Chapter 1

“Where’s your brother?” Triton asks as he walks in from the BBQ pit.

“Foster-brother,” I say before taking a long draw of my first beer of the day. My party tasks are done, and now I’m in host mode. The bar behind me is fully stocked and ready for business, and the MC hired four tasty morsels from the Hooters in San Angelo to work our party as cocktail waitresses and bartenders, giving the guys from the other clubs some much needed eye candy. The ladies have worked all our parties for the last few years, so they know the drill and make damn good money for the six hours they’re here. We make sure the guys don’t take it too far—a strict policy of friendly flirting, but no touching is enforced, much like a strip club. The ladies tell us they deal with worse at the restaurant, so I guess I should give my brethren who are not patched members of the Rebel Hearts credit for being decent guys.

A few of us will remain sober tonight to keep a vigilant eye. We can’t have an assault happening during one of our events. That’s not the reputation we want to foster within the community.

“He’s going to text when they’re five miles out.”

“Is he bringing any single chicks with him?” Chance, the Rebel Hearts MC Treasurer, raises his head from the box of cash collected from the poker run that the rest of our brothers are leading today. Twice a year we host a charity event where riders and other MCs from a three hundred-mile radius join us. We put the money back into the club and the town—mostly family care programs—which make us gods in the eyes of little kids and motherly old ladies.

Chuckling, I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Damn. We need some fresh meat in this town,” he grumbles, returning his attention to counting money.

He’s not wrong. In a town this small, a few of the guys in the MC have dated most of the eligible ladies, which means there’s history none of us want to tread on. You better be falling in love before crossing that line.

In the years that I’ve been here, I haven’t dated seriously. Instead, I devote all of my time to my club and building a shooting range on the rundown plot of land my half-brother gifted me after I separated from the military. I still don’t know why Mack gave it to me, but he says it’s because family takes care of each other. Considering we didn’t meet until I was twenty-five—I was a kid who never knew his father while cycling in and out of the system in South Philly—I don’t feel that he owes me anything.

Yet with nowhere else to go, here I am.

Funny enough, Mack is never here. He lives on the north side of Dallas and only comes out here two or three times a year. So much for blood relations. The simple fact is, I’ve always taken care of myself and choose my brothers from the men I’ve lived with, most of whom have worn the uniform. Chance and Triton are two of the closest friends I have—damn near brothers through and through.

Mack found me through one of those ancestry DNA sites after our father died and left him a giant plot of land on the outskirts of Maplewood, Texas. A three hundred-acre defunct ranch he and his buddies shot their guns on in their teens. It hasn’t been touched in twenty years, but Mack hopes to attract investors to build a subdivision or something. Meanwhile, he gave me twenty-five acres on the southwest edge and presented me with a question that I’d been asking myself as I came up on my re-enlistment date: What are you going to do after you separate from the military?

As a decorated marksman, a shooting range was as good of an idea as any.

My phone beeps with a text from Karden Billings, my foster-brother from South Philly who now lives in Spring City, Colorado. He’s also ex-military—most of my foster brothers are as it was our only way out of the shithole we were born into—and is down here with his woman and her brother to clean up and sell what’s left of their property in Rizona, Texas.

Karden and I haven’t seen each other in fourteen years, but we check in when we can. Considering they are only seventy-five miles from here, this felt like a good opportunity to catch up. And since I am Sergeant-at-Arms of this MC and we’re hosting our semi-annual Poker Runs / BBQs at the clubhouse, this was the perfect day to invite them down.

Karden: Pulling in now.

Me: I’ll wait for you out front.

“They’re here,” I say to Triton and Chance as I push off my stool and walk outside. A big black four-door truck pulls onto our lot and parks against the gate—far away from the motorcycles and fire pits. The guy exiting the driver’s cab is massive compared to the scrawny fourteen-year-old I remember leaving behind once I cycled out of the system and left for the MEPS station. He’s as tall as me, built wide with lots of undeniable muscle and black and gray tattoos climbing up his thick neck.

He looks like a force to be reckoned with and no longer the scared little kid I remember.

“Holy shit.” Shaking my head with a grin on my face, I walk toward him and offer my hand. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, it has.” His grip is firm as he pulls me in for a one-armed hug.

I smack his back with my open palm before taking a step back. “What happened to the skinny, snot-nosed little shit hanging on my shirt tails?”

Karden scoffs. “What shirt tails? You know the first shirt with buttons you owned was part of your Navy uniform.”

I laugh. “This is true.”

My eyes shift to his friends, one male and one female, walking toward us. Karden turns and throws his arm around the shoulders of the short, curvy female with dark hair and hazel eyes. “This is my woman, Sylvie.”

“Hi.” She nods and shakes my hand.

“And this is my buddy, Saint. We served together as K9 handlers and now we own part of the Veteran K9 Center.” I shake palms with the guy who is a few inches shorter than me and Karden, but only slightly less bulky, with lots of sinewy muscles.

“Nice to meet you, Saint.”

“Thanks for having us, Drak.” He shakes my hand.

“Happy to have you. Do either of you ride?” Just as the words leave my mouth, a fiery redhead walks around Karden’s truck bed, her body soft with extra padding to bless her with full breasts and round hips. She walks up to our group with confidence, stopping between Saint and Sylvie, her eyes hidden behind a pair of cheap, oversized tortoise shell sunglasses. She has on form-fitting jeans that hug her curves and brown steel-toed boots perfect for riding. Her camo-print green and brown T-shirt says, “Want to kiss the Blarney Stone?” with an arrow pointing south to her pussy—the v-neck plunging deep to reveal mounds of mouth-watering cleavage.

Her outfit invites raised brows and lewd comments. Her body beckons drunken come-ons and sinful fantasies.

Holy shit. Is this Saint’s woman? If so, he’s going to have an MC full of horny guys fantasizing about his property all night.

“Hi,” she says.

I wondered who would cause trouble at the party tonight and I think I’m looking at her. “Hey.”

“I’m Missy.”

“Drak.”

“Thanks for inviting us. I’ll take any opportunity to get out of Rizona.” She completes her sentence by blowing a giant bubble of teal gum between her pouty, red-stained lips.

“Spit that shit out—” Saint rolls his eyes and grumbles “—pain in the ass.”

“Bite me, Army boy.” She pulls a crumpled napkin out of her pocket and spits her gum into it.

“Is this your woman?” I can’t stop the words from rolling off my tongue.

“Fuck no.” He shakes his head. “Janey is my woman, but she’s back in Spring City. This crazy chick is a friend of the family.”

“We’re more than friends,” she pouts, casting him a genuinely hurt look.

“We’re practically cousins, as far as small towns go,” Sylvie adds, tilting her head to the both of them. “And these two have been bickering like siblings since we got in the truck.”

“You don’t get it.” Missy frowns. “Now that you’ve left, there are less than ten people under the age of thirty in town, and seven of them are either female or related. I need stimulation. I need entertainment, even if it is poking fun at this meathead and wrestling around like we did when we were kids.”

“You’ve been wrestling?” Where the fuck are the words coming from? I’m not a flirt and it’s none of my business who this spitfire wrestles with.

“Janey would castrate me if I wrestled with anyone other than her.” Saint grins, as if he looks forward to the prospect.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve wrestled anyone.” Missy sighs. “And I know it sounds like a come-on, but I actually wrestled competitively in high school.”

“No shit?” I give her another once-over with this new information. She’s soft, slightly plump, perfectly curved, but also strong and built sturdy, like she could handle a hard pounding and a good spanking. The more I check her out, the more I know I want to wrestle, pound, and spank her. I also know if she flirts tonight—which her very presence emits sass—it’ll be a sausage fest in the next hour as fifty bikers from a three hundred-mile radius peacock for her attention.

I will not be one of those peacocks.

“When you grow up in a small town, you have to keep yourself entertained, right?” She shrugs, a sly smile curving her lips.

“I didn’t grow up in a small town, and the only thing we had to worry about was not getting caught.” I fist bump Karden, who nods his agreement with a Cheshire grin on his rugged face.

Ah, memories.

I tilt my head to the garage doors rolled up to the giant warehouse that we renovated into our clubhouse. “Come on in and grab a beer. The first riders should roll in over the next half hour. Band plays at five. BBQ is ready now.”

We stop at the bar and I introduce Karden and Saint to Chance and Triton. I don’t introduce the ladies. One, it’s not my place to introduce Sylvie since she’s Karden’s woman. He needs to make and establish that claim himself. And two, if I could make Missy invisible I would, just so no motherfucker here tonight makes his move.

The unbidden idea is stupid. I don’t know her, have no claim, and should not feel possessive about someone who is clearly not mine. Still, my unwillingness to introduce her isn’t missed by my MC brothers, who silently flash me knowing grins. I surreptitiously flip them off and let Sylvie introduce her friend. Everyone exchanges their greetings and Triton strikes up a conversation with Karden and Saint about their time in the Army.

Triton, Chance, and I served in the Navy. They followed me out here after I got settled, mostly because none of us had anywhere else to go. Patching in with the Rebel Hearts MC gave us a sense of home outside of the military. I guess Karden and his K9 buddies have their own sense of home, considering quite a few of them are separated or retired military and now live in Spring City while working at the VKC.

“You said there’s BBQ?” Missy sidles up with a beer in her hand.

I glance down to take in her rich brown eyes, a smattering of freckles dotting her nose. Up close and without her glasses, there’s an almost impish charm to her features. She’s trouble in any form—temptress, trickster, tease. “There is. Are you hungry?”

“Look at me. Obviously, I know how to eat and love good food.” She motions to her ample curves.

“Oh, I am looking at you, babydoll. Every single man here tonight will be looking at you too.”

Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

“You think so?” She quips with a smile, a deep dimple appearing on her left cheek.

“Are you single?” Fuck me, I definitely shouldn’t have asked that.

“As single as they come.” Missy doesn’t hesitate with her answer.

“That’s too bad,” I murmur, looking away from her intense eye contact. She’s a skilled flirt and asking for trouble that I’ll have to deal with if she puts that vibe out later. As it is, it’s taking all of my willpower to not answer the call directly—my dominant caveman roaring to life. With her peaches and cream complexion, her plump ass cheeks would bloom beautifully into a rosy red under my palm.

Fuck me, I’ve got to distract myself with something else.

Anything else.

“Why’s that?” She puts herself directly in front of me and places a hand on her hip to draw my eyes back down to her sensual curves.

“If you had a man, you could use him as a stick to beat off all the men tonight.”

Missy bites her lips and my cock jerks awake. “Do you think I attract attention?”

“I think you get all the attention you want whenever you want, babydoll.” I glance around, noting who is paying attention and who is not. Fuck me twice. I could easily lean down and claim her lips without a second thought.

Worse, I think she’d let me do it.

Not good for either of us.

“Come on, let’s grab you a plate.” I lock eyes with the rest of the party. “Do you guys want some grub?”

Karden nods, and Sylvie pats his pectoral. “I’ll grab you a plate, babe.”

“Me too?” Saint asks, pulling his attention away from the conversation with Triton.

Sylvie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, bro. You too.”