Dedication
To my Maxie. A meaner, nastier Alpha Male I’ve never known. But you protect me and, as long as I remember to feed you, you love me. Besides, when you’re muzzled, you’re damn near civilized.
Prologue
Waste of his time. That’s what this was. Minutes of his life he would never get back. Zach walked into the club, surprised to find a place like this, called Skelly’s, in this dinky little Texas town. Hardcore industrial and tech music tore through the tiny club and Zach let himself relax a little. Based on the outside of the club and all the pickup trucks in the parking lot, he assumed this place would be redneck heaven. His kind usually ended up in the middle of a shit storm around rednecks. Too much testosterone and liquor always led to trouble.
He moved through the tightly packed club, checking out everyone, until he reached the bar. He watched the bartender, a cute, petite black woman with a shaggy mass of dark curly hair, pull drinks for a few moments. She was definitely a pro and each drink she made absolutely precise. She never gave any more or less than necessary. Plus, she kept up a continuous conversation with a tall, seriously hot Latina at the other end of the bar and never missed a beat. Never splashed a drop. She was good.
He held up a ten and the bartender moved down to him. He caught the last bit she yelled to her friend, “I can’t watch her and serve. I thought you were watching her.” She turned to Zach and flashed him an adorable smile. “What’cha need?”
“Tequila.”
The girl nodded and her hand went searching under the bar, then her face froze. She suddenly disappeared, crouching low to get a closer look. “Motherfucker!” she snapped. When she re-appeared, she’d lost her smile. “Gimme a sec.” She headed to a door behind her, yelling over at the Latina, “Angelina, she took the bottle.”
“Uh-oh.” The Latina turned and looked out across the dance floor to a group of tables and barstools filled with people. Zach followed the woman’s line of sight and immediately saw her.
She was tall; taller than her concerned friend. Her coal-black hair reaching past her shoulders and brushing across the strap of her black tank top, which showed off the Celtic tattoo on her right shoulder. When she turned her head, Zach could clearly see the ragged scar that tore across one side of her face.
Surrounded by four young men, she didn’t seem to notice them. In fact, she seemed downright bored. He wasn’t quite clear what her friends were worried about.
“Here ya go.” The bartender pushed the shot of tequila in front of him. “Your change.”
Zach waved it away. “Keep it.”
“Thanks.” She shoved the cash into the back pocket of her jeans and returned to the end of the bar to speak to her friend.
“Well, we’ve got to do something,” she said. Zach could hear her clearly over the music and even the words she spoke with her back to him came in crystal clear. “She’s toasted.”
“Yeah, but remember what happened last time? I guess we should just be grateful she doesn’t drink every day…or year. Or decade.”
“What’s with her tonight anyway?”
“I think her leg’s been bothering her.”
“Her leg is always bothering her. What makes this new?”
“It’s getting worse. And I think she’s worried. Worried what it might mean.”
“It doesn’t mean shit. She reads too much into stuff.”
The dark-haired beauty leaned back and stared at her friend. “Look who’s talking. Pot, this is kettle calling.”
The girl flipped the bird and deftly made a martini all in one move. He was impressed.
“Uh-oh, Miki. She’s on the move.”
Zach turned back to the other girl. She slipped off the stool she’d been perched on and in the middle of some guy’s sentence simply walked away. Well, more like she limped away, but he’d heard her leg had been severely damaged. Still, she used no cane or crutches as she, most likely, made her way to the bathroom.
He wouldn’t have thought another second about the whole thing except for the two men leaning against a far wall. They didn’t fit in, although they were desperately trying to. They wore black leather jackets, but brand new ones that looked as if they’d been bought that day. Their shirts were black, but silk. The pants pleated. And their shoes? They were leather, expensive, and Zach wouldn’t put those fucking things on his feet if there was a gun to his head. And as soon as she moved, they followed. Zach shot back his tequila then followed them all.
He’d just pushed his way through the crowd and to the back of the club when he spotted them. One grabbed the girl around the waist, lifting her off the ground. He slapped a hand over her mouth and the three of them were out the back door. It happened so fast none of the other patrons even noticed.
Zach burst into a run, knocking people out of his way, terrified he might be too late. He slammed through the back exit and spilled out into the alley. They’d thrown the girl down on the ground and one had his hand raised above her. To anyone else it would have looked as if he were going to slap her. But Zach knew one swipe from that hand would rip the girl’s throat out. He snarled, forcing his canines to lengthen and grow. The two men turned and one roared in answer.
But before Zach could make any kind of move, the girl pulled a long, thin piece of metal out of her worn cowboy boot and stabbed up into the inside thigh of one of her attackers. He roared again, this time in rage and pain. The unharmed one seemed to realize this was no longer a simple plan of killing the girl. She wasn’t going to die quietly. So he grabbed his partner and the two sprinted from the alley, leaving a trail of blood behind.
Zach went over to the girl who, by now, had slipped the weapon back into her boot and attempted to pick herself up off the ground—clearly a major chore. Zach sighed and grabbed her arm, easily hauling her up.
“Hey!” she snapped, looking up at him. From where he sat at the bar, he hadn’t realized exactly how pretty she was. Amazingly pretty. Dark brown eyes peered at him from under black lashes. Her skin a light brown, with a hint of red. And the brutal scar on one side of her face couldn’t hide her sharp cheekbones or full lips. In fact, it only enhanced them.
Those intense eyes stared straight at him. “Pretty teeth,” she drunkenly mumbled. She had a light Texan accent. Not as hearty as the others he’d heard on his ride from California. “Long.” Her right index finger slid inside his mouth. It suddenlyoccurred to him he hadn’t yet retracted his canines.
Smiling at him, she said, “You’re pretty, too.” Wow, she was really drunk. With a sudden surge of strength, she slammed Zach against the far alley wall. “I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you.”
Zach had been called a lot of things in his lifetime, “pretty” wasn’t one of them. Growling as she smiled—uh, no—leered at him while her body leaned into his, her T-shirt–covered breasts pushed into his chest, startling him with the heat of her body.
She kissed him. Soft lips on his mouth; tongue sliding past his teeth.
Their tongues connected and Zach had this incredible; urge to take her right there, in the alley. When he felt her hand slide down the front of his jeans and take firm hold of the bulge growing by the second, he knew he had to have this woman. Now. This minute. This very moment. Before he could even put his arms around her, though, they pulled her from him. Torn, was how he thought of it.
He’d been so lost to her he didn’t even realize her friends had burst into the alley, clearly prepared for a fight. The one called Miki had a baseball bat, probably from behind the bar. The other, Angelina, had removed her high-heeled shoes and seemed ready to handle the situation with her bare hands. Yeah, those designer clothes didn’t fool Zach for a second. That woman would cut your throat as soon as look at you. She definitely had that
take-care-of-herself quality.
“Sara!” Angelina yelped while yanking Sara back from Zach. Miki stood back and stared, the bat still at the ready. Zach could only imagine how it must look to them with their friend’s tongue down a stranger’s throat and her hand on his crotch. “What are you doing?”
Zach quickly retracted his canines back to normal human incisors seconds before Angelina looked at him, carefully sizing him up. Shame he couldn’t control his dick the same way he did his teeth.
Sara pulled away from Angelina and leaned back into Zach. She smiled again, her eyes on his lips. “This is my pretty man. Isn’t he great? I think I love him.”
Miki rolled her eyes and lowered the bat. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Angelina moved toward her friend. “Okay, honey, that’s the half-bottle of tequila talking. Now it’s time to let the ‘pretty man’ go.”
“No!” she snapped, causing her friend to stop in her tracks. Zach watched, startled at Sara’s level of aggression.
But her friends seemed completely unaware of how close they were to real danger. Miki burst out laughing while Angelina looked more annoyed. “Sara, honey, you’ve got to let your toy go.”
“Hey,” Zach growled.
Angelina glared at him. “Work with me,” she bit out between clenched teeth.
“Okay. Okay.” Sara straightened up. “Don’t fight on my account. I can take a hint. I’ll go.”
Angelina visibly relaxed. “Good.”
“But first…” Sara whispered so only Zach could hear, her hand slipping around the back of his neck and pulling him down so their faces were barely an inch apart. “It would be just rude not to say night.”
She kissed him one more time. And that urge to take her returned full force, whether her friends were watching or not.
“Whoa!” Miki exclaimed with a laugh.
Before he could slam Sara face down over a garbage can, Angelina had her friend by the waist, dragging her back to the club. “Come on, sassy girl. We need to get some coffee into you before you set somebody’s car on fire…again.”
“Bye-bye, pretty man.” Sara waved at Zach.
Miki pulled the back door open as Angelina, literally, threw her friend inside. “That’s it. No more tequila for you, missy. Ever.”
Miki followed them but stopped at the entrance. She turned and looked at Zach. “Sorry ‘bout that. She’s really drunk.”
“No problem,” Zach forced out, using all his inner strength to simply control his dick.
Miki flashed a pretty smile and turned to enter the club. She stopped short. “Jesus Christ, Angie! Get her off the floor!”
Zach pulled out a cell phone and pushed a button. While he waited for the connection, he quickly adjusted his suddenly tight-fitting jeans. “Hey,” he answered when he got a pick up. “It’s Zach. It’s definitely her. But they’re already here.”
Chapter One
“He’s on the List.”
“But he just—”
“He’s on the List.”
Sara sat behind the counter of Marrec’s Choppers, the store she’d worked at since she was fourteen, and watched the now weekly ritual between her two best friends.
“Sara,” Miki demanded. “The List.”
“Would you two bitches please stop. I have a migraine.”
“No. You have a hangover. Now, the List.”
Sara sighed. “No cowboys. No bikers. No criminals of any kind. And no republicans.”
“And?” Miki pushed.
Sara and Angelina shrugged.
“No rodeo clowns.”
“You just added that,” Angie snapped. A rodeo clown asked her on a date that very morning.
“No. No. They were always on the List.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
“He dodges bulls for a living. He’s gonna screw you over!”
“Stop yelling.” Sara put her head in her hands. “Just let me die in peace.”
“That’s what you get for getting all liquored up,” Miki chastised.
Angie slipped an arm around Sara’s shoulders. “Honey, it’s been six months since your grandmother died. Maybe it’s time to stop celebrating. Especially since you seem to become quite the whore when you drink.”
“I do not.” Yet Sara couldn’t help but smile at the faint, drunken memory of attacking some poor guy in the alley of her favorite club. “Besides, I’m not celebrating. I’m just glad that my grandmother’s—”
“In hell?” Miki cut in.
“There’s no proof of that.” Especially since Sara felt pretty confident Satan wouldn’t take the vicious old heifer.
Sara rubbed her temples. The pain in her head would go away eventually. Besides, pain had always been part of her life. That would never change. Her right leg had been in varying states of unbearable pain for more than twenty years. She’d simply learned to ignore it. Until lately. Lately it had been…no. She would not start feeling sorry for herself. That was what led to the drinking the night before. Stupid self-pity. Her life could definitely be worse. Hell, she could be dead.
Or, she could be like the girl stumbling through the front door of the shop, her face and biker leather covered in dirt and blood.
“Holy shit.” Sara quickly limped out from behind the counter. “Guys, call nine-one-one. Marrec!” she yelled toward the back. “Come quick!”
“No. No. I’m fine.” The girl waved Sara away.
“Really? You look like shit,” Miki observed.
“Bike crashed.” The girl stretched and Sara heard every one of the bones cracking. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. You’ve got a mechanic, right?”
Angelina looked the woman over. “Don’t you really need an ambulance?”
“Or a hearse,” Miki muttered.
Sara elbowed her friend. She did that a lot when it came to Miki.
“Nope. Just a mechanic. And a bathroom.”
“I’ll show her.” Angelina led the girl to the back of the store.
Marrec appeared, oil and dirt smeared on his face, hands and T-shirt. The man was supposedly in his sixties but he seemed more a prematurely graying forty-five. Shorter than Sara but powerfully built, he’d taken Sara under his wing when a self-obsessed junior varsity football player threw her head-first through Marrec’s shop door during a fight Miki still claimed wasn’t her fault.
“What’s going on?” Marrec stood next to Sara, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Some girl got into a crash.”
Miki stared out the large glass window. “Christ, look at that girl’s bike. She should be dead.”
Marrec looked at the bike and his eyes narrowed. “She’s walking?”
“Believe it or not,” Sara answered. “Angelina took her to the bathroom.”
Angelina returned to her two friends. “She’s in there now. I’m patiently waiting to hear a thud.”
“I’ll go check her bike,” Marrec mumbled while moving toward the exit.
After about ten minutes, the girl re-emerged. She had cleaned off her face and hands and rinsed the blood and dirt from her hair. A surprisingly pretty girl—who looked like she could bench press a Buick.
“Much better,” she announced. She focused on the three women who stared back. “Something wrong?”
“We’re just waiting for you to pass out,” Miki admitted.
The girl grinned. “Mechanic?”
“That’s Marrec. He’s checking your bike now.” Sara glanced out the window. “But, honey, your bike is toast.”
“Ya think?” She walked outside, Sara Miki and Angie following behind her.
Sara marveled at how quickly the girl seemed to be recovering. Maybe she was on some new painkiller. Sara would have to ask. She might need it herself soon.
The girl walked over to the mangled remains of her bike. “My poor baby.”
Sara caught Miki rolling her eyes. Her short friend never could understand the bikers’ love of their choppers. The passion.
M
arrec, who still crouched beside the bike, slowly stood and glowered at the girl. Their eyes locked and they stared at each other. That’s all they did. Just stared. Finally, the girl turned away.
Miki nudged Sara, but Sara blew it off. She’d seen Marrec do that many times before. It was that “weird thing” he did. Sometimes even to his own sons or wife. Hell, Miki did lots of weird things so she had absolutely no room to judge.
“Where did you crash anyway?” Angelina asked.
The girl knelt down beside the mangled metal. “Don’t know. I guess about two miles back.”
The friends exchanged glances.
“How did you get your bike here?”
“Dragged it.” The girl’s head tilted to the side as Marrec turned to face the parking lot entrance.
“Wait a minute.” Miki didn’t even bother trying to hide her disbelief. “You expect us to believe you dragged that thing here? In your condition? Bullshit,” she finished flatly.
As always, Miki was as subtle as a brick to the head.
The girl ignored her and said, “Good.” She seemed relieved. “They’re here.” She stood and walked to the front of the parking lot as four beautiful, tricked-out choppers, all manned by women, pulled in and halted next to the girl.
“Check it out.” Angelina elbowed her friends. “Lesbians. In Texas.”
“Would you shut up.” Sara chuckled.
“Julie, glad to see you’re not dead,” spoke the oldest of the women. Her blonde hair was streaked with gray, her face covered in age lines. She was probably gorgeous once. Now merely beautiful.
Sliding off her bike, the older woman hugged the battered girl. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, Casey. I’m fine.” The girl leaned in and whispered something. Casey looked up and straight at Marrec.
“No problem.” Casey walked over to Marrec. “This your shop?”
Sara watched her boss’s back straighten, his arms crossing over his large chest. “Yeah.”
The woman smiled coldly. “Got a minute?”
Marrec observed the woman carefully. “Sara,” he spoke without taking his eyes off Casey. “Go inside.”
A startled Sara glanced at her equally startled friends. “Are you kidding?” He must be kidding. Marrec rarely ordered her to do anything. He especially never ordered her to go away like a ten-year-old child.