I felt flushed. Giddy. My nerves thrummed with excitement as I stood in front of my closet and tried to figure out what to wear. This wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting. And yet, business with the Dark Saints wouldn’t be like anything else I’d ever done. So I opted for jeans and a shiny silver tank top. I wore black leather boots with a two-inch heel.

I felt more comfortable in stilettos, but wondered in the back of my mind whether Dom would offer to take me for another ride on his Harley. Would I say yes? I’d never ridden a motorcycle until yesterday. The exhilarating feel of the wind on my face and my arms wrapped around Domino’s solid waist left an imprint on my mind. Just thinking about it now made my heart flutter with a thousand tiny butterfly wings. I loved the way his leather cut warmed beneath my cheek. I wanted to trace my fingers along the intricate designs of his tattoos.

“Quinn,” Noel snapped. “You sure you’re up for this?” He stood in the hallway, pouting.

“I am,” I said, closing my fingers around the door handle. I gave him another pointed stare when he tried to follow me. “I should be at this meeting with you.”

“No.” I turned. “You shouldn’t. In fact, you should head back to L.A. I can handle this. Like it or not, you spooked these guys the other night. And you piss Domino off. So please. We both have plenty to do to get this project off the ground. Work the financials. I’ll work Port Azrael.”

Noel crossed his arms in front of himself, but didn’t argue. Maybe I’d gotten through to him, for once. I was already running late so I didn’t want to waste another second managing his hurt feelings. I gave him a ready smile and headed for the elevators.

I used a driver this time. He knew who I was but I banked on his discretion. I left him a generous tip and told him not to wait for me as he pulled in to the parking lot of Cups Sports Bar.

“Are you sure, ma’am?” he asked, leaning down to peer at the blinking neon sign beneath his rearview mirror. “I could give you a few recommendations for other places to eat. Port Azrael isn’t …”

“Thank you,” I said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I’m meeting someone and I’ll be fine.”

I closed the passenger door and didn’t look back. I knew the guy would wait for me for a few minutes at least. It didn’t matter now. I was here. I was really doing this. Before losing my nerve, I smoothed my hair back and walked under the fake goal posts at the front entrance.

Cups was packed. This was an upscale crowd for Port Azrael. There were a lot of college-aged frat guys crowding around the bar and big-screen televisions. In the dim lighting, none of them turned to look at me when I walked in. Those that weren’t watching the game had their eyes on the dozen or so waitresses serving drinks and appetizers. More specifically, the guys watched the girls’ backsides beneath their skimpy black skirts that barely covered their asses.

“Are you meeting somebody or would you like a seat at the bar?” A hostess with flaming red hair and a bright smile greeted me. Her eyes flickered with recognition and color came into her cheeks. She let out a gushing breath, but didn’t ask me who I was. I was grateful.

I scanned the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of Domino. For some reason, I didn’t like the idea of waiting alone until he got here. I instantly regretted not trying to wear more of a disguise. The place was too crowded, too compact. If someone recognized me, it would be nearly impossible to avoid a scene.

“Thanks, Wendy, she’s with me.” Domino’s deep voice skittered between my shoulder blades. He put a light hand on the small of my back; the heat of it set off the butterflies in my chest again.

“You got it, Dom,” Wendy said. She stepped out of the way as Domino guided me toward the back of the bar. He led me to an empty booth under an alcove. It was quieter back here, tucked away from the main bustle near the bar. It was perfect.

He slid into the booth facing the front entrance. I knew instinctively he’d done it so he could watch the comings and goings. It was a bold, purely alpha-male move. He probably did it without even thinking. I slid into the seat opposite him.

We didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before a waitress came to our table. Domino ordered a draft beer. I gestured, asking for the same.

“You hungry?” he asked. “The burgers here are decent.”

“Sounds good,” I said, thanking the waitress. I knew in a place like this, nobody came for the food.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” I said.

Domino raised a brow. The waitress was quick with our drinks. Domino slid his fingers around the frosted mug. He had broad nails and a patchwork of scars covering his strong fingers. These were a working man’s hands with thick, corded veins. Strong. Solid. He raised his mug and took a long sip of beer. I watched the muscles in his neck contract as he swallowed. He gave a little hiss as he set the mug down. His lips were full and bottom-heavy, giving him a permanent pout.

He leaned back, draping his arm across the back of the booth. His eyes flicked over me. I think he liked what he saw.

“So how’d you pick my club, my town?” he asked, fixing his gaze on me. I realized I wasn’t used to that. Most of the “civilians” I met didn’t know how to act around me. Sometimes they were too scared to even talk to me. A lot of the times, it was the exact opposite. They’d seen me on Crosspointe or Night Terrors or any number of other roles and thought they knew me. They were too familiar, getting in my personal space.

“I read an article online about Port Azrael,” I said. “It was the anniversary of the founding of the town. Very romantic. All about the Texas Rangers and the Native Americans and how your club was born from that. I understand you still have a Bullock or two in charge.”

I’d said too much. Domino’s face went even harder. He stiffened, clenching and unclenching one fist.

“Don’t assume you know shit from reading something online,” he said, dropping his gaze from mine. In an instant, I felt the cold shadow of his dismissal. I reached for him, wanting the light of his stare. When I put my hand over Domino’s his felt like granite. I felt the tremor of his pulse. My own rose almost to match it. I sat back in my seat and took a long drink of my own beer.

“You know, that should be my line. Do you know how many people think they know something about me because they saw me in a movie or read some trashy article about who I’m dating? Ninety percent of it is fake.”

Domino’s lip curled in a smirk. “Ninety percent? What about the other ten?”

“Well,” I answered. “They usually spell my name right.”

“So how’d you get to be … Quinn Larsen? You get discovered walking down the street looking like you do?”

There it was. People often made assumptions my success was the result of luck and looks. It was usually a way to diminish me and make themselves feel better. And yet, Domino had an earnest way of looking at me that told me he meant anything but. “My mother was in the business. I think I told you that. One day she couldn’t find a sitter. I was, I think, nine or ten years old. She didn’t get the part, but the director asked to see me. I didn’t want to do it. But Mama got a different kind of gleam in her eye.”

“So you got a part and she didn’t?”

I downed more beer. I had to be careful. I really didn’t drink often. There had to be at least twenty ounces in these mugs. “Actually, I didn’t. I was awful. Nervous. Shaking. Couldn’t remember my two lines to save my life. But one of the casting directors passed my name along to a modeling agent who did mostly print work. I started getting jobs from that. Then I started getting better at reading lines. Finally, I got cast in Crosspointe when I was twelve.”

Domino hung on my words, but a secret smile played at the corners of his mouth. I sat back in my seat. “And you have no idea what that means. You’ve never heard of Crosspointe.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of it,” he said. “But only since yesterday. You’re not the only one doing internet research.”

I raised my mug and tipped it toward his. We clinked rims. “So tell me more about this movie.”

“No,” I answered. It earned me a raised brow from Domino. “I’d rather you tell me how you got your nickname. You didn’t really answer me before.”

His nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. “Black and white with spots all over. That’s what Bear told me I looked like.”

I laughed. I already knew who Bear was. Bear Bullock, the current president of the Dark Saints M.C. I half hoped Dom would offer to introduce me to him. “You are a little hard to place.”

“Take a guess.” He challenged me; leaning forward he folded his hands in front of him, putting him no more than a few inches from my face. His hot breath caressed my cheek. Domino had one of the most interesting faces I’d ever seen. Since I was a kid, I’d always liked to study them, make up stories about who people were. Domino’s face was all hard angles with a square jaw, broad flat nose, deep-set eyes, and high cheekbones.

“Native American, for sure. So, being where we are and the history of your town, I’m guessing at least part Comanche. Latino, maybe? But European in there somewhere, for sure. It’s in your eyes.”

Domino clucked his tongue and sat back. “Not bad. My daddy was half Comanche on his mother’s side. Irish on his father’s. My mother? She was the true mutt. Her mother was all Cuban. Her pops was French, Portuguese, and maybe a little more Irish thrown in.”

I whistled low. “Well, you just check all the boxes, don’t you. What about me?”

He narrowed his eyes even as his smile broadened. “You? You’re easy. Larsen’s your real last name, I think. So you’re what? Dutch? Swedish? You look it.”

I nodded. “Pure Scandinavian.”

“Vikings, I like it,” he said. “Where’s your daddy now? Where was he when your mama was taking you on all those auditions?”

Coming from anyone else, I might have taken it as an innocent question. From Domino, his tone had a harder edge. Not judgment, per se, but a certain machismo that matched his dominant posture.

“He wasn’t around,” I said bluntly. “That’s been Tandy Larsen’s M.O. from day one. I never knew who my dad was. It was just the two of us. And about a dozen uncles.”

Dom’s eyes narrowed to slits. He gripped the handle of his beer mug so hard I wondered if he might snap it right off. “So who looked out for you?”

The question took me off guard. I blanched. Then my own protective wall went up and I knew it was time to change the subject. “I came here to talk about you. You don’t have to tell me anything about your club. I understand why you wouldn’t want to. But you. How did you become a Dark Saint?”

Domino didn’t break his stare. He clearly still wanted an answer to his question, but after a beat, he backed down, settling into an easier posture. He finished the last of his beer and jerked his chin toward the waitress. I put my hand over my mug but Domino took a refill. He didn’t drink it though. He just ran his finger through the condensation on the side of the glass.

Finally, he took his eyes away from me and stared at some point in the distance. “My mama liked her men too. She was married to the Rip Lyons, former road captain of the Devil’s Hawks.”

“Road captain?” Part of me wished I’d brought a notebook to jot some of this down. But I knew it would break the spell between us. For now, we could both pretend this was just a casual conversation. It was, but I wondered if he’d ever want to talk to me again. Fear flashed through me at the thought of not seeing him again. It unsettled me.

“It can mean a lot of different things to different clubs. It’s a position of honor and trust though. We need somebody to plan and coordinate the runs.” I bit my lip past the urge to ask him exactly what they were running. I’d heard the rumors. The Dark Saints were reported to be a member of the mysterious one percenters. True outlaws. The rational part of my brain again wondered what the hell I was doing here with him.

“But you’re a Dark Saint. How’d that happen?”

Domino laughed. “Let’s just say Katy Lyons had a flair for drama. Like you, maybe. My daddy, the club named him Diesel. How he got mixed up with my mother, I’m not sure.”

“So the Hawks and the Saints … you don’t get along?” Domino’s eyes widened, he tilted his head and smiled.

“Something like that.”

God, this had the makings of a movie plot in and of itself. Romeo and Juliet in a biker gang. I took another sip of beer. I knew if I put it like that, Domino would probably shut down. These were real people. Their decisions must have had lasting consequences that probably impacted him even today. The last thing I wanted to do was trivialize it.

“So, how’d it all turn out? Did Diesel win the girl? I mean, you’re here, wearing that patch.”

Domino’s face went hard again. “Diesel didn’t win shit except for the smoker’s jackpot. He died when I was about seventeen. Lung cancer. My mother stirred shit up for nothing. She went back to Rip when she was still pregnant with me. That fucker figured out I wasn’t his around the time I was two. And he reminded me of it every day. Finally, when I got big enough to fight back, I lit out of there and came here.”

My heart twisted. For the briefest of moments, I saw that scared, scarred kid in Domino’s eyes. For so long, he had to have felt like he didn’t belong. Except now, he did. He didn’t have to tell me the rest for me to figure it out. He wore a Dark Saints patch, just like his father, Diesel. The club must have taken him in.

“It wasn’t for nothing,” I said, putting a hand over his again. Again, his went hard as stone. But he met my eyes and that flicker of vulnerability went through them as he looked at me. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by years of fight and fury.

“Who are you?” he asked. A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. I had the sense I’d maybe gotten him to reveal something he didn’t talk about much to anyone. And I hadn’t really done anything special. I just listened. If he would let me, I wanted to do more of it.

A commotion toward the front of the bar drew our attention. Dom pulled his hand away from mine and his disappeared under the table. His leather vest separated as he reached for something. I realized he was probably carrying. I turned toward the bar and my heart sank.

Noel was there. Laughing and smiling, he slapped the backs of a few of the college-aged guys mingling near the flat screens. Noel stood in the center of them. A voice rose above the others. “No shit! I don’t believe it!”

Domino started to edge out of the booth. He put a finger up, cautioning me as I started to rise myself.

My breath went out of me when I locked eyes with Noel across the room. He gave me a wide wink then pointed the mouth of his beer bottle straight at me. The college guys turned and there was a fresh chorus of “holy shits” as Noel outted me.

“What the ever-loving fuck?” I murmured.

Camera phones came out. Lights flashed. Domino moved his body in front of me, becoming a human shield.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here. Unless this is what you want?” His tone dropped.

“No!” I shouted, anger rising. What the hell was Noel thinking? “Hell no. Get me out of here.”

Domino moved quickly. He grabbed my hand and drew me toward the kitchen. I stumbled once, my boot slipping over the slick floor. Domino snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me against his side.

As the crowd thickened behind us, Domino burst through the kitchen doors and kept on going. We drew shocked stares from the line cooks and dishwasher as Domino charged through like a bull. He kept me against his side and I struggled to keep up.

We spilled out into the alley behind the bar. It was dark and narrow, lit by a single street lamp at the end. Domino led me toward it.

“I’m parked back here,” he said. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back to your hotel.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered. I really was. I could kill Noel. In the back of my mind, I knew exactly what he was trying to do. Part of his job was to drum up early buzz for this project. What better way to do that than get pictures of me talking to a real live biker all over social media? What an idiot I’d been to think I could trust him to play things my way.

Dom’s Harley was parked a few yards away from the street lamp. He loosened his grip on me as he strode toward it. We almost made it. But two feet from the bike, a flood of lights came down another alley in front of us. My lungs burned and my heart seized as I realized what Noel had really done.

The fucker must have tweeted our location. Why hadn’t I thought to watch for that? Half a dozen men with zoom-lens cameras poured down the sidewalk toward us. Paparazzi swarmed in a circle around Dom’s bike. They shouted questions I was used to, but Domino lost it.

“Slumming, Quinn? You let him stick it to you yet?”

It was all planned. They did this just to get a reaction out of me. The money shot would be if I lost my temper. I was used to this. Dom wasn’t.

Before I could stop him ... hell ... I never could have stopped him, he cocked a fist. I watched the graceful arc of his massive forearm as he landed a punch straight on the guy’s jaw. He staggered backward, his camera flying up. A dozen other flashes went off as the rest of the photographers recorded the whole scene.

“Dom, stop! You’ll only make it worse. This is what they want!”

Dom turned back and looked at me, eyes wild. He was beyond reason and logic, acting purely on some sort of predatory rage. He gripped my hand and pulled me toward the bike. His vest flapped open and I got a look at the gun he kept holstered near his hip. I’d only used them as props, but I recognized it as a 9mm.

“Shit,” I shouted. “Come on!”

My anger flared as I pulled on Domino’s arm. He was going to ruin everything. He didn’t know what these vultures were capable of. Mercifully, I got through the bloodlust in Domino’s eyes long enough for him to see the danger we might really be in. He slid an arm around my waist and swooped me into the air. I kicked and flailed, but it was like trying to move a block of marble.

Dom plopped me on the back of his bike and slid in front of me. I had just enough time to get my arms around his waist and hold on for dear life as his engine roared. With cameras still flashing, he hit the throttle and we zoomed away from the curb. Photographers dove out of the way just before Dom would have plowed them over.

Then we sped off into the night.