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Chapter One
Gideon
“Hey Big G! Some chick is stealing your bike.”
I glanced up from my card game, only partially interested in what our Prospect, Crash, was saying. He had a tendency to play practical jokes, regardless of the consequences. Thanks to repeated concussions from totaling his motorcycle one too many times, I swear the kid had scrambled his brains, resulting in a warped sense of humor, a complete lack of self-preservation, and no common sense.
“You better not be shittin’ me, boy,” I replied. “It’s dangerous to tease a man about his bike.”
Crash held his hand over his heart.
“It’s God’s honest truth.”
I sighed and tossed my cards into the middle of the table.
“I fold. If Crash is pulling my leg, I’ll wring every red cent out of his hide as compensation.”
Our President, Kingpin, chuckled and removed his cigar, blowing a ring of smoke into the air as he watched me push my chair back.
“Careful, Big G. You sound more like a grumpy old man with every passing day.”
I rolled my eyes and grunted good-naturedly. My club had been ribbing me ever since I turned fifty a few months ago. The youngest members of our crew—Crash, Tex, and Spike—acted like I practically had one foot in the grave already. Kingpin was only a few years older than me, so he could poke fun all he wanted.
Crash fidgeted by the door as I crossed the clubhouse. It was hard to believe I’d had that kind of restless energy once, bursting at the seams to make a name for myself in any club that would take me. After fifteen years with the Blackjacks MC as their Road Captain, I didn’t feel that desperate urge to prove myself anymore now that I’d found my brotherhood and a place to belong.
The one thing I didn’t have was a wife to come home to.
It takes a certain kind of woman to survive club life and everything that goes with it. Even though I almost tied the knot once or twice, my exes bailed when shit hit the fan and things got rough. I didn’t blame them for it.
At my age though, the chances of finding someone who was willing to brave this life alongside me were dwindling with every passing year. I pushed that thought from my mind as I stepped into the parking lot, with Crash trotting at my heels. There was no point in dwelling on what I couldn’t have. I was grateful for my club, my brothers. If I was destined to die a bachelor, so be it.
I raised my hand to shield my eyes in the glare of the late afternoon sun. My gaze swept the parking lot until I settled on my bike.
Sure enough, a woman was trying to steal it. She was crouched on the pavement, with her hands buried in the guts of my motorcycle in a hurried attempt to hotwire it.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said. “You weren’t kidding, Crash.”
“See? Told you I wasn’t messin’ around.”
I crossed my arms, watching the woman yanking fruitlessly at a jumble of wires. Hotwiring a motorcycle was a different ballgame than hotwiring a car. After a moment, I let out a piercing whistle.
Her head snapped up. She glared at me with dark eyes, narrowed and wary.
“If you needed a ride, sweetheart,” I said. “I’d be more than happy to oblige. All you have to do is say pretty please.”
“Fuck you,” she spat.
My eyebrows shot up in amusement at her sharpness. I’ve always appreciated a woman with fire in her belly and a scathing tongue. Docile and demure never suited me.
Despite the black grease smudges on her face, and the hostile pinch of her mouth, I had to admit she was cute beneath the layer of grime. Young, too. Probably close to Crash’s age—early twenties. Too young for me.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I countered. “But bad girls don’t get a reward for stealing my bike.”
She lifted her chin, defiant, even though she couldn’t hide the shadow of hesitation that crossed her face. She’d been caught red-handed. And that scared her. Just a little bit.
I turned to Crash, lowering my voice for his ears alone as I kept my eye on the woman.
“Do me a favor, Crash.”
