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  He leaned forward and I saw the name of his club in the shadows. Demon Horde.

  The bike jumped a little and I leaned forward to grab Becky. Then I realized that wasn’t going to be safe either. I needed an anchor, something to keep me from falling off. I needed to hold on to him.

  The engine turned over and the bike vibrated beneath me. In that instant, I understood why women liked it here in the back. The seat on the back of the bike meant status and power. It meant that you were more than just a piece of ass. It meant you were an old lady, someone honored by the club. I didn’t deserve that status. But, here I was, a whore on the back of a stranger’s bike with my daughter between us.

  “Hold on to me. I’ll keep you steady.”

  I knew he was talking about the ride to the clubhouse. He would keep us steady during the ride, but it sounded like an offer for something more. I was pathetic, fantasizing about a man who could solve all of my problems while on the back of a goddamn motorcycle. Wrapping my arms around his middle, I squished Becky between us. Better to be squished than for her to fall off.

  The wind picked up as we headed out of the parking lot. We turned, but off in the distance, I could see the red and blue flashing lights. The noise of the sirens finally faded after a few blocks.

  Even though it was past eleven o’clock, Tacoma was still alive and awake. We stopped at a red light and Berdoo put his foot down to steady the bike. My face was still buried in his back, mostly because it helped keep my balance and helped me cocoon Becky. But part of me enjoyed the sensation of his warm, hard back against my cheek. It was solid, something dependable. He was safe. Anytime I started to depend on someone else, usually Robby, my life went to shit. Even pretending to find safety with this guy was a luxury I couldn’t have.

  I started to pull my head up, pull away, but then I felt his hands over mine. He wanted me to stay. He didn’t say a word, but the soft touch told me everything. It was safety, reassurance, but also possession. He wanted me to stay close.

  I wanted it too. I wanted to stay close, snuggle against him, listen to him tell me that everything was going to be all right. I didn’t even know his name, but I knew what I wanted from him. Safety and security. I leaned in and pressed my cheek to his back. Before I had clasped my hands around his front, but now I let my fingers relax and spread over his stomach. His stomach was flat cords of muscle. The muscles were bunched and hard beneath my fingers. Did I make him nervous?

  Of course he was tense. He had a crazy woman on the back of his bike. My ex had just smashed my car and tried to get into my apartment, and here I was feeling him up with my daughter between us. I clenched my hands again and waited for the ride to be over.

  The bike bounced as we rolled over the curb and into the club’s compound. I held onto him with one arm and squeezed Becky with the other, to make sure she didn’t fall off. We rolled into the parking lot and he stopped the bike in front of door to the main bar. He lifted Becky off, and she was all smiles.

  “I want to go again!”

  Berdoo looked at me, as if unsure whether or not he should answer. Good call—I was glad he didn’t immediately promise her another ride.

  “Maybe another time, honey. It’s time for bed.” I took her hand and we walked into the clubhouse.

  It didn’t take long to get Becky settled in my bed. My room at the clubhouse was about the size of a large closet, but it had enough room for a twin-sized bed and a tiny bathroom with a shower stall. It was nice having my own space, and Tate realized that a woman who screwed guys for money needed a shower at her disposal. It wasn’t grand, but it would be just fine for a sleepover with Becky. It was four hours past her bedtime and she turned off like a light.

  I, on the other hand, was too keyed up to even think about sleep. I put away a few things that I didn’t want Becky to see. Lube, condoms, the usual tools of the sex trade. I threw it all into the top drawer of the bureau. She wasn’t tall enough to reach in there yet. Becky was used to Mommy’s wigs and skimpy costumes, so I left those in the closet. I had quite the collection from when I used to work as a stripper. Becky thought I really liked Halloween.

  When there was nothing left to clean or hide in my room, I ventured downstairs. I’d left the bar clean, but it could really use a once-over with the wood soap. Maybe that would put me to sleep.

  “Hey, Krista.” Tate’s voice echoed a little through the empty clubhouse. It was odd that the entire club was on a run. They went in groups, but never all of them together. Tate was definitely up to something by having an empty clubhouse when Berdoo was visiting.

  Tate and Berdoo were sitting at one of the tables, a six-pack between them. “Come over here and join us.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was go over there. I didn’t want to explain why Robby was pounding on my door and threatening to kill me in the middle of the night.

  “Sure.” I forced a smile and sat down at the table, grabbing a beer. If I had to calmly chat with my boss after he and Berdoo just beat the shit out of my ex, I was gonna need alcohol.

  “This is Colt. He’s up visiting from the Demon Horde chapter in Southern California.”

  “Our chapter is based in San Bernardino, Berdoo for short,” Colt explained.

  So Berdoo had a real name. I studied him in the bar light. His hair was dark but buzzed. His nose had a few bumps, like it had been broken a few times. That wasn’t unusual. Pretty much all the guys here had bumpy noses. It was his mouth that made me take notice. Full lips that just begged to be kissed. A square jaw that made me want to take little nips all around.

  I nearly dropped my beer. I found this guy attractive.

  In the movies, you see prostitutes as either sex-crazed nymphomaniacs or desperate, drug-dependent junkies. I was neither. Prostitution had turned me into a non-sexual being. I didn’t find anyone attractive anymore. I simply sized them up to figure out how to best get them off and get the largest tip.

  But not this guy. Colt. I remembered the warmth of his body under my fingertips and I wanted to see how his lips felt against mine.

  I sipped my beer while the men chatted. Colt’s tattoos were of a grinning devil riding a motorcycle. There was no crown, no lightning bolt, none of the tattoos I was used to seeing. This guy was different. His forearm flexed as he took a swig of beer. His hands were large—they would be firm, but not painful. The way he had stroked my hand when were on the back of his bike, I knew. He would be a good lover. My eyes trailed back up his forearm and down again.

  “I’m gonna get some antiseptic for your hands.” Jumping off my barstool, I sort of announced it into the air, like I was back in high school and too scared to actually talk to the man.

  I walked behind the bar and grabbed the first aid kit, like I’d done a hundred times before. I’d patched up Skeeter and Rip—all the guys, really. After they got into a fight, I would always get out the bandages and ointment.

  Colt was just another brother at the clubhouse. Maybe if I repeated that twenty times, I would believe it.

  Chapter Two

  Colt

  Tate put down his empty bottle. “Well, I’m out for the night. See you around noon?”

  I nodded. After driving for two days from Los Angeles and then beating up a junkie, sleep sounded good, but spending time with her sounded better.

  As soon as I’d hit town, Tate got a call that his bartender was in trouble. When we got to the apartment, the meth head was foaming at the mouth, pounding on her door. If I was gonna make this patch-over work, I needed to prove myself to Tate. I hit the junkie with a right hook, fast and hard. Four more punches and he was out cold. It wasn’t even a fight, just a beat-down.

  I stood there, waiting. Waiting for the door to open to reveal whatever the junkie had been after. I was the winner and I was going to get the prize.

  The door opened and, like a
goddamn game show, my prize was revealed. It was something I had never dreamed of, the fucking Madonna and Child, wrapped in a ratty pink blanket. The woman’s eyes were big and blue and scared shitless. The little girl was the image of her mother. Both scared, both needing me.

  By the time we got down to the parking lot and found her car smashed in, I was aware of every bit of Krista. The way her hips swung slightly as she walked. She wasn’t trying to entice a man—she was running for her life but still sexy as hell.

  I tried not to look. I tried not to look as her child pulled on her shirt, exposing a bit of pink bra. I tried not to look as she straddled my bike and then picked up her kid. But these new emotions turned me into an asshole and forced me to look. I looked at her tits, her fine ass, imagined that it was me between her legs and not my bike.

  I opened another beer. I had put her on the back of my fucking bike. Like she was mine. The last woman to ride on the back of my bike had been my ex, Tina, just before the shit show had gone down. After three years, I’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone behind me.

  This girl felt right.

  It was fucking crazy. Apparently, living with my sister and her kid had screwed up my head. I just needed to get laid. I was pretending like she was mine just because a matter of convenience put her on my seat. Tate only had a single rider and I happened to have a pillion. So, it was just necessity. But damn if it didn’t feel like more.

  I needed to clear my head. There was too much at stake for me to go sniffing around her ass. I was here to do a job. That was it. This wasn’t the fucking dating game.

  “Did Tate leave?”

  I looked up from my beer. Krista was holding a first aid kit like it was an offering.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s just you and me.”

  “Oh.” She unpacked some gauze and antiseptic. “We should really disinfect your knuckles. You never know what Robby has been doing.”

  I decided to keep quiet. I liked watching her. Her apartment had been too dark, but here under the lights of the bar, I could see her. I could see the freckles that played across her nose, the little laugh lines that crinkled at the corners of her eyes, her tongue as she licked her lips. Lips I wanted to claim.

  Just when I thought I might get a hard-on from her smile, the antiseptic kicked in and burned like hell.

  “I know it burns, but it will keep your knuckles from getting infected.” She kept her head down, focused on her work as she spoke. “I’ll put some ointment on there too. It’ll help with the scarring.”

  I laughed. Were we looking at the same knuckles? My hands were crisscrossed with nicks and cuts from fights, fixing bikes and manual labor throughout the years. It was pretty obvious I didn’t give a shit about scarring.

  “Well, it has a little bit of pain reliever, so at least it will help with that.” She smiled.

  “That guy at your door, is he your boyfriend?” I asked.

  She looked up and searched my eyes. She looked down at the floor, as if deciding what to say. Then she looked back up at me. “He’s my ex. Thanks for dealing with him. He’s not usually that bad.”

  Not usually that bad? My Madonna and her child had dealt with this asshole before.

  “Is he like that often?”

  She shook her head and applied the ointment to my knuckles. Nails were cut short, not painted, but clean. Her hands weren’t soft, but there were no calluses either. She worked hard but took care of herself. I liked that.

  “Okay, you’re all done. Thanks again.”

  She smiled and my goddamn cock got even harder. I was pathetic, getting fucking turned on from a smile.

  “You got a man?” I blurted out.

  She looked up me, startled. Fuck. That was smooth. I had forgotten how to talk to women that weren’t fucking strippers and hookers. I couldn’t just open my trap. I had to say it nicer.

  “I meant, is anyone gonna get pissed at me for putting you on the back of my bike tonight?”

  I hadn’t really been thinking at the time, I just acted. At least all the guys were on a run somewhere, so no one saw. But I had this nagging feeling that she was mine—and I wanted her on my bike in front of the whole world.

  Her eyes widened as she understood my question. “No. No one will get angry. I work here, so I can’t ride on anyone’s bike, ya know?”

  I nodded and tried not to show my relief. I didn’t know if I was relieved that no one saw, or that she wasn’t attached to another guy. Both, probably.

  I was a piece of shit. I was just up here for a job and there was no way I could have her. But I didn’t want anyone else to have her either. The thought of another man’s cock deep inside her made me want to punch something. Then she could rub more ointment on my hands.

  Fuck. Enough.

  “All right, I’m heading to bed.” I got up and found my way upstairs to my guest room.

  Chapter Three

  Colt

  By the time I got up, it was late morning and Krista and Becky were gone. I knew because, sick bastard that I was, I checked. Krista’s room was tiny, with a single bed. She had some stuff around, a scarf hung from a lamp. It was nice of Tate to give her a place to crash after late-night parties.

  I found myself coffee and eggs in the industrial kitchen and settled in. It was time to get started on the job. The Storm Kings wanted to join the Demon Horde, but they had someone skimming funds. I had to stop the money leak and get all the guys to agree to the patch-over. Easy shit.

  Tate had given me a laptop with the club’s earnings that were reported to the feds, and an old-fashioned ledger book for the rest. Income was always a major issue in patch-overs, especially to the Demon Horde. The Storm Kings were a tiny single-chapter club on the outskirts of Seattle; if they wanted to join a national club like the Demon Horde and share our name, their shit had better be in order. If the Storm Kings didn’t make enough money, they would be out. We weren’t gonna prop up a dying chapter.

  The club had an impressive amount of legit ventures. They owned a number of paid parking lots in downtown Tacoma and a fleet of tow trucks with a small impound yard. There was some sort of partnership with a local tribal casino, and they owned a catering business. It looked like Tate’s old lady ran that out of their house.

  But it was the under-the-table businesses that really brought in the cash. They ran a lucrative import/export business out of the Port of Tacoma. They imported illegal sports cars for the movers and shakers in Seattle. The real cash was in laundering counterfeit bills through the casino or the parking lots. Their partner in Vietnam sent over boxes of fake money on a regular basis. They would wash the cash and take a cut. Their partners in Vietnam had purchased a small share of the casino, so they would just transfer funds. It was very neat and tidy. Minimal risk.

  In the Demon Horde, most of the members, myself included, didn’t have day jobs. We put all of our time into the club, and the club respected that and paid us for our service—with cash. No receipts, no trails. But the Kings were all required to have W-2s and pay taxes. It was an easy way to keep the feds from sniffing around.

  I closed the ledger. All in all, these guys were pretty smart. But they were still losing money, and an MC without dependable income was an MC without members. We needed to get to the bottom of things.

  “Books look good to you?” Tate took a seat at the bar table with me.

  I nodded. “Yeah, looks like you run a tight ship. Whoever keeps your books does a good job.”

  “Torque. My VP. He did the books for years, but he died about three months ago. Cirrhosis.”

  Interesting. That was about the time their operation at the port started getting sketchy.

  “Who took over his spot?”

  “When Torque died, I just couldn’t appoint a new VP. No one could take his place. Krista did a real
good job for a couple of weeks, but I handed it all off to Bear once I named him acting VP. But I’m just not solid with him. I always feel like he’s hiding something. I need help—that’s why you’re here.”

  I tapped my pencil on the table. He needed more than help. He needed a name. The name of who was stealing from him.

  “So, Bear is the main suspect? What about Krista?” My brain screamed against the question, but I had to ask it. If she touched the books at all, she could be involved. “Maybe they’re in on it together?”

  “Not a chance.” Tate shook his head. “Krista and Bear don’t mix. About a year ago, she started avoiding him. I figure it’s her business, so I don’t pry. No way those two are partners. I thought for a minute it could be Krista and her asshole ex. It doesn’t fit, though. He’s a major junkie and she’s never popped so much as pot on her monthly tests.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You test her monthly?”

  Tate nodded. “Sure as shit. She runs my bar and helps out with invoicing. I make damn sure she’s up to the job.”

  The tension dropped out of my shoulders. I shouldn’t be this fucking excited to rule her out as a suspect.

  “You test Bear?”

  Tate shook his head. “I only test my employees, not members. It would have tipped him off. He’s bought a few extras for his bike, though, recently. Nothing you’d notice if you weren’t looking. But I’m fucking looking. Last couple of weeks, Bear has been lying about where he’s been. Middle of the day, late at night, don’t matter. I had one of the prospects tail him once. Went to a deli. Bought a fucking sandwich. Didn’t eat it. Then he told me he went to a club.”