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Chapter One
Memphis
If hell is real, I'm headed there. I made my peace with that fact a long time ago. At least, I thought I had. The girl reading her book in the back of my bar, however, is giving me second thoughts. Because she's tempting as hell, and I'm not feeling particularly peaceful about it at all.
It's the third time this week she's curled up in a booth with her head stuck in her book and a Coke bottle sitting untouched in front of her. Same fucking book every time. Same booth.
Same wicked curves that make my dick throb. There's nothing small about the girl, and I fuckin' love it. She's thick everywhere, from her waist to her hips to her gorgeous ass and thighs.
"Jessup." I wait for my bartender to look at me and then motion him over with a jerk of my head.
"What's up, Memphis?"
"The girl in back."
He follows my gaze.
The bar is packed with people, pulsing with life and energy. The dim lights and neon signs create a hazy atmosphere, casting shadows over the throngs of bodies. Couples grind together in the center of the dance floor, their bodies contorting and moving to the beat. Bikers leer at the waitresses wandering around topless, taking orders and flirting.
They're here every night, pouring money into my coffers while they drink and play pool or flirt with my waitresses.
Fitting that this place is one of the last refuges for MCs in downtown Nashville given that I was deep in one in another life. That was a long fucking time ago—before the fame and fortune. But the night still recognizes one of its own. I built this fucking place for men like me—a debt I needed to pay.
Jessup's gaze lands on the girl in question, the one who sticks out like a sore thumb. The one I can't tear my fucking eyes away from.
"Who is she?"
"Don't know." He runs a hand down his chin, stroking his beard. His eyes are fixated on her. He's staring too fucking hard, but she's so engrossed in her book, she doesn't notice. I doubt she'd notice if the place burned to ash around her. "Showed up a few days ago. Said she's new to town."
"That's all you've got on her?" I arch a brow, surprised. Jessup isn't much to look at, his scarred face detailing the rough life he's lived. With a hooked nose, a crooked smile, and an unruly mop of brown hair that falls into his eyes, he looks more like the bikers he serves than a bartender. But the motherfucker could charm the devil into giving up his throne if he put his mind to it.
The sole reason he runs this place is because people like to talk, and he loves to listen. He knows if shit is going to pop off well before anyone else. Leaving him in charge makes keeping the bloodshed to a minimum a whole helluva lot easier around here.
And the last fucking thing I need is blood spilled in this bar. My manager will fucking kill me if this place gets splashed across the news because of some damn biker bar brawl. And let's be honest…I'm not afraid of much, but Riley Jamison is a different story.
She's about five foot five inches of pure ball-busting terror. And I owe her too much to piss her off lightly.
Anyone else would have listened to my story and kicked my sorry ass right back out the door. After the shit I've done, it's the least I deserve. But not Riley. She listened to what I had to say, asked if that life was over me, and then put a set of drumsticks in my hand and made me famous.
I have what I have because of her.
Including this place.
"You worried about her?" Jessup asks. The question reflects in his blue-gray eyes when he looks over at me.
"Nah. Just curious," I lie, wrapping my fingers around my chilled beer bottle and bringing it to my lips. I take a long pull, still staring at the girl.
Why the fuck is a sweet little thing like her hiding out in a bar full of bikers?
Do I even care? We've all got our reasons for seeking solace in places like this. If she's here, I'm guessing maybe she does too.
I need to mind the business that pays me.
But fuck me. I want this girl on her knees with my dick down her throat. And I don't want to be polite about it. I want my hand around her throat and my teeth in her skin while she's screaming for me to fuck her harder.
I've been thinking about it since I saw her three nights ago. She's tempting. Far too tempting.
It's a fucking problem.
