Chapter 1

1

KANNON

M y Harley roared as I cut between two cars, splitting them with only a few inches of space on either side of me. One of them blared their horn, but I was already gone, cutting to the shoulder to race up to the red light and blow through the intersection moments before it turned green. Passengers in the cars I passed glared at me. Some cursed out their open windows and flicked ash from their cigarettes. I just grinned.

It only made me want to fuck with them more. I pushed the bike harder, feeling that familiar thrill surge through my veins when the engine really opened up. This was freedom—the raw, untamed sort that you could only find on the back of a motorcycle with no particular destination in mind.

I liked the custom pipes that made my bike sound like a fucking freight train. It made people look, made them wonder, maybe even made them a little afraid.

Good.

I cut across the lane and got to the exit that would get me on the highway. It was only a couple of miles, but I really needed to open her up and let the wind slap me in the face and burn my skin. The chill in the air made me feel alive.

Dallas didn’t really get frigid until the dead of winter, but when you were doing eighty with nothing but the wind in your face and the road stretching ahead of you, even a mild chill could cut deep. The highway was nearly empty, a straight shot to the next exit. I throttled up. The bike responded eagerly, its growl deepening as we ate up the asphalt.

My exit came up too soon. I considered abandoning my plans and just going for a long ride in the dark. It didn’t matter where I went. I just wanted to go . That was just me. I had a restlessness I couldn’t shake. People always said I was going to kill myself one of these days. Those people would die without ever having lived.

They also didn’t seem to understand that the speed didn’t scare me. Fuck, it taunted me. It was the fuel in my veins. I took the exit anyway, the decision made more out of habit than any real desire to stop riding. The road looped around, taking me under the highway I had just been on and toward the city’s fringe.

The outskirts were quieter at night, less congested with the day’s hustle. Here the lights dimmed and the world seemed to pull back, giving space to those like me who thrived in the shadows. I slowed down as I approached the rundown bar. The building looked like it might collapse at any minute but its neon sign flickered, announcing they were open.

Nowhere else was like the Rusty Rail, the dingy hole-in-the-wall bar I called home more often than my own place.

The place wasn’t much but it had character. A couple of regulars loitered by the door, cigarettes glowing like fireflies in the dark. They straightened when they saw me pull in. They got the usual wary look in their eyes.

Damn right .

I swung my leg off the bike, the worn leather of my jacket creaking. The bouncer, a brick wall of a guy aptly named Tank, nodded as I walked past. I wasn’t just a regular—I was the guy people noticed. The one they whispered about when they thought I couldn’t hear.

Inside, the bar smelled like stale beer and regret. My boots hit the floorboards covered with sawdust and peanut shells. The place was dark with old-school lighting that made everything look yellow, like stepping into an old photograph. I had a feeling that was intentional.

I made my way up to the long bar that had seen some shit in the hundred years or so since it had been installed in the place. A guy sitting on the stool I always claimed looked up, flinched, and immediately stood, muttering something about needing to hit the bathroom. I slid onto the seat like it had been waiting for me all night.

Riggs, the bartender and one of the only people I could halfway tolerate, placed a glass in front of me without asking. Neat whiskey. My usual.

“Slow night,” he said, leaning on the counter. His arms, inked with faded tattoos, flexed as he wiped down a spot I was pretty sure was just stained. It would take a sandblaster to get the marks out of the bar. The thing had nicks and scrapes across the surface. There were even a few holes that were rumored to be from a shootout sometime in the thirties. I didn’t know if that was true but there was a big faded sign on the wall saying “Take all gunfights outside.”

I took a slow sip, letting the burn of the whiskey remind me I was still alive. “Slim pickings?”

He chuckled, glancing around. The place wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t exactly bustling either. A few small groups huddled in corners, nursing drinks. A couple of pool players argued over shots at the table in back. And the women? They weren’t anything to write home about, but they weren’t the worst, either. I didn’t mind riding something with a few miles on it.

“Could go downtown,” Riggs said, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “Bet those high-end places are crawling with hot trim tonight. Model types with long legs, expensive perfume. They’d be happy to a take a roughneck like you home for a little walk on the wild side.”

I snorted, turning on my stool to survey the room. “Nah. Too much effort.”

“Effort?” Riggs raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Since when do you do effort?”

“Exactly.” I tipped the glass to my lips. “Why should I, when this place has everything I need?”

And by everything, I meant women who were like me—damaged, complicated, and looking for something they’d never say out loud. The kind who knew the score before I even opened my mouth. No strings. No expectations. Just two people scratching an itch. They probably had daddy issues and a lot of baggage.

I didn’t care. I wasn’t the guy to solve their problems or pull them out of whatever shitty life they were stuck in. I was just the guy that could give them a good time. The kind of night that would leave them tingling and wanting more.

But they wouldn’t get it.

They got to fuck me and that was enough. More than one woman had seen the face of god when I pounded into her up against a wall or bent over my bike. Plenty of women had told me so. I aimed to please. I got off on making women get off. There was a power in that, a kind of control that I craved. A connection that was purely physical, free from the messy webs of emotions and expectations. It was simple. Uncomplicated.

“You’re generous,” Riggs said dryly, responding to my comment about his bar.

“Generous as hell,” I replied, smirking. “This place is a shithole. You know that, right?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “I guess that’s why it’s filled with turds like you.”

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced up at the bar’s sad attempt to decorate. A single red heart dangled from a piece of ribbon over the bar, swaying slightly in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It was a weak nod to Valentine’s Day, which was a month or so away. It was a holiday I hated with a passion.

I reached up, yanking the thing down and crumpling it in my fist. “You really let Hallmark sucker you into this crap?”

Riggs shrugged. “Keeps the ladies happy. You know, the ones who still believe in romance. Puts them in the mood for love.”

“Idiots,” I muttered, tossing the crumpled heart aside.

Riggs laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a real charmer, Kannon.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m charging you two bucks for messing up my heart,” he said.

I snorted a laugh. “Worth it.”

I finished off my whiskey, slamming the glass down a little harder than necessary. It was time for another. Riggs grabbed the bottle and filled it up.

He got a look on his face that said bad news was coming my way. I inwardly sighed. “What?” I asked.

“Did you hear about old man Jacobs?”

The name made my stomach tighten, though I didn’t let it show. I took a long slow drink, buying myself a few seconds to steel myself. “No. What about him?”

“He croaked last week. Poor bastard.”

“No shit?”

“At least he’s in a better place, lord rest his soul. He didn’t have it easy there at the end.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, my jaw tightening.

I didn’t come here to brood or to think about the hereafter. Death was a bitch, sneaky and unfair. I’d been tempting Death for years and the fucker wouldn’t mess with me. Nope. It only took the good ones. The weak ones that didn’t deserve to die.

I slammed the whiskey. It didn’t do shit for me. If I wanted to get drunk, I would need the bottle. Maybe that was a sign I needed to cut back.

Fuck that.

Turning back toward the room, my gaze swept over the crowd again. I needed someone to lose myself in. If I couldn’t get drunk on whiskey, I would drown myself in pussy.

This time, my attention snagged on a woman at a corner table. Tattoos snaked up her arms, the dark ink standing out against her creamy skin. She was laughing at something, but her eyes were sharp and watchful, like she wasn’t as carefree as she wanted everyone to think.

She was sitting with a guy—her boyfriend, probably—and a couple friends. But the way she shifted in her seat, angling slightly away from the guy, told me all I needed to know. She wasn’t happy. She was looking for something.

And I was the guy who could give it to her.

I took a second to check her out. Thin, almost too skinny, but she was pretty enough. She didn’t have the curves I liked in a woman but I wasn’t trying to date her. I stared at her, waiting until she caught me looking. Her blue eyes met mine. I gave the slightest jerk of my head, beckoning her to me.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered briefly to the guy sitting next to her before turning back to me. That slight, almost imperceptible pause told me everything I needed to know. She was intrigued, maybe even a little curious, but definitely not committed.

I smirked. Tilting my glass to my lips and watching her over the rim, I took a slow sip. The alcohol burned just the right amount. By the time I placed the glass back on the bar, she had made up her mind. She excused herself from the table.

“Don’t start shit in my bar,” Riggs warned.

“It’s not me starting anything,” I said without looking back at him.

My eyes were on her. She had narrow hips but long legs that would easily wrap around me. She walked with a confidence that intrigued me the closer she got. When she reached the bar, she didn’t hesitate. She pulled up a stool next to mine, her posture relaxed yet assertive.

“Buy me a drink?” she asked.

I nodded at Riggs. “Whatever the lady wants.”

She looked at my glass. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Nice ink,” I said, nodding at her arm. “Bet you’ve got a few more worth seeing.”

She blinked, caught off guard, then smirked. “Maybe.”

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. “I know a place where you could show me all the ones you’re hiding.”

Her cheeks flushed but she didn’t look away. I took the chance, just to test the waters. I grabbed the back of her head and kissed her. It was forceful with my tongue pushing into her mouth. She immediately gave in, leaning into me and kissing me back.

I pulled back, satisfied with my choice. “Finish your drink,” I said.

She smiled. “You’re bossy.”

“Damn right.”

“Hey,” her boyfriend snapped as he approached us. “She’s with me.”

I barely glanced at him. “Not anymore.”

His hand clenched into a fist. I slid off my stool and squared off against him. I was six two slouching. I glared down at him. He wasn’t even six feet tall.

“Fucking slut, have her,” he hissed and walked away.

I knew she would fuck me tonight and go crawling back to him in the morning. He seemed like a big enough bitch to take her back. Enjoy the taste of my dick on her lips.

She took a sip of her whiskey and looked at me. “Do you always pick up women with other men?”

I shrugged. “If it’s the woman I want, I don’t give a shit who she’s with. Not my fault if a guy isn’t man enough to keep his woman.”

There was a hint of challenge in her eyes. “And what makes you think I’m the type of woman who would just go home with a guy she just met?”

I leaned back against the bar. “You kissed me back,” I said simply, as if that explained everything.

“Maybe I was just curious to see if you lived up to your reputation.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And do I?”

“We’ll see.” She downed her whiskey and looked at me. “We doing this or what?”

I threw some cash on the bar and handed her my helmet. I could feel every eye in the bar on us, the weight of their judgment thick in the air.

They were just jealous.

Because tonight, like every other night, I would get what I wanted. And the rest of the world could go to hell.