Chapter 2

Flawless skin, toned legs, and her ass shows every time she twirls, covered only by a shiny pair of shorts clinging to her cheeks. I can't remember a time when I've been so interested in watching a woman dance. She's so free. Half of the time, her hands are above her head, dancing to country music like its rock and roll. And the other half, she stands in front, leading the line dances.

Caught up in her effervescent smile, I stare for a long damn time.

She reminds me of Vanessa, my sister-in-law. My twin, Beau, snagged her when we were twelve years old, and this girl has the same spirit.

Rooster, my club brother, shakes me from my memories and asks, "Want another round?"

"Nah, have a run scheduled for tomorrow. Need to be clear headed."

"Who's going with you?"

"Just me. Groups of bikers grab too much attention. I'm meeting with the president of Steel Riders."

Rooster shakes his head. "Why?"

"Don't know."

"You don't know, and you're going alone?" He pauses. "Not questioning your judgement, ‘cause I know you're the intelligent one, but is it smart to go alone?"

My eyes are peeled to the dance floor, observing the young woman full of life. A guy has pulled her against his body, and a rumble fills my chest. Words appear in my mind, lighting up like a Vegas neon sign.

Don't fucking touch her.

She pushes against him with the flat of her hand, and his hold tightens. I set down my empty beer bottle as I push through the crowd and clench his shirt in my fist.

I dare him to touch her without permission again. The second she's able to step back, I let go of the asshole, and he slinks away. The blonde says something to the effect of ‘I could have handled him,' but I was so lost in her presence, it seemed muffled.

I can't speak, afraid of what will come from my mouth, so I do what any bad ass biker does—I nod and walk away.

The humid summer air hits me in the face as I step onto the sidewalk. Glaring right, then left, there's no sign of the young man who had his unwanted hands on the blonde bombshell.

Planting my foot against a streetlamp, I lean back, admiring the flower baskets adorning the sidewalk. My interest fades as concern regarding my meeting with Mr. Hatton or Saint, as the MC calls him, overshadows the quaint but desolate small town.

The boys come out joking about needing to stop at the Tiger's Den, about thirty miles down the road.

Gunner objects, "I'm not paying for pussy. There's plenty of cut sluts at the Shack."

There are a couple of guys who live at the Shack, so our place isn't unattended, but the three of us all have our own places.

"Double, what's up with the country club girl? I think she's too young for you pres." Gunner runs his hand through his hair before continuing, "She's my age."

Country Club is the perfect way to describe her—the attention to detail. Straight-ironed glimmering blonde hair tucked behind her hears showcasing her pearl stud earrings.

Ignoring him, I swing my leg over the bike, and they follow with our engines roaring. My motorcycle has been my best friend for over a decade and I can always count on her to take my mind off my troubles, but nothing can take my mind off the girl with so much life.

"I'm turning off at Old Timber. Taking the back way home."

"We'll see you at the Shack after your meeting."

I nod and peel out onto the street. They file out in a single line behind me. These guys have my back, but do I have theirs?

Solitude is what I crave. I've lived on my own for so long. Some days, it takes every ounce of energy I have to hang out at the MC all day. We make money by fixing bikes and some things the law would consider criminal, but we don't sell drugs or run guns. And I'm afraid Mr. Hatton, the owner of Hatton's Motorcycle dealership, will pull our club into something the guys aren't ready for, but I need.

Without a doubt, Rooster, Riddler, and Gunner are my best friends. If I ask anything of them, they'll do it. No questions asked. Well, Rooster will ask questions, but he knows I don't normally answer.

Sleep evades me. My goal for the past four years has been to squirrel my way into the E-town Steel Riders without having to betray my club. Now, the time has come, and I'm second guessing myself and my directives.

Mr. Hatton asked me to meet him at the Steel Riders Clubhouse. When I arrive, a very large man the size of a professional wrestler stands at the door and says, "Weapons?"

I'm a registered gun owner, but you don't bring a weapon to another clubhouse unless you expect to use it. He has no reason to kill me or hurt me. Our clubs rarely cross paths because we do just enough to keep the real gangs out of our small town of Fancy Falls. Our club is more for lost souls looking to connect or disconnect with others, which is one reason I named the motorcycle club the Lost Souls because that's exactly what I was—lost.

I shake my head but pull the switchblade out of my pocket and place it in his hand.

He presses the button on his black walkie-talkie. "Double is here." He stares for a second and says, "Someone will show you to his office."

As I step through the door, I'm met with the smell of pine cleaning solution and a pungent odor of pussy. The quality of the furniture, carpet, and televisions are markedly better than ours, but at least ours doesn't smell like this. A man whose patch reads Savage grunts, "This way."

He taps twice on a carved wooden door, and a voice says, "Come in."

A woman pushes off her knees, and Mr. Hatton, or Saint as they call him here, puts his dick back in his pants. She scurries out of the room and closes the door behind her. He's married. I've seen his wife in commercials with him—the preppy type.

"Double. Glad you came."

My training says not to talk unless necessary, so I just nod. Never give the enemy more information than needed. This is the first time since starting the MC that I've truly hoped my training would pay off.

"Sit."

I sit in what looks like a waiting room chair.

"I need you, son."

Son?

"Done a little research. You're a twin."

Shit. The last person I want to get involved is Beau. "Estranged twin." We're not estranged, but he doesn't need to know that, and I don't need to get Beau involved in something nefarious. I'm the one with the tainted image.

He lets it go, pulls out a cigar, clips the end, and lights the end, puffing with his big-ass lips. "Smoke?"

"No."

"This is an illegal Cuban, which reminds me why I brought you here."

I don't change my expression. Just wait him out. We could have this conversation at his dealership, just as easy.

"Not a big talker, huh?"

My eyes shift from left to right, and a robust laugh escapes his mouth, making him cough.

"Sorry. You're prefect. I won't have to worry about you keeping your mouth closed." He leans back in his leather desk chair. It's completely out of place, more like a home office chair. "I heard your club members are taking second jobs. The Lost Souls aren't making enough money to take care of their families or bills."

Just what I wanted.

"So, we're going to make an alliance. I have more cash than I personally know what to do with. I'm going to cut you and the Lost Souls in on a little business venture."

"Legal?"

His laugh gets caught in his throat, and he ends up coughing for several minutes. When he catches his breath, he studies me, but I don't move a muscle. It's his time to speak.

"Your family owns Barron's Bourbon, right?"

"No."

"Hmm… I've been to countless events thrown where your twin and his wife were in attendance."

"Seen him three times in thirteen years." It's a lie but since I started in this life, I've kept my visits with them secret other than the day they married and when their children were born, I waited until they were home from the hospital before laying eyes on their twins or their daughter.

He places his elbows on his desk, leaning forward. "Well, you're going to find a way to get our "cargo" on the ships sailing around the world, aging Barron's 69."

"What's in it for me?"

"Other than more money than your club has ever seen? Funny you should ask." He impresses me with the number of different rings he can make with his cigar. "I need a reason to be seen with you at any time."

I run my fingers over my short beard. "What are you proposing?"

Another maniacal laugh, but the joke's on me when he says, "You're marrying my daughter this summer."

Keeping a straight face is next to impossible. "What? Why?"

"You and I can't be seen together. In E-town, the Steel Riders are known for their charitable works. We have the right people in our pockets, but still, it would look bad if I were photographed with another MC president. But since you're new to the life and have a wealthy extended family, you're the perfect candidate to marry my daughter. You get the guns on the boats, have the men get them off the boat, and my men will take it from there. Marrying my daughter will seal our deal and ensure your continued cooperation."

This is the break I've been waiting for, but having to marry someone never crossed my mind.

"I'm not getting married and dragging someone into this life." My voice is even but drier than cotton.

"My daughter thinks it's all riding, seeing the world. And of course, events like our annual Ride for Cancer or the festival we put on every fall for Halloween, where everything is free. Children and teenagers alike have something safe to do on Fright Night."

He's pulled the wool over his family's eyes as well as the town's.

"My word should be enough if I agree. I shouldn't have to be shackled to you and your daughter."

"Your word is not enough. I don't know you, Beckett Landry. You have gaps in employment and as you sit in my chair, I see scars on your arms from… well, from something."

I tuck my lips over my teeth, scratching my beard. I can't fuck this up. "How much money?"

"Ten million. Chop it up with your club members however you want. That's your business. I'll give you five-hundred thousand upfront to line whoever's pockets need lining… it's time you made nice with your brother."

"My brother won't go for it."

"Can you find a way?"

I nod.

He hands me a card. "Dinner tomorrow night at my house where you'll meet your bride-to-be. Would you like to see her? She's easy on the eyes, like her mother. I promise she'll be the perfect wife. Except, no sex. If I find out that you have had sex with my daughter, whose eleven years younger than you, I'll peel your skin from your body. This marriage is for looks only. We'll get it annulled when the time is right."

This time, it's me who laughs—such a good Catholic.

He picks up his phone, scrolls for a few seconds, and hands it to me. My heart punches my ribcage, and my pulse races. My training didn't cover marrying a fresh out of college, damn near perfect, free spirit who stole hours of my thoughts after meeting her at the Whiskey Waltz Bar—Country Club.

"Deal?"