CHAPTER 1

Zara

Be careful what you wish for.

My mother used to tell me that regularly when I was growing up, but I’d never taken her seriously. Mind you, I was generally wishing for things like a pet pony and to make the cheerleading squad. I couldn’t see how any harm could come from me getting what I wanted. Of course, I never got a pony or landed a spot on the squad, so I hadn’t needed to worry about any consequences.

As a result, I stood at the coffee machine, filling a cup with frothy liquid for the fiftieth time today not thinking twice before wishing my life was more interesting. I’d had such big plans back in high school. I’d wanted to be a forensic medical examiner, to dissect dead bodies to figure out how the people had died. Puzzles had always caught my interest, and that seemed like the ultimate one. But then Mom got diagnosed with breast cancer in the summer before I was due to go off to college. Dad was forced to take on a second job to pay for everything, which meant he was too busy to care for her, so I’d shelved my dreams and stayed home and took on the responsibility. That’s what you do, right? When the woman who raised you, whom you love with all your heart needs you, you do whatever you can. No matter the cost.

One day had flowed into the next, and even when Mom beat the disease and the doctors declared her cancer-free, I didn’t leave town. I picked up a waitressing job and continued living at home, helping out around the house whenever I wasn’t working.

Sixteen years later I was still waiting tables and making coffees. I was stuck in a rut. A very dull, boring, monotonous rut.

With a sigh, I loaded the current order onto a tray. One double chocolate brownie and one large cafe latte coming right up. I was returning from delivering the order to a customer sitting at one the outside tables when I first heard the sound of an approaching motorcycle. The rumble was deep, and out of habit, I turned toward the road to see if I could spot the machine. The dark Harley Davidson was still a way up the road and I thought I caught the sight of more bikes coming up behind it. Just great. My throat went dry and I turned to hurry back inside. In Galveston, that many Harleys together could only mean one thing: the Iron Hammers MC. I avoided having anything to do with them at all costs.

I was reaching for the door when I caught sight of a large man covered in tattoos and wearing a leather vest rushing toward me. That vest meant he was one of them and he was about to run straight into me. Wanting to avoid that crash, I opened the door to rush in. But he was faster than I expected, and I only had one foot through the doorway when he reached me. With rough hands, he gripped my shoulders as though he was going to toss me aside. Hell, he certainly looked like he was strong enough to accomplish the task. I was twisting to try to free myself so I could get the hell away from him when the first crack ripped through the air.

Time seemed to slow down, mere seconds seeming to take forever to tick by. At the sound of that first gun shot, the cafe’s customers went crazy, all rushing to flee. The man holding my shoulders shoved me inside. When my foot caught on the lip of the doorway, I stumbled and reached for the door frame to stabilize myself. The move left me able to see out to the street. Several bikes were now parked along the curb, each rider holding up a gun that was pointed in my direction.

“Oh fuck.”

I tried to duck down, to get further inside where it would hopefully be safer, but only managed to get one shoulder free of his tight grip. I screamed when a series of loud bangs filled the air. Why the fuck were they shooting at me? Or were they shooting at the man behind me? If they were, I really needed to get the hell away from him ASAP. Pity he hadn’t loosened his grip on my other shoulder.

“Motherfucker!”

The deep, growled curse came a split second before I was knocked the ground. My fingers stung from being ripped from the door frame so abruptly, but I didn’t have time to worry about it. My right shoulder slammed into the tiled floor as I landed heavily on my back with the man’s body limp on top of me. Panic and adrenalin burst through my system, which made me panic for a whole new reason. Dammit. I’d remembered to take my medication this morning, but even so, with this much going on, I knew what was going to happen.

It had been three years since I’d been diagnosed with narcolepsy with cataplexy. I’d already learned the hard way that any sudden spike in emotion, especially an intense one, would set off my cataplexy and result in me being left completely paralyzed for anywhere from a few seconds to ten minutes. Having a man bleed to death on top me—and he had to be bleeding out with the amount of warm liquid I could feel soaking into my shirt—definitely counted as an intense situation. And sure enough, before I could shove him off me, my body failed me and I slid into paralysis.

Even though my body is useless in a cataplexy attack, my ears work just fine. As do my nerves. I still feel and hear everything that happens when I’m down for the count, I just can’t do anything about any of it. So when a minute or so after the shooting stopped, a few men approached, talking, I heard every word.

“Shit. Frank’s gonna have your balls for this one, Sledge. No way this can be covered up.”

“Fucking shut it, Tic. You know Frank will come through. And there’s no one left here that can talk. All anyone will say is they heard bikes and gunshots. You know how citizens get. A little fucking noise and they run like scared little rabbits.”

I heard some grunting, then the weight pinning me down was gone.

“Oh, fuck. You think she’s dead?”

I held my breath, hoping they wouldn’t check too closely. I hoped between my stillness and the amount of the blood I was covered in they would assume I was gone. So long as they didn’t look too hard, they wouldn’t realize I didn’t actually have any holes in me. Pain shot up my leg when one of the bastards kicked my calf. Asshole.

“Yeah, she’s gone. Pity. Pretty little thing.”

“Quit thinking with your fucking cock. Grab his cut and empty his pockets, then we’ll get the fuck outta here. Fucking Satan’s Cowboys think they can come deal in our territory like they own it.”

Oh, shit. This wasn’t good, not at all. I’d heard that name before. Satan’s Cowboys were another MC, a nasty one from up in northern Texas. I hoped this wasn’t the start of a biker turf war. That would mean a lot more shootings like this one. How many had they killed today? Innocents simply going about their day. I tried to think back to how many customers had been sitting outside. How many would have run fast enough to get away?

“Chuck? Any survivors?”

“Not an issue, Prez. Everyone living fled. Just bodies here now. But we need to get moving. LEO are less than five minutes away. You need to get on to Frank, man. He knows we need longer than this to finish up a job.”

Who, or what was the LEO?

“Yeah, I’ll pull him aside later. You got everything, Tic?

“Yep. Let’s roll.”

The thunderous sound of the Harleys all taking off at once filled the air, then nothing but silence. In the void of noise, I focused on staying calm. I knew if I fought the attack, it would do nothing but extend the time it took me to get through it and now the bad guys had gone, I needed to wake the fuck up and get out of here.

When I could finally move again, my upper body jerked up off the floor. Opening my eyes, I gasped at the destruction around me. How many bullets had they put into the place? Glass and wood lay scattered everywhere, and there were bodies. Bile rose up my throat and I slapped a palm over my mouth when I saw the man I’d served just minutes ago, lying lifeless on the ground near me.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

My head bobbed once, twice, then I crumbled back to the floor, unable to move. I wanted to scream. This stupid, fucking disease was such a pain the in ass. How the hell was I going to get away from here if every time I opened my damn eyes, I got overwhelmed at the carnage around me and passed out?

Sirens filled the air and accepting defeat, I stayed on the ground with my eyes closed and waited for them to arrive. I’d let the paramedics get me out of the building. I couldn’t afford the bills that went with them taking me to hospital, but if they could get me out of the building, I’d be able to pull myself together. Hopefully. I didn’t need any more visuals of the carnage lying around me. I already had enough to give me nightmares. In fact, I was one-hundred percent positive I’d be having nightmares about this day for months, maybe even years.

Mac

With my arms crossed over my chest, I stood next to Eagle and surveyed the room.

“What do you think?”

“You did good. Place looks great.”

Eagle wasn’t just a fellow Charon. Along with Taz, the three of us had served together in the USMC. Then, when we all retired nearly three years back, we decided to buy ourselves Harleys and tour the country. You know, fully enjoy the freedom of not having to fucking follow orders every moment of the day. Then, a little over a year ago the three of us were approached by our former CO about taking on an undercover job for the FBI. The job had sounded pretty easy. Get in tight with the Charon MC and report back anything we might hear about illegal activities. So far we’d only given the Feds one piece of information, the fuckers leaked it. Not only did we nearly get our asses burned, Eagle nearly lost his woman.

The experience had left a nasty taste in our mouths, that’s for sure, making it so none of us were overly keen on helping out the Feds with anything again. Especially since all three of us were pretty happy living up the MC life. I was sure they’d come check on us sooner or later, but for now we were all simply ignoring our handler in the hopes he’d give up and go away. I doubted it would work, but hey, it was worth a shot, right?

It hadn’t taken long to get in with the Charons. The three of us rode in a public poker run they sponsored, chatted to the guys, and in no time the three of us were prospects. The ease with which we were accepted wasn’t really a surprise—there’s not too many MCs that would turn down three decorated Marines. I knew we had to be a prospect before we could be full club members, but it still sucked. At least with our skills we weren’t given the really shitty jobs. Scout had us mainly doing security and technical work. But we were still kept in the dark about most club business—another thing that nearly cost Eagle his woman. Thankfully, that all changed about a month ago when we’d finally fucking earned our top rockers. Taz and I were enjoying our increased freedom, and the fact that we were actually included and told shit now. While Eagle, the lucky fucker, had managed to convince his woman Silk, the niece of the club’s VP, into being his old lady already. He’d also managed to knock the woman up.

“How’s Silk doing? Still sick?”

“Yeah, she’s still throwing up and moody as fuck. Pregnancy sucks, man. Hopefully it’ll pass soon. No way can I handle her being like this for nine fucking months.”

I knew shit about pregnancy so couldn’t comment, but it was clear to me why the man had spent so much time helping here with my project. After I got my top rocker, I asked the club if I could start running some self-defense for women classes out of the club gym. Scout, the club president, had called a vote and I was given permission to go with it. However, the club’s gym was an old school fight-club type thing, so to do what I wanted to, the place needed a massive overhaul. Modernizing the place, making it female-friendly, and more inviting to the younger crowd was the goal.

All the renovations were now finished and the new gym looked fucking fantastic. I’d led a crew of about a dozen men over the past couple of weeks to get the job done. In that time we’d torn down walls, put new ones up and painted the entire place, inside and out. The club had put up the money to get several new pieces of equipment, and we’d set up a small locker room for the men and a separate one for the ladies. Now, the place looked as good as any city gym I’d ever seen. Excluding the backroom, that is. We’d left that basically untouched for the old-timers and macho idiots who didn’t want women anywhere near their ‘space’. There was even a separate entrance back there for the precious fucking snowflakes.

Today was the first day we’d opened to the public. Chip, the man who’d been running the gym for the last who knew how many years, had agreed with me, when I suggested we open the general gym area this week and hold off starting classes until next week. That gave us time to get names down for the first classes. As much as I was happy to teach the sessions, I didn’t want to be wasting my time in an empty fucking room. It also gave us time to hopefully find a female instructor for fitness classes. I was good with self-defense and martial arts shit, but bouncing around to music was not ever going to be something I was prepared to do.

“I’m sure when you’re holding your kid in your arms at the end, you’ll think it’s all worth it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will. But until then…”

As Eagle spoke, Scout strolled up and stood with us, looking completely out of fucking place with his leather cut, black t-shirt, jeans and biker boots.

“You did good, brother.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the man. Even weeks after patching in, I still got a buzz out of being called brother by the prez. Only patched-in members got that honor, and after spending nearly a year prospecting, it felt good to be included with all the other full club brothers.

“Thanks, Prez. The boys all worked their asses off and got shit done fast. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to pull it off so quickly, but I’m fucking glad we have.”

Well, I was half glad, half pissed off, actually. This renovation had taken all my time and energy for the past three weeks. I’d spent a week with Chip planning everything out before we started the actual physical work that took the rest of the time. But now that was done, I was back to having too much free time on my hands. If I wasn’t busy, I started to think, to remember. And there wasn’t any fucking point in it. The past was done. Nothing could be changed about the choices I’d made so recklessly.

Yep, absolutely nothing would bring back Beatrice. And nothing could change what I did to gain vengeance for my sister’s murder. Somehow, the sweet innocent Bee had gotten mixed up with a gangbanger. Neither our folks nor I even realized she’d had a serious boyfriend. It wasn’t until her body was lying cold on a morgue table, covered in bruises and wounds that we knew exactly how much we’d let her down. I still couldn’t figure out how she’d managed to keep it all from us. Still wished she’d told me about him sooner, so I could have dealt with the prick. Before it cost my sister her life. Fucking bastard.

I didn’t regret that I’d killed him. No way. But I did regret how I went about it. I’d known how much power that gang of his had in our area of L.A., had known my only way to win over them was with someone more powerful. There had only been one option, really. The mob.

“You okay there?”

I shook my head to clear the images of blood and gore and focused back on Scout.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just drifted off there for a moment. I need to eat. Skipped lunch.”

Wasn’t sure going with the whole low-blood-sugar angle would work, but I sure as shit wasn’t talking about what was really going on in my head. Especially here.

Eagle slapped me on the back. “I’ll go to that little cafe up the street and grab you something. Back soon.”

“Thanks, man.”

Eagle strolled out the door and I could feel Scout frowning at me.

“For the record, I don’t believe you. Being hungry doesn’t make your skin go that odd shade of gray, brother. But I’m not gonna push you. Just know, if you ever need to talk shit through, my door’s always open.”

If I hadn’t opened up about my past to Eagle and Taz, who’d literally been to war with me, I wasn’t going to start spilling my past to Scout any time soon. Still, I appreciated the offer.

“Thanks. This shit isn’t something that needs to be talked through. It’s just past crap that pops back up every now and then. Honestly, I’m solid.” I needed to get Scout off this line of thinking, fast. I was feeling a little too raw with the images fresh in my mind to keep my guard up for long. “You find a VCR player yet?”

A little over a month ago, just before we got patched in, the shit hit the fan in a big way when Silk was snatched by the L.A. mob. Turned out her father, John, who’d died on the plane that hit the south tower in the 9/11 attacks, had been keeping ledgers of crimes committed by several groups. The L.A. mob was one of the organizations he’d focused on. Through a reporter, the mob had learned Silk’s father’s bag had missed the flight and was still at the L.A. airport, so they’d needed Silk to get it for them. Only thing was, when she went to get the bag, it wasn’t just one damn book, but six of the fuckers.

John hadn’t been happy to just rip off and dig up dirt on one organization. Nope. Bastard went after six that we knew about: L.A. mob, N.Y. mob, Charon MC, Iron Hammers MC, Ice Riders MC and Satan’s Cowboys MC. In order to keep Silk safe, the club gave the L.A. boys their book and the N.Y. mob one, but had copied the thing first, of course–you know? Just in case. Although, in the weeks since we’d killed three of Sabella’s goons and given him the bodies and the ledger, we hadn’t seen any sign of them, so hopefully that was all done with. I was extra grateful that I’d not ever met Antonio Sabella in my younger years. Things could have really blown up if I’d been recognized. Eagle and Taz thought my connection with the mob was through distant relatives, and I wanted it to stay that way. Didn’t need anyone knowing how closely I was really linked with them.

But all that shit only dealt with two of the ledgers, and we still had to deal with the others. Especially the one on the Iron Hammers MC. They were a club based down in Galveston and our closest rivals, constantly pulling shit trying to take over Charon territory. John’s book on them led us to a safety deposit box that contained photos and VHS videos. The photos were of some seriously fucked-up shit. Teenage girls being held down and drugged up, or raped. Scout was trying to locate a VHS player to watch the videos, but personally, I didn’t think he was trying too hard. We all knew those videos would be more of what the photos showed, and no one wanted to see that shit if they didn’t have to.

“Nah, haven’t found one local that I can borrow. I could buy one off the net but honestly, I’m starting to wonder if we should even bother. We all know what shit they’ll contain. The photos were hard enough to fucking look at, but videos? That shit would turn even my stomach. I like my porn to have consenting adults in it, fuck you very much.”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, no one in their right fucking mind would volunteer to see that shit. So, any ideas on what we’re going to do about it?”

Scout ran a hand over his head and adjusted his ever-present bandana. The club president was an old-school biker, complete with bushy beard and bandana wrapped around his skull. He truly did stand out like a sore fucking thumb here in the gym.

“Still trying to come up with something that won’t end with a bunch of our brothers lying dead in the street. Although after yesterday, we may have an ally against them.”

That got my attention and I turned away from watching the few people working out in the gym to face him.

“What happened?”

I’d been so buried in getting this place up and going, I hadn’t been keeping much of an eye on the news, or anything else for that matter. Scout rolled his eyes at me before he turned toward the back of the room.

“Let’s head into the office. Chip and the others can hold things down out here for a while.”

The need for complete privacy had me even more curious. I led the way back to the office and shut the door behind us as fast as I could.

“What the hell happened?”

I was starting to really regret not keeping an ear to the ground while I’d been working. Obviously I’d missed something major.

“Fucking shoot out. That’s what happened. Clearly you’ve had your head up your ass, brother. Down in Galveston, yesterday, late morning, half the fucking Iron Hammer boys pumped a cafe full of lead.”

I slumped down into the chair behind the desk.

“Fuckin’ hell. How many dead? Any word on why?”

“The why was a Satan’s Cowboy who’d been dealing on their turf. And there’s seven dead.”

“They leave anyone alive?”

“Well, when the shots started up, there were people running all over the damn place. They were actually fucking lucky only a few got caught in bullet shower. Naturally, no one saw a fucking thing. Except for one woman. A chick by the name of Claire Flynn. She ended up under the dead Cowboy. Guess he saved her by landing on her and taking the shots.”

I looked up and caught Scout’s gaze. “That woman’s gonna be in a shit-ton of trouble if the Iron Hammers get hold of her. Where is she now?”

His face looked grave, as though he was imagining the same nightmare I was. That fucked-up club would use her hard, then kill her slowly.

“I spoke with Donald this morning. She disappeared after she was questioned. Crazy girl tried to do the right thing and report what she heard the Iron Hammers saying after the bullets stopped flying. She even gave fucking road names.”

Donald was an older police officer here in Bridgewater and, from what I’d picked up, he often helped the club out.

“What’s the bet the Iron Hammers have at least one member of the force down there on the books and they stepped in to help clean up the fucking problem?”

“That was my guess too, but Donald said the wrong people are up in arms about her disappearing for that to be the case. And she literally ran off from the scene on foot. Alone. From what she told them before she ran, the cops were forced to bring in their Prez, VP and SAA. But with her missing and unable to make a formal statement, they can’t make any charges stick. Especially since the club’s inside man, or men, will be doing all they can to get the fuckers back on the street.”

I rubbed a palm over my rough jaw, my need to protect this unknown woman rising up.

“You got a description of her? Any way to track her down?”

“I wish. All we have is her name, Claire Flynn. Donald said the only photo they have is her license and that’s not only out of date, but shit quality. He said he’d get us a copy of it, but don’t hold your breath that it’ll do us any good. He did tell me she’s got strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes. I’ve got Keys looking into it too. He should be able to find something. If she knows anything about club politics, she’ll head this way. But the fact she was stupid enough to give that fucking statement in the first place would lead me to believe she doesn’t know shit and just ran off like a scared rabbit.”

I hated to see a woman in trouble, and wished like fuck she was heading our way so we could keep her safe. But there wasn’t anything we could do about it unless she showed herself, especially if we didn’t even know what the woman looked like.

“Aside from the girl, you thinking the Satan’s Cowboys will want to help us take the Iron Hammers down now?”

Scout shrugged. “Not sure. I’m going to stand back and wait for a bit. See if they retaliate for the deaths. If we get lucky, we won’t have to lift a damn finger to get the job done.”

I sat back in my chair to think over what might happen. This could start a fucking war between those two clubs. Would that provide us the in to get close enough to find out if the Iron Hammers were still abusing women? And if the Satan’s Cowboys did take out the Iron Hammers, what would that mean for the Charons? Or for any women the Iron Hammers were holding? The Satan’s Cowboys were a one-percenter club with a rough reputation. I had no idea how they’d treat a woman. Especially ones that were downtrodden after suffering years of abuse.

Sadly, there wasn’t fuck-all any of us could do about it. And I knew it. Because even though the Charon MC was growing in numbers, but we had nothing on those two bigger MCs. It sucked, but our options really were limited at this point in time.