I had it all.

Or, at least, that’s what everyone else thought.

Between my husband being the president of the Demons of Hell and his club, I had a “family”.

Except the only thing that made us a family was my husband’s persistent reminders that it was.

But a family doesn’t turn a blind eye to things.

A family doesn’t let one of their own become a punching bag for their mistakes.

For all the pent-up anger and frustration for something that isn’t even my fault.

My “family” was the reason I nearly died.

And when Rage came into my life, he was all I could see.

The only thing that suddenly mattered.

Too bad I didn’t listen to the warnings before I became obsessed.

After all, with a name like Rage, what was I expecting?