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“We’ve settled in Aerondale—the next town over. I’ve called it home since I was a boy and I’m proud to have my club stationed there as well. Will that be a problem?”
“As long as you stay out of Merry Field, it won’t be an issue. You’re not welcome here.”
Lloyd nodded and gestured to his club. They started filing out the door. Tarzan and Stevie were the last to go. When she turned to leave, I couldn’t stop myself from watching her walk out the door—the swing of her hips, the sway of her hair. Even though she was the enemy, I couldn’t deny she was a damn fine looking woman.
Lloyd lingered for a moment or two longer. Under better circumstances, this would be the part where they shook hands and declared a truce.
It was clear that Brewer had no intention of doing that though. As Lloyd turned to leave, Brewer spoke.
“If I catch the slightest whiff of your club even thinking about stirring up that old turf war Acosta started, I’m coming after you first. Is that clear?”
“If it comes to that, I’ll be waiting for you with a bottle of Scotch.”
A moment later, the rumble of motorcycles signaled that the Desert Howlers were finally gone.
Chapter Two
Stevie
Diablo.
That name had lingered among the Howlers for many months, a black mark on our reputation and we weren’t proud of it. None of us had spilled his blood but the act was still committed under the name of our club.
After riding back to Aerondale, it felt good to take refuge in our own clubhouse. Decades ago, the place had been an old garage and there were still engine oil stains on the floor. The walls were covered with biker memorabilia—road signs, license plates, and newspaper articles of rallies and charity rides.
I tried not to think about the empty gaps where pictures of Acosta and his followers had been taken down. Even though his mistake had given me a chance to earn the vote for Vice President, it still left a bad taste in my mouth to watch the men I called brothers turn on each other.
Ratchet stretched and scrubbed a hand over his buzzed hair as he climbed off his bike.
“Well, that sucked.”
Lloyd hummed in agreement.
“We knew it wouldn’t go over smoothly. Our club has a lot to atone for.”
“Those Alpha Riders would be happy to see us rot in hell rather than atone for sins that aren’t even ours to begin with.”
I fiddled with my helmet, hanging back while the rest of my club ambled inside. During the ride back home, I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in my head. I should have been analyzing the situation for something we could have said or done better.
Instead, I kept stumbling on the memory of Diablo and the moment when he yanked his shirt up, displaying his scars.
I remembered the sharp ridges of muscle in his exposed torso. The tempting V-line of his hips. The dark dusting of hair and the spread of tattoo ink across his chest.
And the pink scars that served as a reminder of that bloody night. Two slashes marked his ribs. The third slash—nearly four inches long—sat just above his hip. Close enough to his stomach that it would have been classified as a gut wound. Heavy bleeding. Fatal if he didn’t get the proper medical attention needed to save his life. His club wouldn’t be able to fix it with a few hurried stitches and some alcohol to numb the pain.
It was understandable that Diablo was pissed at seeing the Desert Howlers again. He could have died.
Meanwhile, all I could think about was the tempting way his jeans had been clinging to his hips. Every inch of him was wiry and hard with muscle, like he was full of pent-up energy. A man with a surplus of stamina that could last for hours and hours…
I closed my eyes, willing myself to get my head on straight.
As the only woman with a patch in my club, I was so damn careful to watch every move, every step I made. My brothers could jump in and out of bed with countless women all night long. But I had to play by different rules. And at twenty-nine years old, I was starting to feel the effects of my bone-dry sex life.
Someone cleared their throat next to me. I glanced up just as Tarzan bumped his knuckles affectionately against my chin.
“You had that thousand-mile stare in your eyes, tiger. What’s on your mind?”
I shook my head, banishing thoughts of Diablo. It was a stupid waste of time to fantasize about him anyway, no matter how much my body might want to fuck him into the mattress. There was something physically raw about him, seething with pure aggression that suggested I could really sink my teeth into that man and he would crave the fight just as much as I did.
