Chapter 3

It’s around one in the morning when I get home.

The Kessler mansion rises proudly between the green hills of Southern California, flanked by thick orange groves on either side. The security lights are on along the main alley leading to the front of the house.

I pull up next to my father’s Volvo, smiling as I remember how irritated he was when I chose to buy a Prius instead of “something safer.” The man used to ride with the devil, and now he gets dizzy in the elevator, for heaven’s sake.

“Crap, he’s awake,” I mutter, noticing the lights on in the ground-floor living room.

He probably wants to talk—it wouldn’t be the first time this week. I know he will continue to do this until I quit my bar job and agree to work for his company instead. He wants me to be close to him and follow in his footsteps.

Ever since Mom died, he’s been hovering and pressuring me to find a career path, one that focuses on finance and business, even though it’s not what I want to do. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.

Losing Mom threw him off his game for a while. I was left untethered and disappointed in the way he handled everything prior to her death. I’m still trying to process what happened in the months leading up to that wretched moment.

Still trying to forget the look on her face when I told her that he was in a business meeting. An hour later, my mother was taking her last breath, and my father was signing a hostile takeover of a rival company.

I take a deep breath and go inside.

As soon as he hears the door close behind me, Dad comes out of the living room. He’s in his usual burgundy velvet robe, pale blue silk pajamas underneath, and reading glasses hanging around his neck. I stare at him for a moment, trying to imagine him in Iron Horse leather and jeans, riding a bike. Two images I simply cannot reconcile in my head.

“How was work?” he asks.

“It was good, thanks,” I reply with a flat smile. “What are you doing still up?”

“I had some documents to go over.”

“On a Friday night? You should’ve come to the clubhouse instead. Paddy misses you.”

Dad gives me a wry smirk. “Paddy knows I’m a busy man, honey. Besides, I’m meeting him for lunch on Sunday. He’s interested in making some private investments.”

“Good for him. I’m gonna go to bed now,” I say, ready to make my way upstairs.

Everything in this house reminds me of Mom. I don’t mind it, most of the time, anyway. But it’s as if time has stood still here. For five years, nothing has changed—not the furniture, not the drapes, not the colors on the walls.

My father has instructed the service staff to keep everything just the way Mom kept it: fresh flowers in every vase, the same color scheme in every room. Nothing is to be changed, and it’s hard because I’m ready to move on. He isn’t.

It’s the guilt that is eating away at him. His desperate way of staying close to her after running away from her during the worst time.

“Just want to double-check,” Dad begins, “you are coming to work for me in September, right, Nadia? I’ve got an office manager position I intend to keep open for you.”

“You shouldn’t. I’m sure something else will pop up by September,” I reply.

He knows what that means, and he doesn’t like it. “Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, honey.”

“Or maybe you could respect my desire to try something else for once, something I’m interested in, without pressuring me,” I reply bluntly. I like this job, the clubhouse, and the people there. What’s the rush?”

“They’re not your people,” my father reminds me. “You’re not a part of that world. You never were, and you never will be. You’re practically a child, those are grown men. There’s no common denominator there.”

“You were a part of that world. And I am not a child!”

“We’re different people, Nadia. I had it rough growing up. I turned to the club because it was like a second home. Those people were my family, a brotherhood. You already have a family; you have resources and opportunities that I didn’t.”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m not sure I really have a family, though. I have a guy who claims he’s my father and pays for stuff. I had a mother, but she’s gone—”

“No, Nadia, don’t start.”

“Start what? Start telling it like it is, Dad?” I am getting angry, and for good reason. “You can’t handle the truth? Is that it?”

Dad sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his pale blonde, almost white hair. I’ve gotten remarkably good at frustrating the hell out of him in order to keep certain conversations short.

I don’t want to commit to any position within his company, and he doesn’t want to talk about how he let Mom and me down. It’s really that simple. Unpleasant but simple.

“Fine, Nadia. Just be careful,” Dad says. “And remember, for God’s sake, they’re not your people. They’re not your friends. And that’s not the kind of place you’ll want to list on your resume in the future. Do your thing, have your fun, satisfy this childish whim of yours, but do not forget who you are.”

“I know who I am. And I know who you are, too, even though you seem to have forgotten,” I reply. “Good night, Dad.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already gliding up the stairs, eager to take a hot shower and forget this conversation ever took place. It’s always been like this—it’s been like this for five years. He’s patient—I’ll give him that—but he is also determined.

I, too, am determined, though perhaps not in the healthier aspects of our relationship. I’m insistent in holding onto my resentment, my bitterness. Then again, I am entitled to feel this way.

While I was helping the home nurses and the maids take care of Mom, Dad was working obscene hours and traveling when he didn’t really need to travel, just to avoid coming home to us. To avoid seeing Mom as she slowly withered and died. I was there through it all. The chemo, the recovery, the remission, the return of an even more aggressive form of cancer, the slow death, the pain.

I was there. He wasn’t.

And I know it hurt Mom.

She left this world thinking the love of her life didn’t want to see her, didn’t care.

He couldn’t bear to see her, and I knew that. But I saw it as a sign of weakness. The great Michael Kessler is a weak man. And I have a hard time coping with that realization.

* * *

The followingdays roll by in a haze. I stick to my regular routine—wake up, go for a quick run, have breakfast, get my work clothes ready, and check the stock market.

I may not want to work for Dad, but I did pick up a few tricks from the old man, and I’ve learned to invest my money smartly. The more I think about it, the more interested I am in starting a business of my own.

Not in the finance industry, though.

I’m thinking hospitality. Mom always wanted to have a lakeside house or something cozy and quaint by the beach somewhere. A bed and breakfast, maybe? It would be cute but luxurious for the discerning traveler.

California is often best known for its sun, beaches, and Los Angeles and Hollywood. But there is so much more to this state—so much splendor, so much history. The Latin heritage alone is a treasure trove of culture and beauty.

Mom used to talk about building a Spanish-style hacienda somewhere, with red archways and giant windows, spacious terracotta patios for barbecues and entertaining, luscious gardens, and maybe even a pool. Dreams that died with her.

Dreams I’d like to make happen someday.

The clubhouse is relatively quiet during the week. It’s mostly business meetings for Orion, Kai, and Drake, the occasional lunch for the other members when they’re not out riding or working their day jobs. The club itself may seem like a full-time gig, but the Iron Horse Bikers have lives outside this place, too.

I always have Paddy around, though. As the senior club member, he’s been chosen to handle the bar’s management on a day-to-day basis, leaving all the MC stuff to Orion, Kai, and Drake. They only come to him for the really big decisions, and I can’t help but respect that they still include him and that they still value his opinion.

Matty, Lisa, and Travis are busy doing inventory this afternoon while I wipe a freshly washed batch of glasses in Paddy’s company. He’s going over one of his favorite photo albums, one of many he keeps here in a locked cabinet by the jukebox.

“Nostalgic again?” I ask, smiling as I pick up another glass to polish.

“When am I not nostalgic?” Paddy chuckles and flips the page. “Oh, look at this.”

I lean over the bar counter and see a photo of the original MC members. My father is among them, third from the president’s left. The sight of the president, Rufus Williams, sends shivers down my spine. Orion is his spitting image, although a little taller. “Wow,” I mumble. “That’s Dad.”

“Mike ‘Quicksilver’ Kessler,” Paddy says.

“Quicksilver?”

“Like mercury. Never stood still. Always on the move. Always quick to anger.”

I raise a doubtful eyebrow. “Are you serious? The Michael Kessler I know keeps a Zen garden in his home office.”

“Yeah, Cassandra changed him to the core,” he replies, laughing lightly. But the warmth in his eyes tells me precisely how much he cared about my mother—perhaps more than Paddy himself realizes. “The minute she walked into this clubhouse, it was game over for Quicksilver.”

“Wait, she came to this place?”

Paddy looks at me, beaming. “This is where they met.”

I glance around, suddenly seeing the place in a whole different light. As the afternoon sun shines through the western windows, bathing the whole room in a golden shimmer, I try to imagine it all those years ago.

I try to envision my mother opening the door, her short heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Country music is playing on the jukebox; the air is thick with cigarette smoke, and beer is being poured from the tap.

My dad laughing with his boys, then turning his head to see her for the first time.

“Cassandra was a vision in pink. A strawberry blonde who didn’t seem to have a care in the world,” Paddy says, his gaze wandering away from me. “She wore this cute little dress, her hair pulled up in a tight bun. She had on these tiny cherry earrings. That girl had a keen eye for detail, and she matched everything. Her nails were cherry red. Her shoes—”

“Let me guess, red patent leather pumps,” I interject. He nods and laughs again. “I think she kept them long after the clubhouse days. They might still be in a box somewhere.”

“You didn’t throw anything out, did you?”

I shake my head. “Dad moved out of their bedroom. He took the downstairs guestroom and made it his own. The master bedroom is like a shrine. Everything is still just the way Mom liked it. Hell, the whole house is a shrine devoted to her.”

“It’s his way of coping,” Paddy sighs. “Mike loved Cassandra so much. Nadia, you have no idea. The minute he saw her, he knew. He actually leaned in and told me. He said, ‘Paddy, that’s my future wife, right there.’”

He pauses, remembering that precise moment in time with remarkable clarity. “He walked over to her. Cassandra had come in with some friends. Their car had broken down. They were having it fixed just down the road at Harry’s.”

“Oh, I know Harry. Great mechanic.”

“You know Harry Jr. We still had Harry Sr. back then,” Paddy corrects me. “Anyway. Your mom and her friends sat in one of those booths over by the window, the morning sun shining on her strawberry hair. She ordered a mojito. Imagine that. A mojito in this clubhouse. We had mojitos on the menu, but none of our bartenders knew how to make one. I don’t even think we had fresh mint around. Our guys drank beer and whiskey.”

“And what happened?” I ask, hopelessly invested.

Paddy grins. “Your dad jumped behind the bar. Like I said, none of the bartenders knew how to make a mojito. Quicksilver to the rescue.”

“He made her a mojito.”

“Oh, no, honey, your dad was just as clueless. But he wanted to impress the girl, so he checked the menu and looked up the ingredients even though he had no idea how to mix them. He went over to her table with a tall glass that had more rum in it than anything else. A pathetic wedge of lemon. Brown sugar on the bottom. Mint syrup, ’cause, like I said, we didn’t have any fresh mint … man, it was a green mess. Your mother made the cutest face when she saw it, but then she looked up at him, and there it was. That instant love. Those wide eyes. That secret thought you get when you see someone you know is special. Love at first sight, Nadia, it was love at first sight. Cassandra drank the whole thing and asked Mike to make her another one. She got hammered so quick, but she just couldn’t bring herself to tell him how awful that drink was.”

We’re both laughing. It makes all the sense in the world. I think that’s why I like being here so much. It brings me closer to a side of my father that I never got to experience. A side my mother saw and loved deeply. I keep trying to understand this man, to understand why he ran from us when things got rough when back in the earliest days, he whipped out the crappiest mojito so that he could be around her. It doesn’t make sense.

“Nadia, you need to understand something,” Paddy says, his voice lower, as if reading my mind. “Cassandra was everything to him. His whole world.”

“I wish that version of Dad had stuck around her entire life,” I say quietly.

“You’re talking about the time she got sick.” Paddy exhales sharply, then lowers his gaze. “Honestly, I understand. I mean, I understand how you feel. But I can understand how he felt, too.”

“You came by to see her,” I remind him. “Every week, you were at the house, Paddy. You were there more often than Dad was.”

His eyes glisten with tears. “I always respected her, and I respected Mike. I kept my distance and did my best to protect them, to stay neutral, even when they were fighting. Then I got the news of her cancer, and I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

I’m speechless. I had always suspected Paddy’s feelings ran deep for my mom. It’s obvious from the way he talks about her that he loved my mother. There was plenty about her to love, though. I can’t blame the guy. I’m sure Mom left a trail of broken hearts behind when she decided to marry my father.

“The point is, although I loved her,” he says, “I don’t think I loved her nearly as much as Michael loved her. Believe it or not, that man would’ve scorched the whole earth for Cassandra. He couldn’t protect her from the disease, though. He was helpless, and it killed him on the inside. He simply couldn’t bear to watch her die ever so slowly. He couldn’t.”

“I get that. But he left me there with her. I had to deal with all of it. I was sixteen, Paddy. I needed my father.”

He nods slowly. “It’s something the two of you need to talk about. And soon. Your old man keeps nagging me about letting you go in September.”

“Ugh, I knew he’d push that,” I roll my eyes with frustration.

“Nadia, tell me something,” Paddy says, his hand covering mine on the bar counter. He gives it a firm, fatherly squeeze. “Do you like it here?”

“I love it here.”

“Good, then; as far as I’m concerned, as long as you want this job, it’s yours.”

I give him a doubtful look. “And Dad?”

“Hey, are you an adult?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Then your dad can suck it,” Paddy shoots back. “The MC may have kept good relations with your old man, but we are not beholden to him in any way. We offered you this job at your request, Nadia. Not his. We let you in initially because he’s your dad, but that’s it. Quicksilver has no power here, and I need you to remember that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, grabbing another glass to polish.

He looks around as if not wanting anybody to hear us. My colleagues are scattered somewhere behind me, going through the fridges and counting bottles and cans. There are several club members and a couple of prospects hanging out in booths, but they’re also out of earshot. All I can do is lean closer to give Paddy the impression that it’s safe to talk. I am curious what he has to say.

“When your dad announced that he was pulling out of the club to build a new life with you and Cassandra—my God, you were just a baby then—we went into our secret bank account, also known as the vault. You know where we keep that, right?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah, upstairs, in Orion’s office.”

“We had a lot of cash back then. We didn’t want the IRS getting too much of our earnings. Besides, they were the kind of earnings we couldn’t exactly list on any official forms if you catch my drift. We went into that fund and gave Quicksilver about a hundred grand as a parting gift. He used that money wisely, and I’ll give the man credit. He paid off his mortgage and invested the rest.”

“So, that’s how Dad got his start in the financial sector.”

“Well, he’s a smart man, Nadia. He knew where and how to invest. He played the stock market like a fiddle. I’m sure he would’ve eventually gotten to his current position without our gift, but it sure fast-tracked him to great success.”

“I had no idea.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Paddy says. “I’d appreciate it if everything we talk about stays between us.”

I give him a military salute. “Yes, sir. What’s said in the clubhouse stays in the clubhouse.”

The doors open, and in walk Orion, Kai, and Drake.

Time stands still for me. I hold my breath, watching them as they watch me. It’s an instant recognition, impossible to deny, impossible to resist. I catch a smile fluttering across Orion’s lips. A playful wink from Drake—so subtle, I almost missed it. And a lusty glare from Kai that makes my insides flutter in the best possible way.

They walk in with an unmistakable attitude, an unshakeable confidence in each step that makes my blood flow faster and hotter.

Clad in jeans, T-shirts, black leather, silver jewelry, and heavy biker boots, the three steel-natured gentlemen take their seats at their usual table while I make my way over to take their order.

“I’ll be upstairs, fellas,” Paddy announces, taking his drink with him.

“See you later,” Orion says, then immediately sets his sights on me.

It’s been tense since that night outside the clubhouse. They’ve been keeping it cool, maintaining a professional distance, but there are times when I can see the ravaging lust in their eyes.

There is definitely some kind of chemistry unfolding here, and the more I interact with these men, the stronger my desire becomes. I need more of what they gave me. I need it, I want it all, and I’m going to find a way to get it.

“What can I get you, gentlemen?” I ask with a perky smile.

“You should know by now that we are anything but gentlemen,” Orion shoots back. “But I’ll have the house burger and a beer, please.”

“Duly noted,” I say, writing his order down. “What about you, Kai?”

“I’ll tell you if you say my name again. I like the way it rolls off your tongue,” he replies, leaning back into his seat. I’m tempted to crane my neck forward so I can see if he’s got a hard-on because judging by the sound of his voice alone, I’m sure he’s itching to put his hands all over me.

“Since when have you known me to be so irresponsibly compliant, Kai?” I giggle, and it’s enough to get him smiling and letting out a quick chuckle.

“I’ll have the same,” he says, nodding toward Orion. “Burger and beer. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. And you, Drake?”

I get so giddy when they come around, though I’m not entirely sure why, but I do like the feeling. I like the energy that they give me. Everyone else in this place seems to tense up in their presence. Maybe I don’t know them as well as the others.

Dad warned me that being a part of the club’s leadership comes with a terrible cost. Tough decisions. Hurting people for the club’s greater good. Conducting dirty deals and selling one’s soul to the devil to protect the Blackthorn Riders. He’s said all of this multiple times in a bid to discourage me from coming to work here.

“I’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon, wheat toast, baby,” Drake says.

“Only if you call me baby again; I like the way it rolls off your tongue,” I jokingly reply, matching Kai’s playful energy. Except it doesn’t elicit the result I’d hoped for. Drake’s smile fades, darkness settling in the green pools of his eyes as he looks up at me.

“Playing with fire will get you burned, Nadia, and I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of heat,” he says, his voice cold. Cold enough to send shivers tumbling down my spine as I clear my throat and try to laugh it off.

“I was just kidding,” I say, writing down his order. “And what would you like to drink with your bacon and eggs? A beer?”

“I’d drink you, but let’s stick with a Diet Coke for now,” he replies.

I’m befuddled. If I try to play their games, I’m warned of possibly unpleasant consequences. But if they say spicy things, apparently, I’m merely supposed to brush it off. Hell, no. I’m a Kessler, not some floozy they picked up from the side of the road.

“A Diet Coke it is, then. Would you like a pacifier to go with that?” I shoot back, grinning with profound satisfaction.

“I need to drive back into town later, Miss Snarky,” Drake says, half-smiling. “I’ll have that beer tonight, though. I’m dying to see if you’re as feisty then as you are now ’cause I’ve got a few ways of fixing that.”

“Oh, watch me quiver in fear,” I quip and prepare to walk back to the bar, feeling victorious.

“Nadia,” Orion’s hard voice stops me in my tracks.

“Yes, boss?” I reply, slowly turning around to face him.

He gives me a look so deep that I can practically feel it drilling a hole through my soul. “Kyle has been banned from the premises. I wanted to make sure you were aware.”

“Yes, boss.”

“We don’t want an incident like that repeated, ever again.”

That felt like a slap across the face.

He’s not just talking about Kyle’s attempt to defile me; he’s also talking about what happened afterward. It’s his way of saying that he regrets what he did. That it’ll never happen again. It bums me out, but I manage to keep a straight face as I give him a slight nod and head back to the bar.

They don’t get to do that, though. They don’t get to start a fire and not face the consequences.

If anything, this hot-and-cold behavior of theirs only serves to bring out the vixen in me. I may be a virgin, I may be much younger than they are, but I’m not dumb or ignorant. I know a thing or two about attracting a guy’s attention, about getting a man interested and enticed enough to take me. To claim me.

And I want Orion, Kai, and Drake to do just that.

Over and over until I’m unable to walk properly.