Nickie slept fourteen hours and awoke feeling as if she’d been hit by a Mack truck. She brushed her hair and teeth, slid into jeans and a t-shirt, and braced herself for bright light when she opened her bedroom door onto the two-story foyer with the fabulous view of the city.

Mac was sitting beside the front door when she went downstairs, and he nodded at her as she made her way to the kitchen.

“I know you’re being paid well, but I still feel the need to thank you for keeping me safe.”

“Happy to do it, ma’am. No one should be afraid in their own home. Ranger took the night shift and he’s sleeping now. I trust you slept well?”

“Like a log. Do you want coffee?”

“I’m fine, but thanks for the offer. Don’t mind me, I can see both entrances from this spot so I’ll just hang out here.”

“What do you know of the motorcycle club? You probably know a lot since you have close ties to the one in Chattanooga.”

“They’re stand-up guys, though you don’t want them as your enemy. Bud will treat you right, but he wasn’t joking about his brothers being his brothers.”

“So, no illegal activity? All that’s just urban myth? It seems to me if law enforcement has had to resort to using RICO to get at them, it points to them being awfully… organized.”

“Not my place to speculate.”

“Noted, but I’d still like to hear your take on it.”

“I know more about the Chattanooga chapter than the Atlanta one. The men in Chattanooga have a profitable bar and restaurant, a gun store with all the correct licensing, and a bike shop they’ve recently expanded to include classic cars. They put on a lot of events for charity and are quite public about handing over large sums of money to the Women and Children’s shelter and a few other pet charities. They patrol the areas of the city they’ve claimed as territory and don’t allow drugs or streetwalkers — and crime has gone way down in their territory since they came to town. It’s pretty well-known they handle problems themselves and don’t bring law enforcement in. I have a feeling they don’t always follow the law, but I’m not sure I care. They have their own rules, their own definition of right and wrong, and it works for them.”

“I think the public perception is that they treat women like objects,” Nickie said, “but Bud’s been nice to me. Is he that way around the other bikers? Other women?”

“Depends on the woman. Ol’ladies are respected and taken care of. They aren’t official members and don’t get a vote on anything, but everyone in the club will go out of their way to make sure an ol’lady is taken care of and safe.” He sighed, looked around, and continued. “Women who choose to come hang around the clubhouse? The ones who want to be used by bikers? Get their wish. They’re treated like objects, used the way you’d expect from a bunch of bikers… and yet…” He shrugged. “If one gets in trouble, the MC will usually do what they can to help. It isn’t the same as an ol’lady, but if they’ve shown loyalty to the club then the MC returns the favor.”

She looked at her new phone a second before asking him, “I was exhausted last night. To recap — Aaron leased the apartment so it isn’t associated with any of my pseudonyms, so I’m theoretically safe here. This phone was programmed to go through a proxy when I’m online with it, so no one can watch my accounts to see where I am. I know ya’ll told me something about my laptop, but maybe I should’ve taken notes.”

“Normally, Aaron would send our geek down to run your laptop through a proxy, but we have someone in Atlanta we trust. I just need to call him to tell him when to come.”

The man they sent was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt that said, ‘There’s no place like 127.0.0.1”, and black, heavy biker boots. His shaggy, dark-blond hair was badly in need of scissors but it worked for him. All this along with layers of muscles, and the t-shirt was the only thing that hinted at computer geek.

“Shadow,” Mac said when he opened the door. “Thanks for helping us out. She brought her laptop downstairs, and she has a tablet she’d like you to configure, too. It’s important anyone watching her accounts can’t see she’s in Atlanta.”

“Not a problem.” He looked to Nickie. “My name’s Ron but everyone calls me Shadow.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Nicole.”

She had her laptop opened to a proof from her cover artist, and his eyes grew big as he took it in. “My sister reads this series and loves it. Are you reading it? She says she can’t wait for the next book!”

Nicole glanced at Ranger and looked back to Shadow. “I’m looking over the proof for a new cover. What do you think of it?”

“Oh, wow! This is for the next book!”

“No, the next book releases in a few weeks, and this one will release in about eight months.”

He shook his head. “She’ll be so jealous I’ve seen it. She likes the wolves okay but talks about the bear and owl shifters like they’re real people.”

Nickie closed the program and moved so Shadow could work. He inserted a thumb drive, opened a command window, and started typing. While he worked, Nickie went upstairs and grabbed a copy of the book about to release. She’d taken a copy to Mexico to show off while she made a video for release day, and she’d tossed it in with the few clothes she brought back because fans will do crazy things for a pre-release copy of a book.

Shadow was finishing up on her laptop and starting on her tablet, so she waited until he finished before handing it to him.

“I have access to advanced copies for a few authors. Give this to your sister and gain some brother points.”

His eyes went big again. “Oh, wow! Thanks! She’ll be ecstatic.” He ran his thumb over the bear on the cover. “She’s been waiting for his story. She talks about this bear dude like he’s real.”

“You and your sister are close?”

“Yeah. She’s living with me while she goes to Georgia Tech. She waitresses at a bar I kind of part-own.”

“This is probably where I should explain that Shadow is part of Bud’s MC,” said Mac.

That might’ve been good information to have up front, but she only said, “Which explains the boots and the nickname.”

“I’ll get out of your hair so you can work,” said Shadow. “You don’t need to do anything on your end — I’ve set everything up in the background so it looks like you’re online in New York in one of the skyscrapers, but they won’t be able to get a bead on which floor. If you have issues with speed, Ranger or Mac can get me back here to route you another way, but it’s working fine now with the lag time short enough you won’t notice.”

Nickie texted Bud to see if he wanted to come over at seven for steaks, and hoped either Patrick or Tyler came as the other shift because they’d guarded her before when she got kinky and wouldn’t rush in to try to save her. She hoped to take Bud to bed with her after dinner, and she wasn’t sure how these two would react to S&M play.

* * *

Bud walked the mile from his house to Nicole’s apartment, and wondered the entire time what the fuck he was doing. He went through all the reasons to turn around and go home — she was an investigative journalist who could hurt the club, she kept comparing him to her damned fictional werewolves, and it was clear she’d bring any illegal activities she discovered to the attention of the authorities. Bud respected her for her morals, but couldn’t start anything with her.

But fuck if his dick wasn’t hard just thinking about bending her over the bed and taking his belt to her ass.

And then there was the issue of Bud’s wolf. Bad men were after his Nickie and his wolf wasn’t going to turn away until they were taken care of. In all the years since Wendy was killed, no woman had interested both Bud and his wolf more than a night or two of sex. Nickie was different, special… but the very things that made her attractive also made her dangerous to the president of a one-percenter club.

Bud had made sure the wolf understood she might hurt their family. The wolf thought of the MC as Pack, though they weren’t. None of the wolves in the MC wanted their willpower overridden, so they’d turned away from the Pack. Still, they were all loyal to the death and he wouldn’t let anyone into his inner circle who might cause harm to his brothers.

As he walked, he considered what he needed to hear from her over dinner. What compromise could he live with if she refused to sign the non-disclosure agreement?

Bud’s wolf bristled when he smelled hawk, but he rang the doorbell and stood his ground. The hawk opened the door, looked him up and down, and stepped to the side to let him in. Good security companies distribute pictures of those okay to be around their charges, and those to watch out for.

Nickie met him in the foyer area and slowed to take in his faded jeans and black Harley Davidson tee.

“My, my, my. I think I like you better at home than on vacation. Any chance we’ll be able to get you out of those jeans later?”

Nickie wore a simple cotton dress and was barefoot, and he wanted to bend her over and rip her underwear off. Bud’s cock throbbed and threatened to grow, but he willed it to stay soft. “Depends on our dinner conversation, Nickie.”

“You switched from Nicole to Nickie at the airport. I was Nicole before I went in the bathroom, and Nickie when I woke up.”

He nodded. “I was keeping you at arm’s length. Still need to, but it’s hard. You understand?”

She sighed and turned to the kitchen. “Everything’s ready except the steaks, and they won’t take long to cook. How do you like yours?”

“Rare. Have a seat and I’ll cook them. How do you like yours?”

She looked as if she were going to argue, but took a seat at the island and motioned to the fridge. “They’re marinating. I have four for you and one for me. I was going to pan sear them. The pan’s already out.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Once again you’ve reminded me of my alpha wolf. He prefers to cook his own steaks, and he likes them rare.”

“Where are Mac and Ranger?”

“Hotel on the next block. They’ll be back tomorrow so we can brainstorm how best to use me as bait.”

“Bait?”

“Easiest way to find the bad guys is to draw them to us.” Her blue eyes were nearly purple again, and he could feel her need to put this behind her. She wanted her life back, wanted to feel safe.

He couldn’t fathom having to watch her put herself in danger though. “I don’t like it.”

“Isn’t your call.” She stood and went to the refrigerator. “I have wine for me, and you have your choice of wine or beer. It’s a local brand, and dark, since I recall that’s what you prefer.”

“Beer will be great. Bottle’s fine, I don’t need a glass.” No time like the present to get the hard conversation behind them. “Have you reconsidered whether you’ll give me your word not to write about the MC?”

“Should I write a fictional series about a fictitious MC, I’ll run everything by you — or someone else in the MC if you’d prefer — to make sure you’re comfortable I’m not pulling from you or yours directly. I’ll never let it be known the pen name who writes it is affiliated with the RTMC. I won’t make your people into characters, though I may borrow a specific attribute or mannerism. For instance, one of my guards only carries Kimber guns and is derisive towards Glocks, and I’ve used some of what he’s said for my grumpy detective series. There are no other similarities between the two.”

Bud focused on heating the pan before he put the steaks in, and didn’t reply. He hadn’t considered her writing a fictional series, and the ramifications were too much to consider.

When he finally put three steaks in the pan and she still hadn’t said anything else, he told her, “We’ll have to come back to that. Let’s talk about Cole Daniels, for now.”

“My fingers are itching to write an insider’s story, but I understand why that isn’t possible. As long as I don’t discover any illegal activity, I won’t write about you or your club.”

Bud shook his head. “Not good enough. I’ve already told you we follow our own moral code. If someone hurt you I wouldn’t call the cops, I’d hurt him myself and make an example of him.”

“The drunk driver who killed your wife was killed seven weeks after he went to prison.”

Bud turned his head and met her gaze. “He was.”

“He was decapitated.”

Bud nodded. She’d done her homework and knew both lost their heads.

“Did you arrange for that to happen?”

“What do you think?” It came out gruffer than he intended, but he wasn’t sorry.

“I think I want an answer.”

He lifted a brow. “You want me to admit to murder for hire?”

“An eye for an eye, a head for a head?”

Bud shook his head and looked down at the steaks. This wasn’t going to work. Everyone knew he’d arranged it but no one could prove it. That was the point. If she couldn’t read between the lines and understand what had to happen, she couldn’t be in his life. Everyone close to him knew the bastard had to die. It was too bad it had to be quick and Bud couldn’t make him suffer first, but by the time seven weeks had past, it was only important it happened. Bud’s heart sank into his stomach at the realization Nickie might be trying to prove he’d done it for a story, and he wondered if she was recording this. Damn, he’d come into her home — she might even have video going. He knew she was under heavy security so she’d likely get away with making the recording public, since he should’ve known of the possibility the security company was using video surveillance. It might even hold up in court. Probably not, but… fuck.

“You realize you’ve told me you had something to do with it by not answering?”

“No.” He looked back up. “What you should get out of this conversation is that I’ve realized you and I can’t work. Whether I answer or not doesn’t matter, because the things going through my head right now aren’t thoughts I should ever have about someone close to me.”

“Fair enough, but I’ll ask that you give me until the end of dinner to make that decision final.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I like you and I think you like me. I had to ask the question — I needed to see your eyes.”

“And what did my eyes tell you?”

Now she was the one who looked away. “A world of hurt and anger. I hope the anger is still mostly for him, but I can’t apologize if some of it’s directed towards me. I’ll never back down from asking questions when I need to know the answer.”

Figuring he may as well find out what he could while she was talking, Bud asked, “What else did you find out about me? Did you just investigate me, or did you poke around in the club’s business, too?”

“Each chapter is run as a separate corporation. You’re the CEO, and your main sources of income are the bar, bike shop, and several coin operated laundries.” She only hesitated a beat before saying, “They’re extremely profitable.”

“Ask your question.”

She shook her head. “No question. The club is anti-drugs so I’m assuming you don’t deal. My guess is you have other means of income and you launder the money through the laundromat and bar.”

“But not the bike shop?”

She shook her head. “Most everyone pays by credit or debit card there. The bar and laundromats have a large cash business.”

“The laundromats offer computer terminals you can rent by the hour, print and copy services, wash and fold services if you want to drop your laundry off, as well as the ability to stay and wash your own clothes. The machines are coin operated but everything else can be paid for with a card.”

“The bar and restaurant are cash only.”

Bud nodded. “We’ve renovated once or twice, but we’ve been in that location over fifty years. Never took anything but cash and don’t intend to change that. We’re retro.”

Bud took two steaks off, replaced them with two others, and turned Nickie’s steak.

“Couple more hard questions and then we’ll get to the compromise part.”

“Ask.”

“Why were you really in Mexico?”

“If I was down there on business I wouldn’t have left early, no matter how much I like you. Be happy I was with you, because if I’d dropped you off at the airport I wouldn’t have been waiting outside the bathroom when they wheeled you out unconscious.”

“Why were you really there?”

Time to craft a lie. “I didn’t take a vacation for years after my wife died. Couldn’t. It was Angel and me, and she needed her dad. Once she left for college though, I had to get away or go crazy.” He shrugged. “I love my life but it’s stressful and sometimes I need a break. Besides, it does the men good to figure out how to get along without me for short periods.”

Bud smelled disappointment and anger, but Nickie’s poker face was good. He couldn’t ask her what was wrong without making her think of her damned werewolves, so he flipped the steaks and waited for her to respond.

“You once told me you’d give me plausible deniability, but I don’t think that’ll work. I need total honesty in a relationship. I’m pretty sure you can’t offer what I need.”

“So that’s it? No compromise?”

“Fuck, Bud. I don’t know. I like you and I was looking forward to…”

When the silence threatened to grow awkward, Bud told her, “I’m up for a roll in the hay with no strings. I can come over for some fun when it fits our schedules while you’re in town, and when you leave for Pennsylvania we’ll say goodbye. Nothing serious, but you have to stop investigating me and the club.” He sighed. “I had one of the club’s attorneys draft a non-disclosure agreement. I have it on my phone for us to go over, or I can email it to you. I assume you have a printer — if not I can send it to the bar once we get it hammered out, and someone can print it and run it over for us to sign.”

She laughed. “My attorney will shit bricks when he finds out you know all my pen names and haven’t signed a non-disclosure. I was trying to figure out how to bring it up.”

“What would happen if I told?”

“I’d be in breach of several contracts. It’d cost me millions and would likely keep me from future income in the amounts I’m used to.”

Hmmm, maybe he had enough on her to keep her from talking? He’d have to think that over later.

“The attorney set it up so you aren’t allowed to write about anything you learn about the club, me, a club member, club member’s girlfriend or wife, friend or relative of a club member, club employee, etc. — under any pen name or your real name. You aren’t allowed to write it, talk about it, publish it in any manner, go on a radio or television show and talk about it, or in any way share information you learn about us.”

“Is there anything against me reporting a crime to the authorities?”

“That’d only be a concern if we were breaking the law. The legal document doesn’t mention law enforcement.” Because a contract agreeing not to report illegal activity would never hold up in court. It would void the whole thing.

Bud plated the steaks beside the baked potatoes already there, Nickie put serving spoons in the vegetable dishes, and they sat down to eat.

“Email me what you have and I’ll go over it with my attorney tomorrow,” she told him. “I have a standard copy of my non-disclosure agreement I can send home with you – whether that’s tonight or in the morning.”

Bud wasn’t sure they were going to get past the legal stuff, but he wouldn’t turn down a night with Nickie. It would probably be a goodbye, but so be it.

Nickie poured herself some more wine and retrieved another beer for Bud. “My guards will leave us alone as long as I don’t say a safeword and I’m not making the sounds of someone gagged so they can’t speak.”

“What’s your safeword?” Bud never used them. Didn’t need them because he could tell by scent if a woman was getting into it or not. The club’s sweetbutts agreed to do whatever a club member wanted, whenever they wanted it, and knew there was no way out of a very real punishment if they broke the rules. However, there was no way he was explaining any of that to Nickie right now. If she safeworded and he didn’t smell true distress, they’d be done. Though he’d likely stop before she had a chance to use it, so giving her one wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Rosso and giallo.”

The odd pronunciation clued him in she was speaking another language, and the second word was close enough to yellow, he guessed, “Red and yellow in another language?”

“Italian.”

“Say them again.”

She did, and he nodded. “When we walk into your bedroom, my word is law. If you make me punish you, there’s no safewording out of consequences.” He realized how that sounded and quickly amended, “I’ll stop if you say the red safeword, but I’ll pack up and leave and that’ll be it. Don’t get in trouble if you can’t handle the consequences.”

Bud suppressed a grin as her spicy scent filled the kitchen. Her raised eyebrow didn’t look happy, but she didn’t argue the point — likely because her body was obviously on board.

“I’ll use condoms. I expect to have access to your mouth, pussy, and ass.” He shook his head. “I don’t do the BDSM talking-about-shit thing. I’m in control in the bedroom and there’s no negotiations. Unless you give me a reason to punish you, I’ll try to give you mostly good hurt and not bad tonight, but you don’t get to make demands. I use you, you give me your body to be used.”

“No blood play. No watersports this early on. Nothing that restricts my speech. My hands need to be free while I give you a blow job so I can hit your leg to safeword.”

Bud shook his head and she stopped talking. “I don’t know who you’ve been playing with, but I’m not gonna piss on you or cut you. If you’re looking for some elaborate bondage scene you’ll be disappointed. I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk straight, and you’re gonna do as you’re told and follow orders. Simple. We don’t need all that other talk.”