Chapter One

Memphis

I f hell is real, I'm headed there. I made my peace with that fact a long time ago. At least, I thought I had. The girl reading her book in the back of my bar, however, is giving me second thoughts. Because she's tempting as hell, and I'm not feeling particularly peaceful about it at all.

It's the third time this week she's curled up in a booth with her head stuck in her book and a Coke bottle sitting untouched in front of her. Same fucking book every time. Same booth.

Same wicked curves that make my dick throb. There's nothing small about the girl, and I fuckin' love it. She's thick everywhere, from her waist to her hips to her gorgeous ass and thighs.

"Jessup." I wait for my bartender to look at me and then motion him over with a jerk of my head.

"What's up, Memphis?"

"The girl in back."

He follows my gaze.

The bar is packed with people, pulsing with life and energy. The dim lights and neon signs create a hazy atmosphere, casting shadows over the throngs of bodies. Couples grind together in the center of the dance floor, their bodies contorting and moving to the beat. Bikers leer at the waitresses wandering around topless, taking orders and flirting.

They're here every night, pouring money into my coffers while they drink and play pool or flirt with my waitresses.

Fitting that this place is one of the last refuges for MCs in downtown Nashville given that I was deep in one in another life. That was a long fucking time ago—before the fame and fortune. But the night still recognizes one of its own. I built this fucking place for men like me—a debt I needed to pay.

Jessup's gaze lands on the girl in question, the one who sticks out like a sore thumb. The one I can't tear my fucking eyes away from.

"Who is she?"

"Don't know." He runs a hand down his chin, stroking his beard. His eyes are fixated on her. He's staring too fucking hard, but she's so engrossed in her book, she doesn't notice. I doubt she'd notice if the place burned to ash around her. "Showed up a few days ago. Said she's new to town."

"That's all you've got on her?" I arch a brow, surprised. Jessup isn't much to look at, his scarred face detailing the rough life he's lived. With a hooked nose, a crooked smile, and an unruly mop of brown hair that falls into his eyes, he looks more like the bikers he serves than a bartender. But the motherfucker could charm the devil into giving up his throne if he put his mind to it.

The sole reason he runs this place is because people like to talk, and he loves to listen. He knows if shit is going to pop off well before anyone else. Leaving him in charge makes keeping the bloodshed to a minimum a whole helluva lot easier around here.

And the last fucking thing I need is blood spilled in this bar. My manager will fucking kill me if this place gets splashed across the news because of some damn biker bar brawl. And let's be honest…I'm not afraid of much, but Riley Jamison is a different story.

She's about five foot five inches of pure ball-busting terror. And I owe her too much to piss her off lightly.

Anyone else would have listened to my story and kicked my sorry ass right back out the door. After the shit I've done, it's the least I deserve. But not Riley. She listened to what I had to say, asked if that life was over me, and then put a set of drumsticks in my hand and made me famous.

I have what I have because of her.

Including this place.

"You worried about her?" Jessup asks. The question reflects in his blue-gray eyes when he looks over at me.

"Nah. Just curious," I lie, wrapping my fingers around my chilled beer bottle and bringing it to my lips. I take a long pull, still staring at the girl.

Why the fuck is a sweet little thing like her hiding out in a bar full of bikers?

Do I even care? We've all got our reasons for seeking solace in places like this. If she's here, I'm guessing maybe she does too.

I need to mind the business that pays me.

But fuck me. I want this girl on her knees with my dick down her throat. And I don't want to be polite about it. I want my hand around her throat and my teeth in her skin while she's screaming for me to fuck her harder.

I've been thinking about it since I saw her three nights ago. She's tempting. Far too tempting.

It's a fucking problem.

Because there's no fuckin' way this girl is old enough for me. I'm damn near forty. She barely looks old enough to be in my bar. And I don't fuck around.

Nothing good comes from hopping into bed with every willing fan that comes along. Shit. Nothing good comes from getting tangled up with a woman, period. I avoid the hell out of them for a reason. The last thing anyone needs is to be saddled with a motherfucker like me.

But I plunk my bottle down on the bar and stride toward the girl anyway, curious as a motherfucker why she's reading in a topless bar.

"Memphis." Shelby Danvers pops up in front of me, a coy smile on her red lips. She doused herself in body glitter again. The light catches it, making her golden skin sparkle. Even her fucking nipples twinkle.

With blonde hair, big blue eyes and a killer body, she's a knockout; there's no denying it. But she isn't now, nor will she ever be my type. Even if she was, I wouldn't fuck her because she works for me. But she's been on my ass since she started here two months ago.

Frankly, she's on my last goddamn nerve.

"I've been looking for you."

"It's too fucking early in the night for your bullshit, Shelby. Go shake your tits at someone who will pay you to do it."

Her face falls into a pout. Her lips curve down, a touch of disappointment and resentment flaring in her eyes. "You're such a dick. Jesus. I was just coming to tell you that Imogen and Madison are fighting again."

"No, you weren't. You were coming to shove your tits in my face, hoping I'd take you up on the offer," I mutter. "If they're fighting again, tell Venom. He can handle it."

She scowls at me, hot anger flashing in her eyes. "Tell him yourself. I don't know why I still work here. You're a complete asshole."

I chuckle to myself as she stomps away, her ass jiggling in her miniskirt. She's right. I am an asshole to her. But I've been dealing with her shit for the last two months. I tried being polite the first time. It didn't work. That was her one free pass. She should have taken it and fucked off with it instead of continuing to try to climb my dick.

I'm not the kind of motherfucker who gives third and fourth chances. She may think I'm a meal ticket, but I had blood on my hands long before the world knew my name.

The only reason she's still here is because she brings in money. If it weren't for that, she'd have been out on her ass after the second time.

I've got more important shit to do. I don't need her in my face every fucking night, giving me a headache because she wants to flirt with fame.

I wouldn't touch her with someone else's dick. And truthfully…even before the fortune and fame, fucking around wasn't on my list of shit to do. I wasn't a saint, but I was always more worried about escaping than about getting my dick wet. And then all that mattered was surviving.

Until Riley showed up and changed my entire fucking life. I've spent the last decade building something bigger and better. And I'm building it on the fucking bones I buried in the goddamn closet. I haven't touched a woman in…fuck, I don't even know. Since before I left the MC.

I watch Shelby long enough to ensure she's getting back to work, and then put her out of my mind, turning back to my goal. The one girl in this bar I do intend to fuck in every position known to man.

She's still reading her book.

Who the fuck comes to a biker bar to read in the back corner?

I slide into the booth across from her, peeping the title of her book. "You're shitting me."

Wide, startled emerald eyes meet mine over the top. They're so goddamn familiar, my heart thumps against my ribcage, rattling me. But I've never seen this girl before. I'd fucking remember her if I had because she's gorgeous. With her dark hair tossed up in a messy bun, every delicate inch of her round face is visible under the dim lights. Tiny freckles march across the bridge of her nose. Her lips are plump and juicy, just begging to be kissed.

And yet…those eyes. It's like I've seen the damn things a thousand times. Like I should know them.

I shake off the feeling, focusing on her book.

"You're in here every night reading the goddamn Wizard of Oz?"

"No." Her dulcet voice washes over me, turning my cock to steel. Fuck. I can't wait to hear it breaking on my name when I'm nine inches deep. "I read that one the first night. I'm currently reading Tiktok of Oz."

"My point remains, princess. You're in the middle of a goddamn bar."

"I'm aware." She shifts her gaze back to her book. "The topless girls kinda give it away."

"Shouldn't you be at home, tucked up in your bed?"

"Shouldn't you be over at the bar, bitching at one of your employees?" she retorts, not even looking up at me this time.

"You know who I am."

"Not a clue," she says cheerfully, "but I've been here for the last three nights. It only took five minutes to figure out you own the place."

"Yeah? What gave it away?"

"Everyone walks on eggshells around you." She flips the page. "I wasn't sure if it was because they were afraid of you or because they didn't want to disappoint you, but now that we've met, mystery officially solved."

The way she says it makes it abundantly clear which she thinks it is. She isn't entirely wrong, either. Fear comes naturally to people when you're rich, famous, and have a reputation for not tolerating bullshit.

But I don't treat my people like shit. They enjoy working here and I take care of them. If I'm an asshole at times, it's for their own safety, and they respect that. Between the rabid fans and the bikers, there's a whole fucking lot to worry about around here. But this girl doesn't seem to have a clue who I am or what kind of problems we've got going on here.

Either she's full of it, or she's one of the few people in Nashville who don't give a fuck about music.

"Memphis Hughes."

She lifts her gaze to mine again, staring levelly. Either she really doesn't know me, or she doesn't give a flying fuck. Interesting. Most women who walk through the doors can't wait to throw themselves at me. This one looks like she'd rather I fuck off away from her table and leave her in peace.

"My name. What's yours?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Jesus Christ." I can't help but grin at the suspicion in her tone. "Are you always this difficult?"

"Maybe."

"Your name, princess. Now," I growl. Clearly, looks are deceiving because this girl looks like heaven but she's a pain in the ass. It's intriguing as hell. That's a problem. I don't want to be intrigued. I don't want to get to know her. I just want to fuck her out of my system and move the fuck along. Simple. Convenient.

I know it's a lie as soon as I think it. There's nothing simple or convenient about what I want from her. If I get my hands on her, there will be no one after me. There will just be me.

Jesus.

"Kylie."

"Last name?"

She hesitates for a split second, a flicker of unease drifting through her eyes. "Byers."

If her last name is Byers, I'm a choir boy.

She's lying. Why?

I'm not sure, but I'd very much like to find out.

"Do you read in biker bars often, Kylie Byers?" I ask, letting her believe I believe her lie for now.

"Only for the last three days. Would you believe my reading spot was a toss-up between this place and the Waffle Casa?" She bats her long lashes at me. "Guess which one has fewer fights?"

"Well, goddamn." I crack a smile. She's funny. "I guess we're going to have to try harder, aren't we?"

"Please don't. There aren't any drunks doing karaoke in the corner here. If I have to pack it up and go back down there, I may have to burn this place down on my way out. You know, out of spite and all."

"Tell you what." I slide out of the booth, smirking at her. "You stay and read. For the health of my bar. And I'll let you repay me for it later."

"Repay you how?"

"You'll just have to wait to find out."

"Well, that sounds ominous," she mutters.

She has no fucking idea. But I don't tell her that. Instead, I walk away from the booth, chuckling.

"I need a favor."

"Hello to you too, Memphis," Riley says, amusement dripping from her tone as soon as she answers my call. "I'm doing fabulous. Thanks so much for asking. The kids are great, too. And Cash is amazing. It's so great to catch up with you!"

I smirk, running a hand through my overly-long hair as I lean against a post near the back of the bar, in direct line-of-sight of Kylie's booth. She's still reading, oblivious to everything but her book. How the fuck she manages to concentrate with so much noise, I don't know. But I'm fuckin' impressed. "Are you done giving me shit now?"

"Are you done acting like you have no manners?" Riley retorts. "Because I can do this all night, but judging from the sound of things, you're at the bar, which means you have other things to do. So it's up to you."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you could run your own fuckin' gang?" I mutter, my dick throbbing when Kylie glances up from her book, peeking around as if she's looking for me. As soon as her eyes land on me, she quickly looks back down at her book, her cheeks turning pink.

She was looking for me.

A grin stretches across my face.

"Who needs a gang when I have to put up with you, Kasen, Bentley, and everyone else? It's enough work already. I don't want more." Riley huffs. "Besides, orange isn't my color and I've seen shows about the weird food they make in prison. It's a no from me, Memphis."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "So prison food and the clothes are why you're opting out?"

"Top two on the list. Why are you calling me? What is this favor?"

"I've got a girl in my bar—"

"I'm not hiring one of your strippers, Memphis."

"They aren't strippers. They're topless waitresses. And she doesn't work here."

"Honestly, I don't even know why you decided to open a topless bar. You cause me way too much stress already."

"Because it's a lucrative business, Riley," I say instead of going into the details. She already knows exactly why I opened this place. No need to discuss it again now. "I can't play the drums forever. When I retire, I have a backup plan. But I'm not asking you to hire or listen to anyone. This girl doesn't work here."

The mere thought of her walking around topless, all eyes on her, has jealousy sliding through my veins.

Huh . That's new.

"Well, that's good. And it may be lucrative, but it's still a bad idea. This isn't Los Angeles. It's Nashville. People can be judgy about what country musicians do."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not a country musician, isn't it?"

"Uh, I hate to break it to you, but what, precisely, do you think you've been doing for the last five years?"

"Playing drums."

"Yes. With some of the most popular country musicians in the world."

"Doesn't make me country, sweetheart. Besides, if people don't like the bar, they'd really hate to know that I was a one-percenter, wouldn't they?"

Riley huffs at me again, but we both know I'm right. Which is exactly why she ensures my past is kept as hush-hush as possible. There are things about me even she doesn't know—things no one does. But what she knows is more than enough.

"Tell me about the girl," she mutters.

"She's here every night, reading the fucking Wizard of Oz. She gave me a fake name. I want to know who she is."

"And you're calling me why?"

It's a good question. I don't know how the fuck Riley is supposed to help me out here. But there's a reason Kylie gave me a fake name and is reading in my bar every night. I want to know why. Riley knows everyone in this city. If anyone can help solve the mystery, she can.

I hope.

"I need you to help me figure out who she is. You know everyone. Work your magic." And then I say the word I never say to fucking anyone. But Riley is a special case. "Please."

She's quiet for a long moment and then she sighs. "I swear to God, Memphis, if I live to regret this, you're going to live long enough to regret this."

"You won't regret it."

"I've heard that before," she sighs. "Right before Kasen kidnapped Olivia. And guess what? He makes me miserable every single day, Memphis. Every day!"

I chuckle, brushing a hand over my beard. "I can hide his body."

"I may take you up on that. He's calling me now." She groans. "I'll look into your girl."

"Thank yo-" I don't even get to finish before she hangs up on me. I slide my phone back into my pocket, laughing to myself.

My gaze drifts back to Kylie just in time to see her gaze dart away from me.

I grin like a fucking crazy person and stroll toward the back, leaving her to stew over how she's going to have to repay me.