Hey Passionistas,

The Trust We Broke is LIVE.

This is not a drill. Grudge is sitting on Amazon and in KU just waiting for you to go grab him and ... well, what you do with him from there is no concern of mine 😝

This was an emotional rollercoaster of a book to write. Grudge did not behave, and he's by far the biggest book in the series. In the book itself, he'll make a point of reminding Lucy that size matters!

But back to facts! Grudge went to pr!son for defending Lucy. And Lucy divorced him to survive.

Eight years later, she’s back in his life — and he’s ready to fight with, and then for, the woman he never stopped loving.

This story broke me in the best way. It’s raw, redemptive, and full of that “it-hurts-but-I-can’t-stop-reading” energy. Good luck putting it down to go to bed.

If you love:

✅ ruthless bikers who turn into absolute cinnamon rolls for their women

✅ fierce, self-made heroines

✅ angst, spice, and redemption arcs that heal you in all the right places

…then this one’s for you.

Scroll down to read a NSFW excerpt, and to catch my usual update from the hot seat!

xo,

Scarlett


In the lead up to the scene, Lucy got hurt trying to move out of the way of Grudge's bike, and even though he's still mad at her, the muscle memory of their history kicks in for both of them. So he carries her back to her apartment bathroom. Oh, and the hurt/comfort vibes are STRONG!

* * *

When he’s done, he grips my chin and holds my face tilted up to him. I have to crane my neck to look up that far, given how close he is to me. He smells of leather and fresh air.

“You and me have got a ton we need to say to each other. Arguably, you should have said it the day before you sent those divorce papers. And we’re going to have that reckoning whether you want it or not, if you insist on sticking around.” His hand goes to the bump on the side of my head. “But I’m not so much of a monster that I’m going to make you do it now. So, you’re going to let me get you into that tub and stay here for a while so you can sleep, and I don’t have to worry about whether you are in here alone, dying from a brain bleed.”

I open my mouth to fight back, but I know I’m not going to win this. And if I were being objective and smart instead of emotional and a coward, I’d realize what he’s saying makes sense.

I should tell him about the files, but I can’t tell him now, when I’m chilled to the bone, hurting, and unable to think clearly.

There was always something in Zach’s tone that told me whether there was room to maneuver. I could always read between the lines; maybe it’s what makes me a good defense attorney. What people say is literally the tip of the iceberg.

Beneath the surface, though, is body language and intuition and the ability to look for nuance.

And I always knew when I’d pushed him too far.

His hand moves to my arm and gently removes the sleeve I put my phone in.

Then, he unzips my running jacket painfully slowly. I glance at his hand, and it’s hard to explain to myself the sudden spring of tears.

His knuckles now say LUCK, not LUCE.

You can’t get my name on your knuckles. It’s going to hurt.

He looked at me so sincerely, it drove a spike through my heart.

Everything I do is for you, for us. If it takes a few moments of pain to make that clear to everyone, it’s worth it.

I sat next to him, holding his other hand while he had it done. The tattoo artist grinned at the two of us. It was clear Grudge didn’t need emotional support from me. He was already covered in ink and knew what to expect, but he let me hover, checking he was okay after every single letter.

And he let me care for it when we got home. While Grudge already knew what he was doing to take care of new ink, I’d searched it up online and insisted on being the one to wash it gently and apply the lotion the tattoo artist recommended to help it heal.

“I’m calling a truce for the next few hours,” Grudge says. His voice is rough, like he’s drunk one too many whiskeys. And I remember how his lips used to taste after he downed a glass.

I shake my head. “There’s too much water under the bridge for us to do that.”

Grudge shakes his head too. “Not when it comes to you and me, there isn’t.”

He slides my jacket off my shoulders and down my arms. For all his words, there’s a reverence to his touch. The feel of his calloused palms brushing over my skin is so familiar, a shiver runs through me.

I should probably care that I’m sweaty and I don’t remember the last time I shaved my legs, but in the big scheme of things to worry about, I don’t have the capacity.

“I don’t know how far I’m going to let this go,” I say.

Grudge bites his lower lip for a second. “Me neither.”

Yet our reasons couldn’t be more opposite. He has no idea how much it broke me to divorce him. How long I grieved for him. How much of my heart he still carries with him.

Maybe that’s why Henry cheated. Maybe he could sense that he didn’t have my whole heart and went looking for it elsewhere.

And I can only guess why Grudge is unsure. I abandoned him when he needed me most, without a word.

Both of us reluctant and unsure.

Him, because he doesn’t want to be destroyed by me again. And me, because my heart may never recover if I let it believe there’s a chance for the two of us. It’s held together with pieces of string.

Grudge pauses and shrugs out of his jacket, tugs off his hoodie, then kicks off his boots and socks before opening the bathroom door to toss them outside.

As he closes the door, a blast of cooler air wafts over me.

Tell him no.

The words bounce around in my head. My brain trying so hard to stop my heart from making a reckless mistake.

But I can’t bring the words to life.

He’s wearing a black Henley and pushes the sleeves up over thickly veined and inked arms. For a moment, he moves so close, dipping his head as he moves, that I think he’s going to kiss me.

But at the final moment, he pulls back.

I see the need in his dark brown eyes, knowing it must mirror the need in my own.

Grudge slips his hands beneath the hem of my T-shirt, and I keep waiting for my sanity to kick in. But we’re both masochists, here for whatever pain we’re going to cause each other next.

He lifts my running top over my head and balls it up before tossing it into the corner. Gently, he runs a fingertip over the curve of my breast. His brow furrows for a second, and I can only imagine the mental talking-to he’s giving himself right now.

And for some reason, I want to ease him. Because this shouldn’t be harder on him than it is on me. I’ve done him enough damage.

Maybe it’s time for me to take my punishment and make this easier on him.

“It’s okay,” I say. His eyes flit to mine, and I nod. “Truce, remember?”

He drops to one knee and pulls off my sneakers and socks, and then surprises me by wrapping his hands tightly around my waist and pressing his forehead to my stomach as he hugs me hard.

Tears sting my eyes again.

This big, brave, selfless man has known enough pain. I slide my fingers up the smooth undercut, over the webbed tattoos that etch his skin, and thread them into his hair. Holding his head in both hands, I kiss the top of it.

“Luce,” he says gruffly, gripping my hips, hard.

And I kiss him again.

I have no clue whether I should be making the first move, but I want him to know it’s okay to touch me however he wants to. To kiss me however he wants to.

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of my running tights and then shimmy them down over my hips. Once they are around my ankles, I hold onto his shoulders to lift one foot at a time for him to remove them.

The silence is killing me.

I want him to verbalize what he’s thinking, like he always used to. I want him to tell me how my body drives him wild. But I’m a little older, a little softer than I was back then. Maybe it isn’t as appealing to him as it used to be.

I banish that thought. If he wants me, he needs to take who I am, now. Not who I was all that time ago.

He repeats the action with my panties, until I’m left standing in just my sports bra. Unable to wait, I tug that off over my head, so I am standing utterly naked before him.

Grudge surprises me by lowering his shoulders and placing his face right up against my p*ssy. But he doesn’t reach out with his tongue or dip into me with his fingers.

He simply kneels there, inhaling my scent like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever smelled.

When he stands, he cups my cheeks, and then pushes my hair back off my face.

“You’re going to ruin me all over again,” he says. “I don’t think I can let you do that twice.”


Want more? Then grab it here in ebook and paperback: https://mybook.to/TheTrustWeBroke