“You should remember this, little man. Covering your head in shitty tattoos don’t make you tough.”

  “You son of a—”

  “Why would you say all that?” the old Pagan mutters. He puts his hand out to stop Baldy. I don’t know where Jasmin has gone. “You must be a damn fool.”

  I walk even closer, stuffing one hand in my pocket. All of them tense up at that. No matter the numbers, a hand in a pocket is always something to be wary about.

  “Maybe I am a damn fool,” I agree. “But I’ve also been to this bar quite a few times over the years. It’s a good place. Good security system, too. Cameras everywhere.” I point to the streetlamp just across from us. “One.” I point to the store across the street. “Two.” I point to half a dozen more places, smiling wider each time. “You kidnap a brother outside one of our bars, there’s gonna be a real big fuckin’ problem. So what’s it gonna be?”

  “Fuck this!”

  The bald one charges at me like a starving bull toward fresh hay. I step aside and kick him hard in the shins with my steel-capped boot. He croaks like a little bitch and falls onto his front. Immediately, he scrambles up, meaning to come at me again even if he’s limping. It’s the old Pagan who puts a hand on his shoulder.

  “We’ve gotta go,” he mutters reluctantly.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. Fuck. But we’ll be back. Don’t worry. We’ll see this prick bleed before this is over.”

  “The boss won’t like this.”

  “He’ll like us making a move he can’t take back even less. Come on.” The old man sneers at me. “You can feel tough now all you want, Flint. This ain’t the end.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I shrug. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we? Now fuck off before I call in the boys.”

  The Pagans skulk down the street. They make a racket when they roll out, screeching their tires on purpose. I watch them go with that same smile on my face. It really is funny how sensitive these so-called tough guys can be.

  “Was that true?” Jasmin walks over to me warily. Maybe she doesn’t really believe the men are gone. “About the cameras?”

  I meet her eyes. Genuine curiosity. I laugh, shaking my head. “There ain’t a camera on this street, Jasmin.”

  When I use her name, she glances quickly down at her tag. “You have to tell me yours now.”

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Only some of it.”

  I tell her my name.

  “Okay, Mason.” She marches over to me and sticks her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I take her hand. It’s small and cold with sweat, but then, everybody’s hands are sweaty this summer. I hold onto her hand longer than I need to. I keep thinking about what it’d feel like wrapped around my cock. Maybe that’s a sick thought to be having at a time like this, but I don’t try and fight it. She’s too damn hot. Those long legs, bent over, showing me her tight ass …

  “Um.” She withdraws her hand forcibly.

  I stuff my hands back in my pockets. “What’re you doing now?” I ask.

  “Now that those assholes are gone? Working. I’ve got five hours left on my shift.”

  I walk over to a shadowy part of the sidewalk near the entrance. She follows me. We stand in the darkness.

  “You seem pretty damn calm, considering,” I note.

  “Do I?” She glances back at the bar, but she doesn’t head in. “I don’t feel calm.” She giggles. It’s a sweet sound. I smile just hearing it. “What about you? What’re your plans for tonight?”

  “Oh, I’ve actually got some really important business to take care of.” I back her close to the wall. She moves with me without protesting, though she does look around to make sure nobody’s watching. Her chest rises and falls quickly, the fabric of her shirt tugging on her bra. I’m almost certain I can see her nipples.

  “Have you?” she whispers.

  “Yeah, I just met a girl and I’m taking her out for the night. Her shift is done. Wait here.”

  “What—”

  I walk away before she can say anything else. People look at me when I stride through the bar. But that’s the same whenever an Executioner comes to one of the businesses we own. That’s why I tend to avoid them. Some of the brothers like the celebrity feel, but not me. Danny’s the same way, a little crowd-shy. Maybe that’s why I work so well with the bastard.

  “How’s it going, Jackie?” I barge into his office with that same wide smile on my face. I’ve found life goes along easier if I just smile, even when I don’t mean it. Maybe especially when I don’t mean it. “Two ladies being harassed out there, and what does the brave manager do, eh?”

  “Be fair, Mason!” Jackie pouts, pawing sweat from his face with some folded-up toilet paper. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Your girl, Jasmin, she’s done working for tonight. She still gets full pay and a bonus for having to deal with this bullshit. And you ain’t gonna hold a grudge over her about it either. If I hear you’ve got her washing dishes or unclogging the toilets, I won’t be happy.”

  “What’s she to you?” he mutters.

  “I don’t know. Nothing. I just met her. Who gives a damn? This is the way it’s going, and that’s all there is to it. I’ll call up the club and have them send a couple of bouncers over. They’ll be working here for the next few weeks. Fucking Pagan’s Sons.”

  I take Jackie’s desk phone and pull it toward me. He stays pressed against the back of his chair, as far away from me as possible.

  About ten rings later, Yates picks up. He’s my boss and the president of the club. “This better be good, you fucking—”

  “It’s me, boss.”

  “Wolf? The fuck you calling from there for?”

  I quickly explain it all.

  “Pagan’s Sons!” Yates growls. He’s an old gravel-voiced man, as tough as they come. I can just see him leaned over the phone with those wire-framed reading glasses on, looking gangly and dangerous at the same time. Like a spider in the shadows. “This could get bad if they’ve got the balls to pull a stunt like this. You did good work tonight, Mason.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Get yourself a drink. And a girl.”

  “I’ve already got both. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, wait until the bouncers get there.”

  “All right.”

  I head back outside to find Jasmin standing near the door, looking around like she’s lost.

  “All good?” I ask, grinning at her.

  “What’s happening right now?”

  “We’re waiting for the bouncers. Then I’m taking you someplace quiet for a drink. Or at least quieter than here. Then …” I shrug. “Whatever the hell we want. You always ask so many questions?”

  “What did Jackie say?”

  “Guess so,” I mutter, answering my own question. “What can he say? You’re coming with me.”

  She looks so sexy when she pouts, I almost leap on her right now. “You’re very demanding.” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall.

  “Listen, Jasmin.” I grab her by the arm and push her against the brick. It’s only when I’m halfway through that I remember that’s what the old bastard was doing to her. But she doesn’t start screaming or anything. Instead she makes a quiet, breathy noise that makes me harder than steel. “I had a tough job tonight. Bloody work, you understand? Before this. So I’m taking you out, and I’m having a few drinks, and you’re gonna sit there and be sexy and maybe even talk if you feel like it, all right?” I lean close to her ear, lowering my voice to a whisper. “’Cause I want you. Want you bad.”

  She shivers, but she doesn’t say anything.

  When the bouncers arrive, we get on my bike and leave.

  3

  Jasmin

  Mason is easily the best-looking man I have ever met. He is six and a half feet tall with jet-black hair and a light dusting of beard, but nothing crazy like hipsters have these days. His eyes are dark blue, wolfish, and his mouth is always equally ready to smile or scowl. He smirks at me as we walk over to his bike. His shoulders shift powerfully from side to side. It’s like he’s built of stone. Everything about him is solid, even his gaze. He has no tattoos that I can see, none on his hands or neck. But he might have some under those clothes …

  “Ready?” He shrugs off his jacket. He’s wearing a denim shirt underneath.

  I leave aside the obvious fashion police comments about wearing denim shirts in this day and age as I take the jacket. Besides, something about it works for Mason, though just about every other guy on the planet would look absolutely ridiculous in the outfit he’s wearing.

  The jacket in my hand is heavy, almost weighing me down. I stand up straighter and take the helmet. “Aren’t you going to wear one?”

  He just smiles at me. “That’s the only one. Come here; it’ll need tightening.”

  “What about those men at the bar?” I ask as he fiddles with the straps around my chin. He smells like whiskey and man, just like the other guy did, only now I’m not repulsed.

  “What about them?” he asks.

  “Are things going to get worse around here?”

  “At the bar or in town?”

  “Both.”

  He thinks, and then nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Well—at the bar or in town?”

  “Both.”

  He climbs onto the bike. My body aches when I climb on after him. I slide my hands around his belly and interlock my fingers, hugging close. Through the denim, I can feel how strong he is. His abs feel like they are carved of wood. I have to grip on hard when he starts the engine. It rumbles up through my body, making everything feel like it’s going to come apart at the seams. It is a strangely good feeling. I lay the helmet against his back as we ride.

  I’ve never been on a motorcycle in my life, but I didn’t want to tell him that. He goes fast, taking the corners as though certain of the outcome. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. He stops on the outskirts of the town, just where the welcome sign is. Beyond is the desert, and beyond that the freeway.

  The bar is a tiny building, no bigger than my apartment. It sits alone on a dusty patch of road with a few bikes parked out front. It doesn’t look dingy though. There are big lamps out front and a sign painted in bright red reading Joe’s Bar. I take off the helmet and the jacket, handing both back to Mason.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  I swallow. Suddenly, I’m thrust out of my body, staring down at the scene. I see a girl with no idea where she is, no idea who she’s with. And a big, scary man. A man so scary he was able to face off almost ten other men without even pulling a weapon.

  “Yes,” I say, ignoring the nerves which buzz through me like fireflies. Instead, I focus on the music drifting from the bar into the night.

  “Johnny Cash,” he says, grinning wolfishly.

  “So this is your big plan? Take me to a dive bar and play me country tunes?”

  Mason shrugs. “Is it working?”

  He strides off without waiting for a response. He even walks into the bar without stopping or turning around. I watch him for a few long moments, wondering if I should be outraged. It’s the sort of thing I’ve made big deals over in past relationships. But somehow, I know that Mason wouldn’t put up with that. Plus, I want to go into the bar; want to see where this night leads. Even if my better instincts warn me against it.

  It is warm inside. And almost completely empty. Mason sits in the corner booth, leaning up to wave a hand at me. Otherwise, there is an old man in the far corner who stares at a small TV in the corner.

  “The bikes?” I ask as I walk over.

  “We just leave them out there,” he says, nodding at the seat opposite. The cushions are blood-red and well-cushioned.

  “Like scarecrows?”

  “Yeah, except we ain’t trying to scare crows. Drink?”

  I bite my lip. This is a crime documentary waiting to happen. A strange biker comes out of nowhere and takes a naïve woman for a drink in the middle of nowhere. Days later, Woman’s Body Found Abandoned in Desert. I can see it in my mind’s eye, clear as day. Mason must see it, too, because he prods me out of my thoughts.

  “You don’t trust me,” he comments.

  “Should I?” I counter.

  “Maybe not. But if I wanted to do you some harm, I could’ve done it a hundred times already.” He leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. His gaze is so intense I almost let out a sigh. It’s like he’s seeing through my clothes. “I want to do a lot to you, Jasmin. But killing ain’t on the list.”

  I lean back, letting out an anxious laugh. At least, that’s what it sounds like in my head. Maybe it’s just a laugh. “I’m not that sort of girl,” I tell him. “So you can just stop that right now.”

  He leans back with that irrepressible smile. “If you insist. Drink? Last chance.”

  “Red wine, please. But don’t drug it.”

  “Larry, you lazy old ass!” Mason roars at the old man. “Red wine and a whiskey! Shit, just bring some bottles and glasses so you don’t have to get up again. Take yourself to bed after that if you want – you look like dogshit.”

  The old man waves his hands at Mason. “You used to have respect, you little bastard!” he roars. “You’re lucky I don’t smash the glasses over your head!”

  Both men laugh as Larry brings over everything. He goes into the back after, nearly snoring already as he pulls the door open.

  “So we’re all alone,” I comment, not sure what I mean by it. I go to pour myself the wine. Mason takes it from me, pouring it quickly and efficiently. “Don’t make me self-conscious about my barmaid skills.” I giggle as I take a sip. It’s good wine, washing down with that harsh bite I like. It settles in my belly like a soft, welcome heat. Almost instantly I feel more relaxed. “God bless wine,” I whisper.

  “And whiskey.” He knocks his glass against mine. “And yeah, we’re all alone. You’re trapped in here with a big scary biker in the middle of nowhere. This is about the time you’re supposed to start screaming.” His grin disarms the words. He’s just messing around.

  “How much does that smile let you get away with?”

  He shrugs. “Not as much as I like.” He puts his glass down. “But who gives a damn about me? Who are you, Jasmin Greene?”

  “How do you know my—”

  He takes out my wallet and hands it to me.

  I snatch it back. “How?” I demand, only barely getting the word out. It’s impossible, surely. It was in the inside pocket of my skirt, sewn there specially.

  “You just dropped it, is all.”

  I reach down my skirt. It’s true. The pocket is torn. “Oh.”

  He watches my hand with a dark, animal look on his face. It sends tingles all over me immediately, a reflexive response I have no control over. I remove my hand, cursing the blush that spreads across my cheeks.

  “I already told you I’m not that sort of girl.”

  He puts his hand under the table, touching my knee. It’s a small booth. Our knees are almost interlocked. He grabs onto my thigh now, sliding his hand higher and higher up my leg. He has to lean his body down. His belly nudges into the table. Everything almost falls over, but he doesn’t care. I bite my lip so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t bleed. His strong, callused hands grind up my tights, pushing my skirt aside. He’s inches from my center.

  And I’m wet; aching.

  I just manage to intercept his hand. I grasp onto his fingers. “Just drink your whiskey, please,” I whisper.

  He watches me closely. “Are you telling me no?” he asks, his fingers working against my thigh. Oh, why doesn’t he just push my hand aside and touch me? But I don’t want that … do I?

  “Why don’t we just have our drinks?” I ask, this time firmer.

  He laughs gruffly and removes his hand. Leaning back, he finishes his whiskey. “Please, allow me.” I grab the bottle before he can, lift it up, and pour from an almost standing position. I don’t splash any on the table.

  He takes the glass, nodding. “I’m impressed.”

  “I’ve got to entertain myself somehow on boring Saturday afternoons, haven’t I?”

  “I could think of a few ways to entertain you.”

  “Are you always such a dog?” I challenge. I take a longer sip of my wine now, knowing that it’s probably a bad idea. More wine means more chance I’ll sink into my baser instincts, which will mean allowing Mason to do whatever he wants to me. Oh, but that sounds so appealing. His strong hands going higher and higher until … I repress a moan, forcing the thought away.

  “No,” he says. “Actually, shit, yeah, I’m not. Surprising, ain’t it?”

  “What, you’re usually a gentleman?”

  “Who said that? I just don’t usually give a shit. But you—”

  I roll my eyes. “Do you think I was born yesterday, Mason? I’m not falling for that.”

  “Believe what you want. It’s the truth. You’re too damn sexy, Jasmin. I think I’ll die if I don’t get to touch you.” He’s still smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks focused. I wonder what he looks like naked.

  “You’re a pervert.” I toss my head as I finish my wine.

  He snatches the bottle and pours me another. “Whatever you say. We can talk about somethin’ else if you want. What about the weather? It’s getting hot, eh?” He winks at me.

  “Listen.” I stand up. “I’m going to have to say thank you for the help, but I need to go.”

  He leans back even further. He looks like he’s completely in control. I wonder if he ever gets panicked or loses his cool like I all too often do. “If you really want to go, I’ll take you home and you’ll never have to see me again. But if this is just some bullshit about saving face, do us both a favor: drop it and sit down.”

  “No man has ever talked to me like that,” I tell him after a shocked pause.

  He growls out a laugh. “With a body like that, I’m not surprised. I ain’t the playin’ games type, though, little girl.”

  “You’re an asshole!” I snap, dropping back into the seat. I will myself to get really angry with him. But instead I feel that same all-consuming ache. It spreads from my pussy into my belly, my nipples, my everything. I snatch my wineglass and take a large sip.