Jessa took off her heels the second she crossed the threshold of her small one-story house. What a fucking morning. It was barely noon, and she was ready for rum. For a lot of rum. She tossed the heels near the foot of the stairs and started unbuttoning the top of her retro dress as she headed for the kitchen.

 

A good lunch was in order, followed by… what? A fucking spa day? Jessa rubbed her neck, staring at the fruit bowl on top of her dinette. Today she’d buried her father. It didn’t seem right to cap off the day with a facial or a pedicure. No, she had to honor the man the way he deserved.

 

She needed to get rip-roaring drunk.

 

She prepared a turkey sandwich on autopilot, slathering on mayo and avocado while she worked up a game plan. A call to her best girlfriends was in order, followed by a bar crawl. They’d started early, maybe even four p.m. None of her girls had been at the funeral – since none of them knew her father – but they were on standby, ready to help her cope.

 

Running her tongue along the edge of the knife, to scoop up the extra avocado, Jessa’s mind drifted to Silas. What a fucking… something. She shivered. She didn’t know exactly what she thought of him anymore. His bright blue eyes and square jaw were a better fit for a Gucci ad, but he had the swagger and the poise of a hardened biker, a guy who probably treated women like trash and had a new one each week.

 

Exactly the kind of shit Jessa hated about MC guys.

 

And her father, God rest his soul already, hadn’t exactly been a paragon of chivalry once her mom walked out. No, he’d played the scene pretty hard. And it only stood to reason that his club members would share that player mindset.

 

Not that she cared about Silas. Not that he was even anyone special at all.

 

Jessa sighed as she settled into a chair, looking out the bay window over her small backyard. A neatly manicured garden lined the house, with tiny sparkly pinwheels dotting the freshly laid black mulch between the rose bushes and begonias. She liked a tidy house, inside and out. Folding a napkin onto her lap, she took a bite of her sandwich, dabbing a finger at the corner of her mouth to catch a crumb. Tidiness was next to godliness. And bikers were notoriously slobby.

 

Her thoughts pinballed between memories of her dad and wondering who Silas really was. Something in Silas’ gaze set her on fire, but it was a fire she tried to deny, even to herself. It wasn’t right to think a biker was hot. How could any of those values be hot? They just weren’t.

 

But thinking he was hot didn’t mean Jessa condoned his lifestyle. She frowned, taking another bite. A hot body was just a hot body.

 

Unless she wanted there to be more to him than just a hot body.

 

When she finished her sandwich, she dug out her phone to call her friend, Trixie.

 

Trixie picked up on the second ring. “How did it go?”

 

Jessa smiled at the concern. “As well as it could go. Now I just have the rest of this beautiful day to mourn the loss of my father.”

 

“Hm. Any plans?”

 

“Yeah. Get fucking drunk.” Jessa cradled her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she washed off her plate. “And I need you and Monica there. You in?”

 

“Oh, hell yes,” Trixie whooped. Trixie was tiny like a fairy and just as cute as one. The girls always had just a little bit too much fun when they went out. Monica tended to be the mother of the trio. The three were such good friends that strangers sometimes mistook them for lesbians. “When and where?”

 

Jessa named a string of local haunts, and by the time she and Trixie had hung up, they had a whole bar crawl organized.

 

In the quiet of the kitchen, Jessa’s mind wandered once again to Silas… The thick veins in his forearms as he’d sat next to her at the funeral... The tattoos peeking out from underneath his crisp, designer grade button-up… His kutte, which was the first time she’d ever seen one of those stupid leather vests and thought a guy looked good in it.

 

Fuck. He was too hot.

 

She fished out the scrap of paper he’d given her and ran her thumb over the strange chicken-scratch of his numbers. She should throw it away – that would convince herself that she was serious and that her affiliation with the MC gang was truly severed, once and for all.

 

Nibbling on her lower lip, Jessa stowed the number back in her purse. She should hang onto it, just in case she needed to get ahold of him once she sifted through her father’s storage unit. If Stone had held Silas in such high regard, then maybe he’d be interested in some of his extra things.

 

She nodded. That seemed fair.

 

It also seemed like a compromise, but she didn’t want to dwell on that.

 

***

 

Silas stared out the window overlooking the cement courtyard of the clubhouse. The sun was so damn bright today. Too bright for the day of a funeral. Especially Stone’s. He squinted, peering up at the sky again. Still no answers. Still no Stone.

 

The brothers were filing into the meeting room through the bulletproof and soundproof double doors. They called it HQ for a reason – this was where all the magic happened, and they couldn’t risk prying ears, eyes or visitors. Now that they’d buried Stone, it was time for Silas to take over. Their first formal meeting without Stone was about to commence.

 

Silas tugged at the elastic in his hair, forcing the hair in his ponytail to tumble around his face. Most of the brothers were still in their Sunday best. Silas cleared his throat, fiddling with the rolled-up sleeve. The head of a dragon leered up at him from his forearm, the tattoo his most faithful companion.

 

The mood was somber at HQ today, as he’d expected. But under the sadness, Silas sensed a tension. He’d been worried that not all the brothers would accept his appointment as president. He’d served as sergeant at arms for two years under Stone. Tequila, a squat redhead who drank one shot of tequila every evening like it was tea time, had served as VP since Silas came into the club. Why hadn’t Stone picked him?

 

Tequila lumbered over to his regular spot, off to the right of the president’s seat at the head of the table. One by one, everyone settled into place. All thirty of them around the massive, wood-carved table. Silas drew a deep breath, pressing his palms against the surface.

 

“So. Here we are.” He looked up at the brothers. Most everyone wore sadness on their faces or stared sullenly at the table. “I did not want to see this day come. We all loved Stone. He was a born leader.”

 

Brothers murmured their agreement, nodding.

 

“But now that he’s chosen me as president… I swear to all of you that I will live and breathe this job. Stone’s legacy will push me to serve at his level.” Silas paused, raking his gaze over each member. “It shouldn’t surprise any of you what my first order of business will be: taking out Wicked Spawn.”

 

A few shouts of agreement.

 

Tequila pumped his fist. “This shit has been going on for too long. And now that they’ve got Stone as one more notch on their fucking post, I say that this crap ends now. Tomorrow, if we can. We need to push these fuckheads out of our territory, and back to the disgusting filth pile they came from.”

 

More shouts of agreement.

 

Silas nodded, searching out each brother’s gaze. “We’ve got a few prospects on deck. I say we bring ‘em up to vote so we can get them on board for the attack. Our regular order of business, we’ll just let it float for a while. Viper and Hotshot, you two can keep the video biz going in the meantime. No new projects – just wrap up what we’ve got going and keep the commitments we made.”

 

Viper and Hotshot nodded.

 

“I won’t rest until we take these assholes out. We’ll reconfigure once we’re back on top. Now let’s take a vote.”

 

Smiles flashed, and agreements rippled through the room. When it came time to vote, every brother came back with, “Aye.”

 

After a few more orders of business, the meeting came to a close.

 

Tequila stood up, clamping a hand on Silas’ shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, kid.” He offered a smile. “I never wanted the president gig, and Stone knew that. He always had you in mind for this spot. You should know that.”

 

Silas relaxed, relief spreading through him. “Thanks, brother.”

 

A couple of the brothers hung by the doors, mischievous smiles on their faces. “So, when’s the big day?”

 

Silas cocked a brow. “For what?”

 

“I heard there are wedding bells in the air!” Viper and Tiny hooted at him, and a couple of other guys joined in.

 

“Tequila leaked it,” Viper added.

 

Silas grunted, brushing past the guys. “She wasn’t into the idea of gettin’ hitched, and neither was I. Let’s just say it was mutually declined.”

 

“Aw, so no wedding reception to look forward to?” Viper looked genuinely disappointed.

 

Silas snorted. “Sorry, bro. But I’m gonna keep an eye on her though. I promised Stone that much.”

 

Tiny cackled, pushing at Silas as they filed into the main living area of the clubhouse. A sweet breeze filled the room. Silas loved California in the springtime.

 

“You sure that’s how it works though, bro?” Tiny elbowed him. “I mean, if she says no once, you’re supposed to ask again – get down on one knee and all that.”

 

Silas smirked. “Not sure Stone had that in mind.”

 

“Maybe. But damn, you’d look good with a ball and chain, you know?” Tiny clapped him on the shoulder. “I can see you as the marryin’ type.”

 

Silas shook his head. He’d never been the marrying type, and never would be, either. His motto in life was that the fewer people he let in, the better. He’d learned early on that the more loved ones he had, the more prone he was to getting hurt. His mother was as good as dead to him, and after his brother died in a botched Wicked Spawns deal four years back, he officially had no one left in life except his club brothers. And that’s how it would stay.

 

Clean. Easy.

 

“You’re dreamin’, Tiny.” Silas shoved him as he headed for the back hall, which led to the bedrooms. Him being the marrying type was about as likely as him leaving the MC and going back to regular life. The next Ice Age would happen before any of those things did.

 

But still… Silas would have bucked up and married Jessa for Stone.

 

Silas slipped into his dark room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The smell of leather hung in the air as he slipped off his kutte and tugged at the tight black tie around his neck. Even something as absurd as marriage, he would have done for Stone. And though he was glad the whole idea was dead in the water now, there was still a part of him that was darkly curious about Jessa – curious about what she looked like under that sexy vintage dress, curious about what those creamy legs might feel like under the palm of his hand, curious about what she’d say to him when he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

 

He stared at his reflection in the mirror as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, then yanked his gaze away, cutting off the fantasizing before it went much further. Even though Jessa was a babe, it seemed somehow wrong to imagine her beneath him.

 

Silas ran his palm over his half-hardened cock. Even if it was wrong, there was something oddly right about it, too.