Derek slammed the door to his small house shut behind him. The sound echoed through the quiet, empty space. It had been six long years since he'd seen the inside of his home. Back then, he had shared it with a woman he once thought he loved, but that love had turned into something darker, more twisted.

He couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh as he tossed his keys onto the small table by the front door. Memories flooded back of good times, and of the fights so brutal they'd left both him and his ex-wife battered and bruised.

He made his way to the kitchen, needing the comfort of a cold beer after yet another day of paperwork and job searching. His life had been on hold for far too long, and though he knew it wouldn't be easy, he was determined to make something of himself.

It didn't matter, really. Not in the end. His mood had been souring since the parole office had handed him those letters, stamped Return to Sender, that he'd missed over the past six years. He knew exactly why none of them had made it to him—he'd been too busy in the slammer to care about anyone else. But now, he was free, and he wanted to pick up where he left off. Or, at least, he thought he did.

Derek recognized the embossed script of the invitation inside the pile of papers. His ex-wife Donovan and Bruno Torres request the honor of your presence.

Derek crumpled the paper in his hand, feeling the heat of rage boiling within him. His eyes narrowed, the veins in his forehead bulging as he fought to keep his composure. Derek's blood boiled. They were engaged? His own wife, the woman he once loved, was now betrothed to a cop? It was like rubbing salt in a fresh wound. He knew he hadn't been perfect, but he'd loved her. In his twisted way, he'd thought he was protecting her.