Page 15 of Property of Legend

The Kings of Anarchy MC don’t shy away from trouble.We own it, thrive on it.

Nobody fucks with the Kings.

But stepping back onto this farm means digging up graves I buried deep years ago.One look at Oaks' patient expression tells me he knows exactly how this ends.It’s always been Sophie.Like a scar that never healed right, she’s always been right under my skin, a beautiful ache I can't ignore.

I mount my bike, the roar of the engine drowning out the whispers of doubt in my head.Oaks settles in beside me, ready to follow where I lead.And the rest of the Kings’ll follow like the loyal brothers they are.Loyalty runs thicker than blood in the Kings, and I'm counting on that now more than ever.

Paradise Falls looms ahead, bathed in the dying gold of sunset, as welcoming as a knife to the throat.And somewhere in that sprawling mansion waits Sophie Montgomery, queen of trouble and the only woman capable of making me feel like a wild kid again.

Hell, ready or not, Legend’s back in Paradise, and this time, I ain't leaving without making her mine.

This ain’t just a job.

It’s a reckoning.

And I can feel it deep in my bones, Paradise Falls is about to become a battleground, and Sophie?

She’s the goddamn prize.

Chapter 8

Sophie

From my spot on the wraparound porch, I hear him before I see him, that low, snarling rumble that could only belong to one man and one motorcycle.The sound snakes through the still Kentucky dusk, stirring something wild and long-buried in me.The kind of storm a brewin’ that makes the horses restless and my nerves hum.

Then he appears, a dark silhouette eating up the payment like sin on wheels.

Legend.

He swings off his Harley like he never left, all swagger and leather, like the years didn’t pass and he didn’t leave my heart in ruins.He moves slow, confident, like a man who’s never been told no and wouldn’t listen if he had.My breath stalls.My spine stiffens.

Hell, he hasn’t just grown up, he’s filled out.He was always tall, towering over me.But now his broad shoulders, inked arms, and that dangerous glint in his eyes that used to get me into trouble...and say they might again.

The black leather vest hugs his chest like it’s afraid to let go.His dark hair’s still got that rebellious wave, like he wrestled the wind and won.But it’s those brown eyes, sharp, calculating, lethal, that land on me like a blow.

I’m already regretting this.

He stops at the foot of the porch stairs, thumbs sliding into his belt loops like he owns the place.Like heowns me.

“I hear you need protection,” he draws.His voice rolls over me like gravel and honey.

I cross my arms.“I need someone who can handle himself, not just look mean in leather.”

He smirks.“Still got that Horse Princess attitude, I see.”

My breath catches in my throat.It’s been years since he called me that to my face.And we are face to face.

“Watch it, Stable Boy,” I snap back, more reflex than thought.

His smirk deepens into something darker.“You haven’t called me that since you were fourteen and trying not to blush every time I walked by.”

“And you haven’t earned the right to call me Princess since you let me eat dirt in front of the whole 4H tent.”

“Pretty sure you kicked me first,” he says, his arm out, leaning against the post like he used to.“If I remember right, I still got the scar.”

I shake my head, trying not to smile.Damn him.“This is a job.Professional only.Got it?”

His boots hit the first step.Then the second.And suddenly he’s so close I can smell leather, sweat, tobacco, and damn something that makes me want to sin just to get closer.

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