Chapter Two

Kylie

" Y ou."

I look up into the denim eyes of the bouncer pointing a thick finger at me from the double doors of the Devil's Run just off Broadway in downtown Nashville. He's the same behemoth who has been here every night since I started coming to the bar. Judging by the way he scowls at me, I don't think he likes me much. Then again, I'm not sure he likes anyone.

"You're in," he growls, his deep voice rumbling through the crowd waiting outside the doors.

"Freaking seriously?" a bottle blonde near the front of the line huffs. "She just got here. I've been waiting an hour."

"Keep waitin', sweetheart," he says, not even looking in her direction. "The boss likes her. He doesn't give a shit about you."

Raucous laughter erupts from a group of bikers directly behind her.

My heart thumps unevenly at the mention of his boss, Memphis Hughes. The man doesn't even know who I am or what I'm really doing here. But something about the razor-sharp set of jaw, the confident swagger in his walk, and that freaking cocky smirk has me thinking things I shouldn't.

Memphis Hughes is trouble with a capital T. And I like it a little too much. I've been trying to convince myself all day that my attraction to him is only because of his connection to my dead brother, but I'm honest enough with myself to know I'm a liar. It's him and the way he watched me all night last night.

I'm trying to chase ghosts from the past…and his wicked smirk is what's haunting me.

"You going in or not?" the bouncer, Venom, growls at me.

"Yes," I say, ducking out of line to hurry toward the doors before he changes his mind. When I pass the blonde, she scoffs at me. I ignore her, brushing past Venom's muscular body into the bar.

As soon as I step over the threshold, a wall of noise hits me. The pounding beat of the music pulses through my veins. The scent of smoke and bourbon fills the air, mixing with leather, sweat, and the smell of nachos from the kitchen.

I pause for a moment, trying to get my bearings. Until I stepped through the doors of this bar for the first time, I'd never been in one. And this bar is…well, it's something. Half of the waitresses walk around topless, dollar bills tucked into their skirts as they deliver food and take orders.

No one ever gets handsy with them, though. The one time someone tried while I was here, Memphis and Venom hauled him out by his throat, a line of bikers trailing behind to ensure he stayed out. They respect Memphis and his rules, at least enough to keep their hands off his employees.

Forcing my feet forward, I make my way to my usual booth in the very back corner—right under the only light in this place that isn't neon. I try like hell not to look at Memphis when I pass by the bar, but my gaze drifts to him anyway. He's talking to the scarred bartender, Jessup, his voice pitched low. He looks way too good in a tight black T-shirt and faded jeans, his long dark hair a wild mess around his face. With tattoos running up his muscular arms all the way to his neck and pure sin in his cobalt eyes, he's far too wild to be as damn beautiful as he is.

He notices me looking and shoots me a smirk, his eyes heated as they prowl down my body. "Hey, Ozma."

I roll my eyes at his stupid nickname and keep walking, refusing to acknowledge him or the way my stomach clenches at the sight of him. Lord have mercy, though, the man should come with a warning label.

I hear his wicked chuckle even over the music wailing through the bar. It turns my nipples to hard points beneath my Zeppelin T-shirt.

I nearly trip over my own two feet, which has my face flaming.

Get a grip, girl, I chastise myself silently as I fall into my booth. He knows what happened to Jayson. That's what you're here for. Not whatever this ridiculous fascination is.

My internal pep talk falters as he emerges from behind the bar, crossing toward me with the easy grace of a freaking panther on the prowl. He slides into the booth across from me, his thick, denim-clad thigh bumping against mine as his addictive scent swirls around me.

"So, you weren't just a figment of my imagination," he drawls, his deep voice washing over me as he throws one arm over the back, sprawling out. His massive frame takes up half the bench. "I was sure I dreamed your sassy ass."

"Huh," I mutter, placing my book on the table in front of me. "Interesting."

"What?"

"You were dreaming about my ass. I was dreaming about riding dragons." I bat my lashes at him, my expression level. "Clearly, we are not the same."

A slow, easy smile spreads across his face, his gorgeous eyes lighting up. "If it's power you want between your thighs, princess, just say the word."

"I'll stick to dragons, thanks." I roll my eyes at him again. "At least they fly. You, on the other hand…"

"Oh, I'll make you fly." He winks at me, reaching out to touch my hand. Electricity sparks where his calloused fingers meet my skin, singing through my veins. "So high, you'll get dizzy, baby."

"Right." I slip my hand out from beneath his, refusing to let him rattle me. "I bet you say that to all the girls, don't you?"

"Memphis!" Jessup shouts from the bar before he can answer. "Priest is on the phone."

Priest? The man has a priest?

He hesitates for a long moment, his eyes flickering over my face. And then he curses beneath his breath and slides from the booth. Instead of heading for the bar, he leans down over me, getting in my personal space.

I bite my lip, fighting a whimper as his intoxicating scent clouds my mind. Good lord, he smells like sex and sin.

"I've said it to one girl," he growls, his eyes locked on mine. "The mouthy fuckin' minx reading in the back of my goddamn bar every night, princess."

I swallow convulsively, my heart pounding.

He touches my cheek, smirks, and then strides away, leaving me gaping after him. I'm not sure if he meant it or not, but… who am I kidding? He meant it. I'm just not entirely sure I believe him.

Memphis Hughes may not know who I am, but I know exactly who he is. For years when I was a little girl, he and my brother were thick as thieves. They were in an MC together back home in Memphis. He was dangerous then, and he's just as dangerous now.

What happened to my brother and their MC is proof of that. Twelve years ago, everyone in their club was murdered.

Everyone except Memphis.

He didn't show up to Jayson's funeral. He never showed up to offer his condolences. He simply disappeared. No one knew where he was or what happened to him until he reappeared five years ago, playing drums for Cami and Bentley Reynolds. Now, he's one of the most famous musicians in the world. But I don't care about that.

People back home say he sold the MC out to their enemies—that he's the reason my brother is dead. I don't know if that's true or not, but he has answers that I want. A leopard doesn't change his spots. And Memphis Hughes can smirk and flirt all he wants, but it doesn't make him any less dangerous.

A waitress slams a bottle of Coke down on the table, making me jump. "From Memphis," she snaps, jutting her chin toward him.

I glance over to find his intense cobalt blue eyes fixed on me from behind the bar, that damn smirk playing on his lips again.

Heat rises to my cheeks, an involuntary reaction.

The waitress follows my gaze, her face dropping into a scowl when she catches Memphis staring at me, the bar phone clutched to his ear. She looks back at me, her icy blue eyes narrowed as she leans down as if she needs to tell me something. "I wouldn't waste my time trying to fuck him if I were you. He's not interested in fat girls. He just likes the money you spend here."

My mouth drops open as I stare at her. She's gorgeous in a way that I would have been jealous of just a few years ago—long blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, a body women starve themselves for.

I've been curvy my whole life. In high school, girls like her made my life hell because of it. I've since realized that it was never about my size. They were vicious because they were just as insecure as I was.

I guess some things don't change. Because this girl is mad as hell that Memphis is staring at me and not at her. As a matter of fact, in the time I've been here, the only time he's looked at her has been when she's been in his face, forcing him to deal with her. The rest of the time, he doesn't even know she exists. Meanwhile, I just want to observe from the shadows, and he's all up in my business.

I laugh abruptly, the irony not lost on me.

Apparently, laughter is the wrong response.

"As soon as he realizes you're just another pathetic little fangirl with a desperate crush, he'll kick you to the curb with the rest of the trash," she says, a vicious smirk on her lips.

"Yeah? I guess trash always recognizes its own, doesn't it?" I ask sweetly. "Tell you what. When he's bored with me, I'll hold the door open for you and save you a spot in the gutter beside me."

"You little bitch," she snaps, anger flaring in her eyes. "I can't wait until he sees you for what you really are—pathetic." She turns to stomp off, bumping into my shoulder so hard she nearly knocks my Coke off the table in the process.

I grab it before it tumbles off the edge, watching her go. I guess she's not happy about my presence here. Lovely.

I slouch in the booth, closing my eyes in frustration. The last thing I need is one of his waitresses trying to start a war. That's not why I'm here, and it's drama I don't need.

"What the hell was that about?"

I jump as his deep growl sounds directly beside my ear. My eyes fly open to find him standing beside the booth, eyes narrowed dangerously.

I open my mouth to tell him that his waitress thinks I want to fuck him, but the words die on my lips. The last thing I need is to make an enemy of the girl. She has friends here. I don't. And I can't afford to be kicked out of here until I have the answers I came for.

"What was what?" I ask, pretending I don't know what he's talking about.

The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth, clearly not buying my bullshit. "If you expect me to believe the innocent act, you need to learn to lie better."

"Who says I'm lying? Maybe you just have a suspicious mind, Memphis," I retort, annoyed because he's right. I've never been a good liar. How the hell am I supposed to keep him from figuring out who I am when I can't even convince him that his waitress doesn't hate me?

"Yeah, bullshit."

Before I can say anything further, he wraps one massive, tattooed arm around my waist and hauls me out of the booth. Within seconds, he's marching me toward the hallway a few feet away, his boots scuffing the worn wooden floor.

"Memphis, what are you—?" I try to protest, but he silences me with a single scorching look. I grumble under my breath, annoyed as I stumble after him, trying in vain to free my arm from his iron grip.

He rips open a door halfway down the hall and marches me inside. I blink, momentarily dazed by the brightness of his office in contrast to the smoky haze of the bar. The space is easily the same size as the bar, too, with exposed brick, a surprisingly calming vibe, and a drum set tucked into one corner.

Memphis kicks the door shut behind us before backing me up against it. He towers over me, bristling and intimidating.

"Start talking, Kylie," he orders, his blue eyes blazing. "What the fuck did Shelby say to you? And don't bother trying to lie. I saw your face. You looked like she slapped you."

I hesitate, weighing my options. Part of me wants to stick to the party line—it was nothing. But I already know he isn't going to buy it. That truth is written all over his face. All I'm liable to do is piss him off and get myself kicked out of here.

Self-preservation wins out. I'd rather have an enemy of her than have him kick me out of here for pissing him off.

"She saw you looking at me, and I guess she thought she was giving me helpful advice about your…preferences," I say quietly, hoping that appeases him.

He arches one dark brow. "Cute, princess, but we both know she doesn't have a helpful bone in her fuckin' body." His gaze turns predatory as his hands band around my waist. His touch sears me, my core clenching. "Stop fucking with me and tell me exactly what she said."

His bossy attitude and the intensity of his gaze have my stomach turning flips. It's equal parts hot and irritating. Why do I like the fact that he's so damn domineering?

"She told me not to waste my time trying to fuck you because you aren't interested in fat girls."

His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he clenches his teeth. Anger flows through his expression. "She said that shit to you?"

I force a laugh, though it sounds hollow to my own ears. "Yep," I confirm. "And then she called me a pathetic little fangirl and said you were going to kick me to the curb like the rest of the trash, so I told her it takes trash to recognize trash. Oh, and that I'd save her a spot in the gutter. I guess she didn't like that much because she called me a bitch and then shoulder-checked me."

"That fuckin' girl…" He shakes his head, his eyes narrowed as pure fury rolls through them. "I warned her ass to back off. She really should have listened."

"I handled it, Memphis."

"You aren't fat."

"I know," I whisper. I may be plus size, but my weight doesn't define me. It's one small part of who I am.

"You aren't trash either, Kylie."

"I know that, too."

"You're stunning."

"What she said didn't upset me. It just caught me off guard. I thought I left the high school pettiness in high school. Apparently not." I shrug, rolling my eyes. "I guess some girls never grow out of it."

"I intend to worship every inch of your gorgeous body while I fuck you every way known to man."

I gape at him, caught off guard by the admission. He says it so casually, so freely. As if it's a foregone conclusion.

"Memphis, that's not—"

"Stay right here," he orders, gently shuffling me away from the door. "Don't even think about trying to leave."

Without another word, he yanks the door open and disappears through it.

"Shelby!" he roars, his voice cracking through the bar like a whip. "Get your ass over here now!"

I press my hands to my face, inhaling an unsteady breath. My night is not going how I thought it was going to go. All I wanted to do was read my book and observe from a distance. Instead, I'm getting far closer to Memphis far sooner than I intended.

I don't have nearly enough information on him. And every little piece I get only seems to distort the puzzle, confusing the image. I expected to find my dead brother's best friend—the one who left a pile of bodies in his wake. But this Memphis Hughes is…different than I expected. He's more like the playful, intelligent man I've seen in interviews than the dangerous criminal people back home still whisper about.

That man hurt people. This one protects them.

Why?

It's one more question I don't know how to answer, one more piece of a puzzle that makes less sense the longer I stare at it. If he really got my brother killed the way everyone says…why is he so hellbent on protecting me? Jayson was his best friend. I'm nothing to him.

"You're an ungrateful prick!" Shelby's shrill voice carries down the hallway, capturing my attention. "I was just looking out for you!"

I peek out the door just in time to see Memphis step into the entryway at the end of the hall, his arms crossed, and his feet planted. I huff an annoyed breath because I can't see anything over his massive body. Why is he so freaking big?

I quickly slip back into the office, scurrying to the bank of security monitors. It only takes a moment to find the one showing the scene unfolding a few steps outside. I have no idea how to work the controls, but I don't think I need them. Shelby is shouting loud enough for the whole dang bar to hear.

"I have stuff back there!" she shouts almost on cue, trying to push her way past him on the computer monitor. She might as well be trying to move a mountain.

"Too fuckin' bad," he growls, a hard edge to his voice. It's harder to hear him, but I'm close enough that I can make out most of it. He reaches over his shoulder, yanking his shirt off over his head before tossing it to her. I gulp, staring at his hard body. Tattoos crawl across his golden skin as if they're a living, breathing piece of him. And those muscles? Good lord. He was carved from stone, every inch of him hard and defined. "You're fired. Get the fuck out of my bar and don't come back."

She catches the shirt, clutching it to her chest. "Memphis, you can't fire me! I was just trying to help you."

"No, you were trying to help you," he says, iron in his voice as it fades in and out. "I've told you…thousand times…back the fuck off…you and I…never happen…don't listen…you treat my girl like shit…my bar…get the fuck out."

His girl?

I nearly swallow my tongue at how easy the words roll off his. He's lost his mind.

"Your girl?" Shelby practically screeches. "Your girl?"

"Venom, get her out of my fuckin' bar. Now."

Venom doesn't seem thrilled as he wraps one giant hand around Shelby's upper arm and gently marches her away. She yells and curses Memphis the whole time, but he doesn't even flinch. He doesn't even look at her. He has his head tipped back, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for patience. Or Jesus. He could be looking for Jesus.

Shelby seems to realize that Venom is going to walk her through that door whether she's dressed or not. She hastily shoves her arms through the shirt Memphis gave her, glaring balefully at him. And then she stomps out.

I sink down into the chair in front of the security console, my stomach in knots as a wave of guilt washes over me. He defended me without even knowing me. I'm lying to him, and he literally just fired a girl for calling me names and making me uncomfortable in his bar.

Who the hell is the real Memphis?

And why is this one so freaking hard to resist?