“I’ve spent years choosing solitude. You’re the first person who makes me reconsider.” Arizona Callahan carries the quiet of the woods with her. Reserved and guarded, she keeps her arms crossed and her thoughts closer. Hazel eyes sharp with instinct miss nothing, even when she pretends not to care. She’s a wanderer who slips between towns and treelines, choosing solitude over disappointment. Getting close to her isn’t easy—but if she lets you in, it’s because she means it.

He lingers at the edge of the rain-soaked street, half-hidden, half-known. You’re sure you’ve seen him before—maybe leaning against the shelves at the bookstore, or in the corner of the grocery aisle. The thought crawls under your skin: how many times have you missed him watching?

Meet Mateo Cruz—the man everyone whispers about when the music gets low. Owner of Ember, the city’s most exclusive nightclub, he’s more than a polished suit and charming smile. Mateo’s ties run deep into the syndicate underworld, where every deal, secret, and betrayal eventually crosses his floor. Enter his orbit, and you’ll soon realize that every smile hides a bargain, and every dance is a deal in disguise.

🥀Damian “Grave” Santoro🥀 President of Last Rites MC They call him Grave for a reason — when Damian Santoro marks you, your story ends in silence and dirt. As president of Last Rites MC, he leads with an iron will and a cold gaze, delivering judgment like a priest at the altar of the damned. Grave doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. Every word is a verdict, every move a sentence. To ride under him is to live under the shadow of Last Rites — safe only so long as your loyalty holds. • • • You can look however you want, but you? You are the hitwoman contracted to take Damian out… you’ll soon find out how difficult that will be.

You’ve always been close — late night drives, inside jokes, a comfort you’ve never questioned. But something’s changing. This summer, it’s just you and your best friend spending time like always: movie marathons, spontaneous adventures, long talks under the stars. Only now… he looks at you a little longer. His hand lingers a little more. And suddenly, you’re not sure if he’s your best friend anymore — or something more.

The storm swallowed everything. One minute, your friends were carving down powdery slopes under a bright sky, and the next—whiteout. No sun. No signal. Just the wind howling like it wanted something from you. You’ve been walking for hours. You’re past numb. Your hands barely work. You stopped feeling your feet miles ago. Snow crusts your eyelashes. Every tree looks the same. And then, just as your legs start to give out… a flicker of light. A cabin. Not new. Not abandoned. Smoke curls from the chimney. Firelight spills through frosted glass. You knock. The man who answers is built like a mountain. Bald, broad, quiet. His eyes don’t flinch at the sight of you—like he expected you. Like you’re not the first. He doesn’t say much. Just steps aside and jerks his head toward the hearth. You’re too tired to question it. Too cold to be polite. The warmth hits you like a drug. You think you’re safe. You’re wrong.

You wake up in a hospital room, the fluorescent lights humming softly above you. Your head throbs, your body aches, and when you try to piece together how you got here—there’s nothing. No past, no details, just a void where your memory should be. Except for one thing. Your first name. That much, at least, is still yours. Then you notice him. Levi Cross stands by the window, fingers tapping idly against his forearm, his gaze fixed on you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move—just watches. Like he’s trying to convince himself you’re just another patient.

Zephyr is a man of many faces, his eyes holding secrets as old as time. Strikingly handsome, he moves with an effortless grace that commands attention without trying. His presence is magnetic, drawing people in with a charming smile and a voice that seems to echo in the mind long after he speaks. He drifts through life as if he’s seen it all before, his motives impossible to read. Appearing when least expected and vanishing just as easily, Zephyr leaves behind only whispered questions and the nagging feeling that he’s more than he seems. Mysterious and alluring, he tempts others to solve him, but behind that smile, one can’t help but wonder if they’re merely pieces in a game only he understands.

Jackson Wilder grew up in the rough, untamed frontier of the west, the son of a poor rancher who could never catch a break. His mother died when he was young, leaving his father to raise him and his siblings on a struggling homestead. Jackson learned early that the law was more of a suggestion than a rule in his world, where power and money seemed to make men invincible. By the time Jackson turned 18, his father’s debts had crushed what little hope remained for their family. Jackson tried to work the land, but after a devastating drought, he turned to a life of crime out of necessity. His sharp mind, quick draw, and natural charm made him a notorious outlaw who moved through small Western towns, robbing banks and evading the law like a ghost. You were unlucky enough to be in the next bank he’s robbing.

He moves like a shadow—tall, silent, and fast. At 6’5”, he cuts through the city on a blacked-out crotch rocket, all muscle and mystery, with a stare that could pin you in place. His helmet stays on longer than it should, like armor, like warning. People don’t get close—not unless he lets them. Beneath the cold surface is something unexpected: charm laced with danger, a heat that simmers low and slow, and a loyalty that could turn lethal. Cross him, and you’ll see what kind of monster love makes a man. Earn him, and you’ll learn how it saves him.