip gloss like we were headed to brunch instead of a war zone. She reached into her jacket, pulled out her gun, cocked it once, then slid it back beneath her shirt—loaded and ready.

“Aspen.” Mia tossed me a small pistol, no bigger than my hand. “I always bring two.”

I caught it easily, cocked it, and tucked it into my waistband.

I glanced at Caiden. His jaw tightened. He hated it when I carried a gun. Hated even more when I had to threaten to use it. But he didn’t understand where we came from.

Our fathers were criminals. They ran this country from the shadows. And you never really knew who was watching us—or who was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.  I wanted to live a normal life with Caiden, but I can’t leave my roots. This was my normality, and I hated it just as much as he did. 

“You girls ready to go?” Z asked.

“Yeah.” Mia said happily, “Let’s go party.” 

Caiden reached for my hands and pulled me along behind him. Z and Mia made a beeline for the entrance, disappearing into the crowd. We took our time—which I hated.

Caiden was well known. He was a Rhodes. And because of that, every girl’s head turned as he walked past. They watched him openly, shamelessly. He was eye candy in every sense of the word—brown, fluffy hair that never stayed in place, a killer smile, sleeve tattoos covering both arms and one leg, and the most irresistible detail of all: he rode a bike.

That alone made him a fantasy. The sweetheart biker with a dangerous edge. It didn’t hurt that he actually was kind—raised with three younger sisters, patience came naturally to him.

Still, it grated on me.

He waved politely at girls he’d known in high school, familiar faces from a life that felt far away now. His grip on my hand never loosened, though, grounding me as we moved forward.

We stepped into the party, and almost immediately people swarmed Caiden—dap­ping him up, clapping his shoulders, shouting his name over the music. He pulled me closer instinctively, one arm wrapping around my waist as if to anchor me.

“Excuse us,” he said easily, already guiding us forward.

My brows furrowed as he steered us deeper into the crowd. I hated how effortlessly he moved through rooms like this—like he belonged everywhere. We finally stopped in the kitchen, and Caiden’s eyes swept the room before landing on our favorite blonde.

“Theo!” he called over the music, catching his attention. Caiden pointed upward, a subtle gesture that only made my curiosity spike.

Theo grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.

Without another word, Caiden pulled me back into the crowd, this time heading straight for the stairs.

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to keep up.

He flashed that perfect smile—the one that always meant trouble. “You’ll see.”

We climbed the stairs, the noise of the party dulling as we moved farther into the house. A long hallway stretched out in front of us, ending with a single closed bedroom door. Caiden pushed it open, guiding me inside before locking it behind us.

He turned to face me.

“What are you doing?” I laughed, nerves and excitement tangling in my chest.

He didn’t answer—just smiled as he stepped closer, lifting me effortlessly off the floor. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bed, the world outside the door fading away completely.

This wouldn’t be the first time we’d hooked up in one of Caiden’s friends’ rooms. Or a hotel. Or one of our cars. But I had never stepped foot inside his house—and he had never stepped foot inside mine.

We paused, looking at each other for a long moment. His eyes searched mine, steady and careful.

He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Are you comfortable with this?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Caiden nodded, and then leaned down, kissing me again—harder this time, urgent, hungry, as if he’d been holding back the world from us both.

“I want to make love to you, Aspen.” 

I nodded my head, kissing him. This time, the kiss was more urgent—hungry, teasing, a spark of danger in it. I clutched his arms, letting myself get lost in the thrill of being somewhere we weren’t supposed to be, feeling that mix of fear and desire that only he could evoke.