Mason Metcalf, vice president of the Knights of Chaos Motorcycle Club is a very bad man. His willingness to do anything for the club, his organizational genius and attention to detail having engineered a meteoric rise to power second only to the president, his club counts heavily on his skill and ruthlessness. After a brief and vicious gunfight, like the prize in a box of Cracker Jacks, the Knights pull a frantic and badly bruised girl out of a cage in the back of the SUV belonging to the dead corono of their erstwhile trading partners—spoils of war.
Snatched off the street near her university by members of a street gang, ordered like pizza by an unknown entity, young Cleone Fitzwilliam-Lunzer, heir to the controlling interest in the family company, understands she is being trafficked. However, she believes it is some machination by her uncle, who desperately wants her out of the way, or some sort of hostile takeover by a member of her board of directors. Somewhere on the high-functioning end of the spectrum, Cleone, a savant and polymath, with an eidetic memory, a conveniently accommodating conscience, and old money is transported into the desert for the hand-off. Witnessing an illicit transaction that goes badly wrong, she falls into the hands of the Knights of Chaos Motorcycle Club.
They should never have met. Their worlds do not intersect. History is full of such improbable chance meetings, as if something bored and malign orchestrates events for its own amusement.
Please be advised that this book contains graphic scenes of sex and violence.