Hours turned into days and then the days into a week. It was as if all record of Marley vanished the night he was killed. All the contact numbers the garage had on file were disconnected. The apartment complex where he was supposed to live had no idea who I was talking about when I went by there. There was no obituary in the paper, nor was he listed at any of the local funeral homes. I didn’t know Samantha’s number, or I would have tried her. It was the strangest fucking thing I had ever seen or heard of.

It was hell not being able to be a part of his funeral. Of course, as a hang-around, he wouldn’t have been afforded any Raiders’ burial rites. But at the same time, I wanted my chance to say good-bye. More than anything, I wanted to be able to tell him that I was sorry.

That was the God’s honest truth—the feeling of dread kept me up at night. I was really fucking sorry. I was sorry that I invited him on the run when I should have known it could be dangerous. I was sorry that I hadn’t been able to protect him better that day. More than anything, I was sorry I ever mentioned anything to him about the Raiders. It wasn’t just that Marley would have been a whole lot fucking better off if he had never met me—he would have been alive.

Besides searching for Marley, that first week after the funeral was spent in mourning for the fallen Raiders. Funerals were spread out so all the chapters could attend. East Tennessee had lost two guys; North Carolina had lost a guy and another member’s old lady. The funeral that haunted me the most and sent me into a drunken stupor was Alabama’s, where we attended one for a member’s twelve-year-old son.

Among the grief and guilt, the need for revenge plagued us. While Rev wanted to put together the pieces for a legitimate case to send the murdering fuckers to rot in prison, the other chapters wouldn’t hear of it. They set out to take care of it with the old vigilante justice that we had once taken part in as well. Part of me wanted to get involved, thinking that if I could have the killers’ blood on my hands, then I could somehow atone for what had happened with Marley.

Oh yeah, I felt nothing but guilt twenty-four/seven, and it was fucking eating me alive. To make matters worse, the usual methods of coping weren’t helping. I’d banged two new girls who had been hanging around the clubhouse, but it still didn’t get Marley off my mind. Even after I knocked out my opponent in the third round, the usual Friday-night fight did nothing for me, either. Finally, I’d turned my attention to working nonstop. As if by keeping my mind on transmissions and carburetors, I would somehow not go crazy.

I was lying on a creeper underneath a classic Impala when I felt someone nudge my leg. I slid out to see my boss standing over me with a concerned frown. “Something wrong, Rick?”

He scratched the back of his neck and shifted the wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. “I think you need to shove off for today.”

“I was gonna finish this one up.”

Rick shook his head. “I usually don’t complain when one of my workers is busting his ass, but in this case, I think you need to head home. Have a beer and get some tail.”

After fighting the urge to throw my wrench at Rick in frustration, I hopped to my feet. “I just wanted to help. We’re short now because of . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say Marley’s name.

“That may be true, but if you keep overworking yourself, my ass will really be in a bind when you’re laid in up in bed with a torn muscle or the flu.”

I knew when I was beat, so I dropped my wrench in the toolbox. “Fine. But I’m still coming in at seven in the morning.”

Rick grinned. “Stubborn ass.”

I gave him a pat on the back before starting down the hallway to the bathroom. From my fingers to my elbows, my arms looked like a typical grease monkey’s. Taking the already-blackened bar of soap, I began scrubbing my hands and arms. The more I thought of Marley, the more furious my movements became, to where I was practically clawing marks on my skin.

I whirled around at the sound of a voice behind me. My heart stopped and restarted at the sight of Sam standing in the bathroom doorway. Seeing her sent my mind on a trippy flashback of the night Marley was killed. I remembered her tears, the way she had cradled Marley’s body, the way his blood stained her clothes. But the image that stayed with me the most was the look of undiluted hate she had given me when cradling Marley’s body. I had to blink to clear my mind of the image.

There was so much to say, but instead, I could only stare at her.

Part of me expected her to vanish into thin air just as Marley had. It had been only a week since I saw her last, but everything was different about her. Her dark eyes, which were usually so expressive, were dull and hollow and ringed with circles. The jeans she usually filled out were visibly looser—another sign of how her emotional pain was wrecking her physically.

Finally, she broke the tense silence. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” I grunted. Although part of me was glad as hell to see her, I couldn’t hide the animosity that was boiling within me.

She took a step back. “Sorry to interrupt. Rick said I would find you back here.”

“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded.

Her dark eyes widened in surprise at both my tone and my question. “Yeah, about that. Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t call. It’s been—”

I sliced one of my hands in the air, silencing her. “You’re sorry? Marley’s been dead over a week, and during that time, you didn’t think one fucking time that you might oughta call and let me know how things were going?”

Sam’s remorseful expression darkened. “What the fuck, Bishop? I just lost my boyfriend.”

With a mirthless laugh, I said, “I mean, I get that you’re pissed at me for what happened, but it seems to me it’s pretty cut-and-dried to reach out to a man’s friend when he dies.” I shrugged. “But I guess it’s only complicated to a coldhearted bitch.”

Anger replaced the sadness in Sam’s eyes as she stalked toward me. “How dare you say that to me!”

“Just calling it as I see it, darlin’.”

“You ignorant bastard. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through in the last week?”

“No, actually, I don’t, but I’m sure I might’ve had a clue if you. Had. Fucking. Called me!”

She shook her head so fast I was sure she was going to get whiplash. “And just how the fuck was I supposed to do that when I didn’t have your number? I came here to try to explain things to you, but you’re too pigheaded to see anything beyond yourself. Poor pitiful Bishop!”

When she started to turn away, I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Oh no, you’re not leaving. Not until you explain what the hell happened to Marley after the ambulance left.”

She jerked her chin at the sink. “Finish cleaning up and then meet me at the bar across the street.”

Standing toe-to-toe with her, I growled, “Woman, you gotta lot of fucking nerve ordering me around.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Just do it.” She then tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and walked out of the bathroom.

“What the fuck?” I muttered.

After rinsing off my hands with record speed, I hustled out of the garage. As I climbed onto my bike, I couldn’t believe Sam had just told me to meet her at Tucker’s. I didn’t know if Marley had ever told her that was where we went sometimes after work to unwind.

Just before I entered Tucker’s, I slid on my cut. Although I didn’t want any club affiliation at work, I didn’t know what I might find inside. While I might’ve thrown back a beer or two with Marley, I was hardly a regular, so I wanted to set the tone just in case.

When I entered the room, I searched for Samantha. Part of me had worried that my grief and guilt had driven me so insane that I had hallucinated seeing her back at the garage. But thankfully, I spotted her sitting at a table with a pitcher of beer and two glasses.

I eased down in the chair across from her. While her eyes flared slightly at the sight of my cut, she didn’t say anything about it. “Hope Bud on tap is okay,” she said.

With a nod, I said, “That’s what Marley and I always had when we came here.”

Her expression turned sad. “Yeah, he told me.” She slid her mug of beer back and forth between her hands. “I really am sorry that I haven’t called you, Bishop. The only excuse I can give you is it has been a really hard week for me.”

Although I was still pissed about what had gone down, I found that I couldn’t look her in the eye. I felt like too much of an asshole for the way I had acted at the garage. For fuck’s sake, who did I think I was? Hell, Marley was just a friend I’d known for a few months. He was her boyfriend.

After downing a few sips of beer, I said, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I acted like a real bastard.”

When I dared to look up, Sam gave me a small smile. “While I won’t argue with you about that, I do appreciate the apology.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sam took a sip a beer. “The truth is that while I might’ve been Marley’s girlfriend, I wasn’t his blood family or next of kin. That was made really clear to me when we got to the hospital. I had no say over what happened to him. The next morning his parents came down and took his body back home.”

“Where was home?”

“Michigan or Milwaukee.” She shrugged. “Marley never really said. He didn’t care for his family that much.”

I realized that he’d never told me exactly where he was from, either. I think his answer had been a cryptic “around.”

“You didn’t go back for the funeral?”

“As much as I wanted to be able to say good-bye, I really couldn’t afford to travel or be away from work.” With a sheepish expression, she added, “Besides, I really wasn’t welcome. His parents never liked me.”

“That fucking blows.”

“Yeah, it does,” she said, and then gulped down several sips of beer. “In the end, I know how I felt about him and how he felt about me. Standing over his grave and throwing roses onto his casket wouldn’t change that. You know?”

Although I nodded, I still wanted that closure. Even if there was no way in hell he could hear me, I wanted to be able to say the things to Marley that would clear my conscience. But as I glanced across the table, I realized that I still had a chance to make things right. “There’s something I really need to say to you.”

“Oh?”

I nodded and then proceeded to drain the rest of my beer. After swiping the back of my mouth with my hand, I stared into Sam’s dark eyes. All the guilt over Marley that I had been feeling the last week bubbled to the surface, and I began speaking it out loud. I talked about Preacher Man’s murder and then Case’s. When I finished, I rubbed the stubble on my chin and shook my head. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“Because I’m a woman or because you’re not used to talking about your feelings to anyone outside the MC?”

“Both really. As a hang-around, Marley wasn’t supposed to know shit about club business, and as a woman, you’re sure as hell not supposed to know.”

“But how can I understand what you’re talking about unless you’re honest with me?”

I held my hands up. “Look, all you need to understand is at the end of the day, I’m so fucking sorry for what happened to Marley.”

She stared at me for a moment, unblinking and unmoving, as if she was shocked that something so sincere could have come from me. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“That day . . . the way you looked at me after you found Marley. I know you blamed me, too.”

“But I was in shock, Bishop. I might’ve thought the Raiders were at fault that day, but not you. And I still don’t think it was your fault.”

“In some ways, no, it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t the one who shot him, but at the same time, it was because of bad blood between my club and another. If he’d never met up with me, he would still be alive today.”

“It was an accident, Bishop. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she argued.

“Once again, you’re being naive.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Then explain it to me.”

“I should have realized with the direction our club was taking, things could get dangerous at the run. I should never have let him come.”

Sam’s brow lined in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘the direction of your club’?”

At that point, I didn’t see how it could hurt to explain a few things to her. “You know what a one-percent MC is, right?”

“Yeah. A little bit. Like from TV.”

I laughed at where her limited view came from. “So you know that while ninety-nine percent of the clubs out there are full of decent, law-abiding citizens, the other one percent aren’t?” When she nodded, I added, “Well, since the time it was started back in ’sixty-seven, the Raiders have been a one-percent club.”

“Your club does illegal stuff?”

“You could say that.” I motioned the waitress over for another pitcher of beer. “You could also say that because of a lot of bad shit that has gone down in the last couple of years, we’re moving to be legitimate.”

Surprise flashed in Sam’s eyes at my admission. “You are?”

I nodded. “We had it approved by the original chapter when we were in Virginia.”

Samantha appeared almost dumbfounded by my admission. “Just how are you doing that?”

“Can’t tell you that, sugar. I’m already overstepping my bounds enough as it is.”

Sam nibbled her lip before asking, “Did Marley know about you guys going legit?”

I shook my head. “As I said, he was just a hang-around. My brothers could have had me by the balls for telling him club business.” I gave her a pointed stare. “Just like they could for me telling you what I have.”

A nervous laugh escaped her. “Like I’m going to tell anyone.”

“You sure as hell better not. I’d hate to have to kill you.” As soon as I said the words, I grimaced. “Sorry. That was a badly timed joke.”

“It’s okay.” The waitress appeared with a new pitcher and refilled our beers. When we were once again alone, Sam leaned closer to me. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but I need to know for my sake . . . and for Marley’s. What were the reasons behind why he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

I exhaled slowly before chugging half of my beer. “Once again, I can’t tell you all the reasons behind why it happened. All I can say is people within our organization—the Raiders—aren’t happy that we don’t want to live as gangbangers anymore, and they took that out on us.”

“I see,” she murmured.

Reaching across the table, I took her hand in mine. “I wish I could be more honest with you, and tell you everything you want to know. But I can’t.”

“I get it—I understand.” At what must’ve been my doubtful expression, she added, “I swear.”

“I’m glad.” I squeezed her hand before releasing it. “And I’m really glad you came to see me, Sam.”

“Me, too.”

“You know, you don’t have to be as alone as you think you are.”

Her eyes widened.

“Even though Marley wasn’t a patched member or even a prospect, the Raiders look out for their own, especially wives and girlfriends. You don’t have to go through Marley’s loss . . . the grief . . . all on your own.”

“Who said I was?”

I shrugged. “No one. It’s just a feeling I have.” When she continued looking skeptically at me, I sighed. “Deep down, I think we’re a lot alike. So I just thought if you were handling things like I was, then you could use a friend to talk to.”

A confused look came over her face. “Why?”

“Because.”

“You’re right about me feeling alone . . . even isolated.” Sam dropped her head to stare at the rim of her beer. “Guess it just wigged me out to hear you offering me a shoulder to cry on, because I just didn’t imagine bikers could ever be so honorable.”

“After what you’ve experienced, I can’t say I blame you for thinking we’re all soulless bastards.”

Her dark eyes jerked up to gaze into mine. “Excuse me?”

“You know, with Marley being killed by bikers.”

She exhaled a long breath. “Right. Yeah, I guess it is easy to paint you all as being bad.”

“The truth is we’re really not, especially not my chapter brothers.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Good. And no more being a stranger, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“First way to remedy that is to give me your cell number.”

I wasn’t too surprised when she was a little hesitant. Besides hiding her emotions like me, Sam had this whole aura about her that was like a feral cat—skittish and untrusting. Finally, she took a pen out of her purse and grabbed one of the napkins on the table. After she scribbled down her number, she handed it to me. “I hope that doesn’t end up on some MC bathroom wall to call for a good time,” she teased.

Chuckling, I shook my head at her. “You can rest assured that won’t happen.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said as she rose out of her chair. I think we were both shocked as hell at her next move. As she leaned over me, her long black hair covered me like a shroud, filling my nose with the sweet smell of her perfume. The moment her lips touched my cheek, it felt like an electric shock through my body. Samantha quickly jerked away. “Good-bye, Bishop.”

“Bye, Sam.”

While she practically sprinted out the door, I remained dumbfounded in my chair by both her reaction and mine to the kiss. I didn’t think I could ever remember a time when a woman had given me a chaste kiss. Racking my brain came up with no one outside my family.

A small voice within me railed at me to toss Samantha’s number in the trash. It reasoned that there was something about her that was trouble . . . even dangerous. But as with so many times in my life, I chose to ignore that voice.