LITMIR.BIZ

       One

      Of all the things Seth Bolton wanted to be doing today, attending the wedding of a guy he went to college with was pretty low on the list.

      Besides, he hadn’t even liked Roger Caputo. Seth had been forced to live with Roger for three hellish months in college when Seth’s roommate had backed out and Seth had been desperate to cover the rent without asking his family for help. That Roger had been a senior and unable to get any roommate but a freshman should have been the first clue to how Seth’s three months were going to go.

      It wasn’t that Roger was a bad guy—he was just a jerk. Entitled, spoiled, inconsiderate—every privileged white-guy stereotype rolled into one. That was Roger.

      Seth couldn’t imagine who was foolish enough to marry Roger, but clearly someone was. Seth had no idea if he should pity this woman or not.

      He gunned the engine up the incline, following the road as it snaked through the Black Hills. The wedding was supposed to start at five thirty—Seth was running late. It was already five forty and he had at least fifteen miles to go.

      For some reason, the wedding was being held at a resort deep in the Black Hills, forty minutes away from Rapid City.

      Why did people have destination weddings? Well, he knew why. The late-summer sun was already lower in the sky, casting a shimmering glow over the hills. They weren’t black right now, not with the sun turning them golden shades of orange and red and pink at the edges.

      It was pretty—not that he was looking as he took the next curve even faster. Roger must’ve found one hell of a woman if she wanted to tie herself to him with all this beauty around her.

      Or maybe the jerk had changed. It was possible. After all, Seth himself had once been the kind of impulsive, restless kid who’d stolen a car and punched a grown man in the face because the man had dared to break Seth’s mother’s heart. Sure, that man—Billy Bolton—had married his mother and adopted Seth, despite the punch. But still, that was the sort of thing Seth used to be capable of.

      Maybe he was still a little impulsive, he thought as he flew down the road well over the speed limit. And yeah, he was definitely still restless. The last year living in Los Angeles had proved that. But he’d gotten good at controlling his more destructive tendencies.

      So people could change. Maybe Roger had become a fine, upstanding citizen.

      The road bent around an outcropping, and Seth leaned into the curve, the Crazy Horse chopper rumbling between his legs. This was a brand-new model, in the final stages of testing, and he was putting it through its paces. The new engine had throwback styling combined with modern power and a wider wheelbase. The machine handled beautifully as he took another curve and leaned in hard. Seth felt a surge of pride—he’d helped design this one.

      Damn, he’d missed these hills, the freedom to open up the throttle and ride it hard. LA traffic made actually riding a chopper a challenge. And palm trees had nothing on the Black Hills.

      His father and his uncles, Ben and Bobby Bolton, owned and operated Crazy Horse Choppers, a custom chop shop in Rapid City, South Dakota. Crazy Horse had been founded by their father, Bruce Bolton, but the Bolton brothers had taken the company from a one-man shop in Bruce’s garage in the early eighties to a company with sixty employees and a quarter of a billion in sales every year.

      Seth had never had a father growing up, never expected that he would be a part of any family business. But when Billy adopted Seth ten years ago, the Bolton men had embraced him with open arms.

      And now? Seth was a full partner in Crazy Horse Choppers.

      He still couldn’t get his head around the meeting yesterday. His dad and uncles had called him into the office and offered him an equal share in Crazy Horse. And Seth was no idiot. Of course he’d said yes.

      At the age of twenty-five, he was suddenly a millionaire. A multimillionaire. Considering how he and his mom had sometimes been on welfare when he was a little kid, it was a hell of a shock.

      But Seth knew it wasn’t straight nepotism—he worked hard at making Crazy Horse Choppers a successful business. He’d just gotten back from living in Los Angeles for a year, managing the Crazy Horse showroom and convincing every A-to D-list celebrity that a Crazy Horse chopper was good for their image. And he’d excelled at the job, too. Getting Rich McClaren to ride up the red carpet at the Oscars on a Crazy Horse chopper—right before he won the award? Seth’s idea. The free advertising from that had boosted sales by eight percent overnight.

      The McClaren stunt was the kind of strategic thinking that Seth did now. He didn’t just react—and react poorly. He planned. The best defense was a good offense.

      Even now—he wasn’t just going to a former friend’s wedding. A quick internet search had revealed that Roger was a real estate agent now, part owner in his own agency. He was up-and-coming in the civic world of Rapid City. And after a year in LA, Seth was back in Rapid City. Maybe even permanently.

      Seth was not going to this wedding to wish Roger and his new bride happiness, although he

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