Chapter One

Leia walked through the backdoor of the bar and into the kitchen, where she found the line cook serving up bowls of chili on the passthrough. The stench of burnt beans lingered through the air, and dirty dishes covered every conceivable counter space. This was the norm for the Thursday Night Chili Special. A bar full of drinking, farting old men whose glory days were now told between burps. Keeping her sigh bottled up, she hurried to grab an apron and gloves before tackling the mound of caked-on food and grime.

"I've been counting down the minutes ‘til you got here."

Leia looked over at Reggie, the cook, and gave a one shoulder shrug. "Sorry. Bus broke down and I had to hoof it here."

"You ain't the only one with transportation trouble today," Reggie said. "Phyllis lost her car keys and Alice called in sick."

Leia raised an eyebrow. "Lost her car keys? Yeah, sure."

Reggie flashed a smile through his bushy mustache. "We all thought it."

"And I just said it," Leia finished.

She scrubbed pots and pans, placed it all on a rack before sliding it into the industrial dishwasher. Scalding hot water would not only eat up the rest of the food left behind, but it would also sterilize the metal. It was almost closing so she began to gather all the items she would need to clean the bar after hours. After chili night, every table would need a good scrubbing.

Just then, the swinging door burst open and Nancy stomped in, looking more than a little ragged. Hair sticking up in all direction. Mascara and eyeliner bleeding under the eyes. She pointed at Leia, red nail polish chipped on the tip.

"You," she barked. "I need help out front."

Leia blinked, stunned. "What?"

Nancy jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "I got a bar full of men and I can't fucking get their beer while I'm handing out dishes of this fuck awful bowl of beans."

"Hey," Reggie protested.

Nancy only held up a hand to silence him. "No comment from the peanut gallery. I have no idea why your chili is so popular. Have you ever tasted it?"

Leia blinked and pointed at herself. "You want me to serve?"

Nancy was a spitfire when the bar had all the normal bartenders and servers, but two people short brought out her nasty side.

"Of course," she snapped. "Who else would I be talking to?"

"Reggie—"

"Fuck Reggie."

"Standing right here, bitch," Reggie said, although there wasn't any anger in his tone.

"Get your ass out here and help me," Nancy said, ignoring him.

"I don't know how to pour beer," Leia said a bit desperately. "I was hired not to work with customers."

Nancy narrowed her eyes, placed one hand on her hip, and glared at Leia. "Listen here, by the time I've been in here chatting with y'all, the bar has probably been torn up. I wouldn't be surprised if it's burning down right about now. So, get your ass out there."

"But … but…"

"Now!" Nancy reinforced her order loudly. "Go. Out. There."

Feeling trapped and a bit overwhelmed, Leia reached up to make sure her bangs covered her forehead and halfway down her eyes. The sense of protection came in all different ways, and hers happened to be hiding in the darkness as much as possible. When she stepped from the shelter of the kitchen into the bar section, the enormity of what she was asked to do hit her at once. People were everywhere. Laughing, yelling, dancing. The cacophony of it all made her jumpy, and the sickly-sweet stench of old fermentation only added to her discomfort.

"Don't just stand there!" yelled Clint, the bartender and owner. "Start serving them."

Men yelled out their requests and threw money on the counter. Leia rolled up her sleeves and hurried over to the beer fridge. It was all she could do to keep up, but minute after minute she began to get faster. She knew where everything was kept since she stocked the bar every night, but working fast to satisfy the impatient patrons added a whole different level of stress.

****

Brim watched the woman come from the back, looking like a scared rabbit tossed in the lion's den. He pegged her to be young, perhaps just over the legal age to be in the bar, but way too young for his sorry ass. Still, there was something that glued his eyes on her. Maybe it was the way her long auburn hair swung as she moved, or the delicate line of her jaw. Or perhaps the vulnerability that screamed for him to rescue her. He had to remind himself that he didn't need to interfere. He'd gone nomad to regroup and lay his grief to rest, not find a cause to champion. Even if the package drew him in like a siren song. It was hard to determine her features since she kept her face down with bangs covering her eyes. When the bartender yelled at her and she jumped, Brim got a glimpse of pretty features. She headed to the section of the bar where people waited for beer. Her lack of experience was obvious, and her awkwardness slightly amused him. The out-of-the-way bar had become a sort of sanctuary from life in his MC, and usually he simply sat in the shadows to drink and chill out. Tonight, however, offered him a different type of entertainment.

The woman floundered for a bit, until she found some sort of rhythm. The more she moved, the more he began to reassess her age. She didn't flirt or try to talk up the customers for more tips. Instead, she kept her head down and filled the orders coming in.

He nursed his beer as he watched her, and over time the bar began to clear out, until only a few people remained. A man sat at the counter, half falling over. His jerky movements showing his inebriated state. The woman kept ignoring the man, skirting out of reach every time he tried to get her attention.

He tensed when the drunkard managed to grab her arm. The woman struggled to break free. Brim didn't like that the asshole touched her, although he didn't linger on the reason why. He rose from his table, grabbed his empty bottle, and made his way to the bar.

"Don't touch me," the woman muttered, yanking on her arm to get the drunk man to release her.

"Ah, sweetheart," said the drunk man, his words slurring together. "Come on. Be nice."

"She said let go," Brim warned, coming up behind the man.

The woman looked up at him, their eyes met, and a ton of bricks immediately fell on Brim. He'd never, in all his forty-five years on Earth felt such a visceral reaction toward another human being. Dark eyes regarded him with a touch of panic and fear, causing all his protective instincts to rush to the surface.

"I'm pretty damn sure those ain't the words she said," the drunk said, laughing at what he thought was clever.

Brim wasn't amused. "Then listen to these. Get your fucking hand off her or I'll break it. Do you comprehend those words, cocksucker?"

The man stopped smiling, and when he surged to his feet to square off, Brim was ready. He flipped open his butterfly knife in a flash and then pressed the blade under the man's chin.

"What pisses you off more?" Brim asked. "The fact you like sucking cock or the fact I called you out on it?"

The drunk let go of her. The woman stumbled back, eyes wide. Brim stared at the man a moment more, waiting to see if he'd do anything else. When he didn't, Brim closed his knife and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Get the fuck out of here," he muttered.

"I ought to kill you," the drunk mumbled, weaving on his feet.

"You can't even piss straight," Brim said. "Get out of here before I throw you out." He moved enough so his club patch was revealed, a devil wearing a crown. The man's gaze fell and even drunk, he recognized the president of an MC wasn't someone to mess with. Immediately, he backed away.

Brim watched him until he left the bar. Then he turned back toward the woman and sat down on a stool.

"I'll take another beer," he said, placing his empty bottle on the counter.

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Wariness widened her eyes, but she got him his beer. Popping the cap off as she sat the bottle in front of him.

"My name is Brim," he said. "It's short for Brimstone. My mother said she named me that as a reminder of the hell her pregnancy put her through."

Her boss came out from the kitchen, carrying a large box. He sat it down on the counter with a heavy thump.

"Last call!" he yelled.

Brim ignored the warning. "What's your name?"

"Leia," she said quickly. "Thanks for that guy."

"I didn't like him touching you."

Her hesitancy showed she didn't know how to interpret his statement. Hell, neither did he, but there was something about her that he found fascinating. Suddenly, she looked over his shoulder and horror blossomed over her face, so intense he automatically reached for his knife once more as he spun around.

Nothing.

Relaxing, he turned back toward her, but fear still blanketed her face. She backed up and hurried away from him, disappearing into the kitchen. Something had spooked her so bad she'd run from him. Unsettled, Brim closed his knife back up and slid it into his pocket.

"Ready to settle your tab?" Clint asked.

"Yeah," Brim muttered.

"Two beers. That'll be six bucks."

Brim dug out the cash from his pocket. "Where'd she go?"

"Who?" Clint asked.

"Leia."

"Oh, she usually doesn't work with customers. I can settle your account."

People came over to settle their tab, keeping Clint busy. When Leia finally reappeared, she pushed a cleaning cart. Yellow latex gloves covered her hands. Brim walked over to her.

"What spooked you?" he asked.

"Oh, it was nothing," she murmured, but didn't look at him.

"It seemed like something."

"No, nothing."

She made to move around him, but he blocked her path. Still, she kept her gaze averted.

"What is it? Why won't you look at me?"

She hesitated for a moment then raised her lashes. She looked first at him, and then over his shoulder, before focusing once more on his face. She bit her bottom lip, then as if making up her mind, she slipped off a glove and held up her hand, as if she wanted to shake his. Brim went to oblige her, but she reached over his shoulder to touch … air. Suddenly, her eyes changed, from a deep chocolate to a molten gold. Their ethereal glow caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. The world faded from around them, until his vision narrowed down to only her.

Then she pulled back and slumped down, gasping for air.

Something told him to leave her. That what just happened wasn't natural. Truth be told, she had freaked him out just a little. As he mentally debated what to do, she grabbed hold of the edge of his leather cut.

"Wait," she whispered. "Don't go out there."

He tilted his head. "Out where? Outside? Why not?"

"He's waiting," she said, still unable to look him in the eye.

"Are you talking about the drunk?"

She shook her head.

Brim chuckled. "Darlin', I'm not afraid of any man—"

"No," she said solemnly. "You don't understand. He's waiting in the dark, by the large oak tree flanked by two smaller ones. But you won't see him. You won't even feel the whisper of the bullet right before it buries in your forehead, directly between the eyes."

His amusement died instantly. "Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a fact. Please … don't walk out that door. You were kind enough to help me, so let me return the favor."

"Look at me."

She raised her head, but her hair obscured her eyes. Slowly, he reached up, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, he brushed her bangs aside. The ethereal glow was gone, and once more the rich chocolate orbs regarded him solemnly.

"How do you know someone is going to shoot me?"

"You won't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"I see… I see the shadow of death," she whispered.

Brim didn't know whether to believe her or not, hesitant to say there were things in the world that remained unexplained. Did he trust that she was some sort of fortune teller? The jury was still out on that one. He never feared his own death. You couldn't be president of a motorcycle club without knowing someone might be gunning for the job. But there was something about what she said, and how she looked, that sent a shiver over his skin. He reached up to touch her face and it must have shocked her because she jerked her hand away. Biting her lip, she hugged herself and turned away.

"You fucking with me?"

Leia shook her head. "No. Why would I do that?"

"Because you want something from me."

"I don't want anything from you." She took a deep breath and turned back to him. "I… I just want you to be safe. So, please, don't go out there."

Brim hesitated, not sure what to believe.

"We're closing up!" Clint called out, interrupting him.

"Is there a back door?" Brim asked Leia. Best to be cautious, he surmised.

"Um, yeah. By the bathrooms. There's a side door. Be careful."

Brim flashed her a lopsided smile. "Don't worry about me. I have no intention of dying tonight."

He left her, heading to the backdoor she mentioned. Before it closed, he placed a stick between the door and jam, so he'd be able to slip back inside the building. He circled around, staying quiet as he sought out the danger Leia had mentioned. Sure enough, he saw the man crouched behind the tree she described. Still not sure if she told the truth, he slipped out the garrote he always carried and crept silently behind the assassin. With a lightning quick movement, he slipped the wire around the man's throat and pulled.

Strangling someone took strength and determination because the victim always fought back. It wasn't like the movies where the person died in a few seconds. It took several long minutes. Brim maintained his grip on the cord, pulling tighter and tighter. The would-be shooter floundered, trying to beat his arms or to kick him. He twisted around in an effort to escape, but Brim was relentless. Little by little, the man's strength waved. He began to wilt, until he finally gave up and slumped over. Brim waited a moment more, and then eased up. Breathing heavy, he placed two fingers on the man's throat, looking for a pulse, but it wasn't there.

Brim took a deep gulp of air and wiped away the sweat that had broken out on his forehead. When he'd recovered, he reached to pull the hoodie back on the assassin. He expected to see the drunk, but it wasn't him. Instead, Brim stared down into a face he recognized. One of his own fucking men, the enforcer of his club, Knuckles.

Memories came rushing back, of the fight they'd had. A huge fucking argument and an embarrassing beat-down. Knuckles had slinked away with his tail between his legs and hatred in his eyes. Brim had thought the matter over and done, but apparently it wasn't.

Anger rose up, blanketing all other emotions. Betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, that one of his own men wanted to eliminate him. He wanted to beat the fucker to death, but the garrote had already taken care of the problem. Pulling out his knife, he sliced the leather cut off the dead body, wanting to make sure the club patch returned to him. Then he took the wallet and searched the pockets for anything else that could identify the corpse.

Next, he picked up the body lumberjack style and began to walk through the woods. He needed to find someplace to hide Knuckles so he wouldn't be found. Let the fucking assassin decompose without a name. If someone ever found the bones, he'd be just another John Doe. Brim didn't know how long he walked. Felt like hours, but finally, he came across a deep ravine that seemed bottomless and figured it was a good enough place. Even though his muscles were screaming at him, Brim managed to heave the body far enough so it fell into the dark abyss.

Only then did he start walking back to the bar. He didn't know how Leia knew about the assassin attempt, but he didn't believe she happened to see his death. She had to be messing with him. He wanted answers and she was the only one that could give them.

Looked like he was heading back to his club to find and kill the son-of-a-bitch who had tried to kill him.