The Ghost Who Guarded Me

The Ghost Who Guarded Me isn't your typical second-chance romance. It's the kind where the hero doesn't just break the heroine's heart. He puts a bullet in her shoulder. He leaves her for dead in a desert grave. He lets her believe he chose evil over her. And he does it all to keep her alive. The Reckoning When the club discovers Catalina is alive, Cade reaches her first. He offers the only protection he can give: marriage. In the MC world, a wife is untouchable. Harm her and you declare war. She agrees for her daughter. Not for him. Living together, she discovers the truth: his safe holds five years of evidence, all prepared for her reckoning. His cruelty was never cruelty. It was the only way to keep her alive. Now she must decide if understanding is the same as forgiveness. And the club is already coming for them both. The Premise Catalina Salazar was the daughter of a motorcycle club president, a good man who believed in honor, even among outlaws. When her father dies under suspicious circumstances, Catalina becomes a target. The club needs a scapegoat for a federal investigation. She's convenient. Expendable. Cade Reyes is the man she loves. He's also the club's rising enforcer. When the vote comes down, he faces an impossible choice: defend her and die beside her, or condemn her publicly and pray she survives. He chooses condemnation. In front of the entire club, he calls her a traitor. He volunteers to execute her. He puts a bullet in her shoulder deliberately and dumps her in a mass grave with a corpse to explain the blood. He leaves her a bag: water, cash, a map, a passport. She wakes among the dead. She walks out of the desert. She crosses the river alone. She doesn't know he planned it. She only knows he chose them over her. The Five Years Catalina builds a new life in Texas. She discovers she's pregnant. She raises their daughter alone. She builds an embroidery business from nothing, one stitch at a time. She learns to survive without him. Cade stays inside the club. He becomes the president's most trusted weapon while secretly collecting evidence against the men who killed Catalina's father and framed his daughter. He doesn't know she survived. He doesn't know about their child. He only knows he has to finish what he started.

Chapters

Chapter 1

Five Years Ago. El Paso, Texas.

The compound sat three miles from the Rio Grande.

Catarina Salazar had crossed that river as a child, hand tight in her father's, his wedding ring pressing bruises into her knuckles. She remembered the water. How it kept moving even when everything else stopped.

Tonight, the river might as well have been a thousand miles away.

She stood at the head of the long table in the main room of the Cantos del Diablo clubhouse. Devil's Songs.

Her father's name for them. He'd believed in music, in loyalty, in honor among men who sold sin across state lines.

He'd been dead eleven months. Heart attack in the garage, engine running, radio playing Vicente Fernández. They found him with his tools still in his hands.

No one touched his bike. No one touched his daughter.

Until tonight.

Catarina kept her spine straight. Her black dress was the same one she'd worn to his burial. It hung loose now. The men at the table didn't notice. They never noticed anything that didn't bleed or pay.

Thirteen of them. Patched members. The ones who voted.

At the far end, Elias Vela rolled a quarter across his knuckles. New president. Old cruelty. He'd waited eleven months to make his move.

"We have a problem," Elias said.

No greeting. No acknowledgment that she'd once called him tío. That he'd bounced her on his knee at compound barbecues while her father grilled carne asada and laughed with his whole chest.

That man was gone. Maybe he'd never existed.

"The FBI task force has a source." Elias placed both palms flat on the table. "Internal. Someone's been feeding them manifests. Delivery windows. Routes we've run clean for six years."

He didn't look at her.

No one did.

Catarina understood then. The way you understand a bullet has left the chamber before you hear the shot.

"We need a traitor," she said.

Her voice sounded like someone else's. Steady. Almost bored.

Elias's quarter stopped rolling.

"We need".... he corrected slowly.... "the traitor."

She should have ran when her father died. Should have taken the cash he kept in the freezer, the spare registration for the truck, the road atlas with routes circled in pencil. Should have crossed back over the river and disappeared into the interior where the Devil's Songs had no reach.

But she'd stayed. Because this was her home. Because her father built it. Because Marcos Salazar had believed in redemption, in second chances, in the possibility that men who dealt in darkness could still hold light in their hands.

Foolish man.

Dead man.

"You need a body," Catarina said. "Someone to feed the task force. Someone to convict in the court of public fucking opinion so you can keep running your loads north."

Hector Fuentes shifted in his seat. Sergeant-at-arms. Her father's closest friend for thirty years. He stared at the grain of the wooden table like it contained the names of his children.

He wouldn't meet her eyes.

None of them would.

Except one.

At the far left of the table, pressed against the wall like he was trying to merge with the concrete, Cade "Rhodes" Montero watched her.

His face revealed nothing. It never did. But his hands, those hands she knew... were curled around the edge of his chair, knuckles white, tendons standing sharp against his skin.

Cade, who'd spent three years at her side.

Cade, who'd learned to make her coffee with the exact amount of crema her father insisted on.

Cade, who'd held her at the funeral and said nothing because there were no words for that kind of loss and he'd never learned to lie.

He didn't speak now.

Didn't defend her.

Didn't move.

"It's not personal," Elias said. "Your father was a good man. Good men don't always raise good daughters."

Something in her chest cracked. Not her heart, that had been hardening since the morning she found her father cold on the garage floor.

Something deeper.

Older.

The part of her that still believed fairness existed.

"I never touched the manifests."

"Doesn't matter." Elias finally looked at her. His eyes were flat. River stones. "Evidence exists. We have screenshots. Email records. A witness who placed you at the task force field office three weeks ago."

"That witness is lying."

"The witness is patched." Elias leaned back.

"You're not.

You never were.

Your father wanted you to have options. College. A life outside. He kept you clean."

He made it sound like a sin.

"So here's your option," Elias continued. "You confess...

You take the federal charge.

You do your time in the facility we use for our own.

Not the general population.

Not state.

You keep your mouth shut, and when you come out, there's an envelope waiting. Enough to start over somewhere far from here."

"And if I refuse?"

Elias smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Then we do it the old way. But your father loved you. So we're offering you a new way. Generational kindness."

Generational kindness.

She almost laughed. Almost screamed. Instead, she looked at Cade.

He hadn't moved. His knuckles were white. His jaw was set. But his eyes were screaming.

Say something.

Defend me.

Tell me this isn't real.

His lips parted.

Then closed.

Elias stood. Adjusted his cut. The Devil's Songs patch caught the low light, embroidered wings wrapped around a bleeding guitar.

"We vote," he said. "All in favor of Catarina Salazar assuming full responsibility for the security breach."

Thirteen hands rose.

Hector's rose slowest. But it rose.

Cade's didn't move.

Elias noticed. His gaze shifted, sharpened.

"Rhodes. You got something to say?"

Cade stood.

He was taller than Elias. Younger. Leaner. But there was something in his posture now that hadn't been there when he entered a stillness that wasn't calm. A readiness that wasn't peace.

"She's not the leak," he said.

The room held its breath.

"Evidence says otherwise."

"Evidence can be planted."

"By whom?"

Cade looked at Catarina. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to see the apology in his eyes raw, bleeding, absolute.

Then his face closed.

"Doesn't matter." His voice was flat. Erased. "What matters is the club. What matters is survival. If she's the cost, we pay it.*"

He sat down.

Catarina felt the floor shift beneath her.

"Then it's unanimous," Elias said. "Catarina Salazar, you are hereby stripped of all protections, privileges, and rights afforded to families of charter members. Your father's legacy benefits are revoked. Your residence on compound property is terminated. You will be remanded to federal custody by sunrise."

He paused.

"Cade. You brought her in. You finish it."

Cade rose again.

He walked toward her. Each step measured. Each breath controlled. His face was stone, bone, nothing she recognized.

He stopped inches from her.

Close enough to kiss.

Close enough to kill.

"Don't," she whispered.

His hand moved to his waistband. Emerged with the knife she'd given him three years ago, the one engraved with a single staff note G4, the G below middle C. Her name. Her gift.

He pressed the blade flat against her collarbone.

"Catarina Salazar," he said, loud enough for the room to hear, "you are condemned by the Songs you betrayed. Your name is erased. Your blood is forfeit. Your existence is no longer recognized by any man wearing this patch."

The blade bit. Just enough to draw blood.

"I should have killed you the first night I met you."

His eyes met hers.

And she saw it.

The lie.

The sacrifice.

The five-year sentence he was writing for himself in real time.

"I hope you rot," he said.

Then he turned his back on her and walked away.

Continue to next part

I spent forty hours hand-beading a gown for a woman who was currently sleeping with my husband. My fingers were raw, my vision blurred, and the needle had just driven deep into my index finger, leaving a drop of blood on the silk. Braxton walked into our penthouse, rain dripping from his suit, and didn't even look at me. But the scent hit me instantly—Bulgarian rose and white musk. It was the custom perfume Griselda, my own sister, commissioned in Paris. I had spent three years as a ghost in my own marriage, sewing costumes for the woman who had haunted my vows since day one. Braxton didn't bother to hide it anymore; there was a smudge of her coral lipstick on his collar. He didn't offer an explanation, only a command to finish the gown for the Met Gala so I wouldn't embarrass them. My mother called moments later, her voice sharp with the usual dismissal. She didn't care that I was bleeding or that my husband was cheating with my sister. She only cared that I was "falling behind" on Griselda's gown. I sat in the silence of that cold, marble cage, staring at the needle in my hand. For years, I had swallowed every insult and stitched every lie, believing I was the capable one who had to make them happy. But as the clock ticked, a door inside me finally clicked shut. I wasn't just tired; I was finished. I set the needle down, picked up my phone, and dialed my sister’s number to tell her she’d have to find someone else to bleed for her.

Horror Modern Romance

9.1

Bound By The CEO's Cruel Contract

9.1

I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash. To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars. I thought it was a clean transaction. But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty. He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me. My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire. Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner. "Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly. His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand. "Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler." They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog. I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain. As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth. But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood. "She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison." They murdered my parents. I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call. Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell.

Billionaire Horror Modern

7.4

Bound to her Captor

7.4

I was supposed to hate him. He destroyed my kingdom. Killed my family. Made me a slave. But when Prince Daresh looks at me with those burning blue eyes-eyes that can hear my every thought-I feel something I shouldn't. Desire. He's the most dangerous demon in the realm. Silver-haired, ruthless, and feared by everyone-even his own brothers. They say he has no heart. No mercy. So why does he look at me like I'm the only thing that matters? When I try to escape, he saves me. When I'm broken, he pieces me back together. And when his enemies come for me, he'll burn the entire demon realm to the ground to keep me safe. But our love is forbidden. I'm human. He's a demon prince with a secret that could destroy us both. And the life growing inside me? It might be the most dangerous thing of all. In a world where fire and water destroy each other, we're about to prove that some bonds are unbreakable. A dark paranormal romance featuring a possessive demon prince, a defiant human princess, forbidden magic, and a love that will set the realm on fire.

Fantasy Horror Romance

9.6

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

9.6

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

Horror Modern Romance

9.8

I Found My Replacement's Rotting Hair On The Alpha's Pillow

9.8

After years of loyalty, a Luna discovers a horrifying truth: her Alpha mate has been harboring a secret lover. The betrayal turns gruesome when she finds the decaying remains of her supposed replacement scattered across their shared bed. As the stench of rot fills their home, she must confront the twisted reality of her partner's infidelity and the dark, supernatural obsession that led him to keep a literal corpse in their inner sanctum.

Horror Romance Werewolf

7.3

My Fiance's Deadly Betrayal

7.3

A week before my wedding, my fiancé' s sister-in-law, Kimberlee, ran me off a bridge. As I lay dying in the wreckage, my fiancé, Deacon, rushed past me to comfort her, barking at the paramedics to prioritize her "superficial" shock over my fatal injuries. He forced my crushed hand to sign a waiver absolving her of all fault, then left me to die in the rain. "She's just trying to get attention," he muttered. "Kimberlee is the priority. She almost died." I watched as a ghost while he ignored the pleas of my colleagues to perform the life-saving surgery I needed. He even told my mentor he wished I were dead. Then, he proposed to Kimberlee with my ring. My love for him finally shattered. I was dead, my career was being destroyed, and my murderer was wearing my ring. But death wasn't the end. It was a front-row seat to their betrayal, and I was tethered to the man who let me die, forced to watch every single moment.

Horror Mystery Romance

The Ghost Who Guarded Me

Chapter 1

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