CHAPTER 2

Zara

What a shitty, fucking day. And it was barely half-way through.

I’m not sure what possessed me to tell the police what I’d overheard after the shooting. Well, that’s a lie. I knew full well why. I’d still been recovering mentally from the damn cataplexy attack. It always took me a while to get my bearings straight after an episode, and this young cop, Tom, caught me while I’d still been reeling. Bastard had taken advantage of it too, and now I was in more trouble than I knew how to handle.

While I was speaking with Tom, an older officer approached, looking angry, and as he’d gotten close I’d seen his name tag read Frank Clarke. My blood had run cold as my throat closed up. The bikers had mentioned the name Frank more than once. I knew I couldn’t afford to panic. If I did that, I’d go down again, and then who knew what would happen to me.

Without uttering another word, I’d shaken my head before turning and fleeing. I’d vaguely heard Tom call out after me but a deeper voice growled something and he hadn’t spoken again.

I’d been so fucking stupid! Everyone in this town knew not to speak out against the Iron Hammers. Now I was jogging along the footpath up to my house and wondering how long I had before someone would come gunning for me. I’m sure I made quite a sight, covered in blood and running like my life depending on it. Because it did.

Thankfully, my little condo wasn’t far from the cafe. I charged in through the front door and within seconds had my bloody clothes off and in the bin. After giving my arms and face a quick scrub, I got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt before I pulled out my suitcase and began tossing random stuff in it. Clothes, toiletries, and the cash I’d been stashing under the mattress. It all went in, then I zipped it up and heaved it out to my car. When I went back to lock up everything, my neighbor and friend, Gemma, was standing on my front sidewalk looking worried.

“What the hell happened, Claire?”

“I can’t talk now, Gem. I gotta run. The Hammers shot up the cafe, and I had an attack. The fucking cops started questioning me before I could get my mind straight, so I talked about shit I’d heard. I’m in so much fucking trouble. I gotta go, and you need to get home before anyone sees you with me.”

The color had drained from her face as I’d spoken, but she hadn’t moved.

“Do you know where you’re going to go?”

I shrugged. “No idea. But it won’t take them long to find out where I live. I have to get moving.”

I turned back toward my car, tossing my handbag into the front passenger seat before moving around to the driver’s side.

“Go north-east, get to Bridgewater. The club there, the Charon MC? They hate the Iron Hammers. Enough that the Iron Hammers won’t dare step in their territory. You’ll be as safe as you can be there.”

“Thank you, but please, go back inside. Hell, go out somewhere and pretend you never saw me today. I don’t want you harmed because of me.”

I’d hate for one of my very few friends to be hurt because I was a fucking idiot. She nodded once. “Good luck, and you know my number if you need anything.”

Then, with a wince, she turned and jogged back toward her own unit. After one last glance to my home, I got in, started up my car and drove out my driveway. Hopefully it wasn’t for the last time.

Tears pricked my eyes at the thought I might never see Gemma, my home or the things in it again, but it was better than being dead. I hadn’t been living in my condo very long, but it was still mine and I hated being forced to leave it. After my parents had been shot down in my childhood home three years ago, I couldn’t keep living there. I’d used the money from their estate to buy my little home. It was small, but I didn’t need a ton of space. Taking a deep breath, I drove north, making sure to keep just under the speed limit. I didn’t want to do anything that would attract the attention of the police.

I stopped at a gas station to fill up and after paying, I went to the ATM and drained my savings account. I didn’t want to be traced by having to use my card to pay for something. Speaking of needing to be untraceable, I also grabbed myself a new phone.

Following road signs, which were thankfully regular enough I didn’t have to stop and sort out my new phone to use an online map, I was driving into Bridgewater a little over an hour later. But now what? I had no plan at all, other than to get out of Galveston.

I drove around the town for a while, trying to get a feel for the place. It was small, not even half the size of Galveston, but it felt friendly. The streets were clean of trash and graffiti, and every store I passed looked like it had been recently painted. Seeing a sweet little cafe, I found a parking space and walked back to it. As I reached the entrance, a shiver ran over me and a flash of what happened this morning filled my vision. Pushing down the memory before it could affect me, I walked through the door and into the warm interior. November in Texas wasn’t freezing like further north was this time of year, but it was still cold enough I appreciated not having to stand out in it.

Making my way up to the counter, I ordered a sandwich and a coffee. After I paid—in cash—the older woman behind the counter gave me an order number and I moved off. I spent a couple minutes looking over a bulletin board of notices before I found a table in a corner. I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped me as I sat. I’d made it to Bridgewater in one piece and if Gemma was to be believed, I’d be safe here. Maybe if I never went into a police station to finalize my statement, the Iron Hammers would forget all about me in time and I could return to my home? And pigs might fly.

Regardless, I needed to get myself settled here for at least a little while. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been any great inspiration posted on the board for what the hell I was going to do, though. No rooms for rent or jobs listed. Closing my eyes, I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. I had about fifteen hundred dollars cash. That wasn’t going to last me long. I needed to find work.

The thunderous sound of Harleys coming closer had me freezing in my seat. Not again! Had the Iron Hammers followed me after all?

“Are you all right, sugar?”

My gaze flicked over to the woman who’d waited on me, now standing beside me with my order in her hands. Her name badge read “Marie”. She was older, old enough to be my mother, and had a motherly aura about her that drew me in. I’d always been close to my mom, and these past three years had been so hard to bear without her support. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t feel the loss of my parents. Especially since it had been their sudden deaths that had trigged my narcolepsy.

The whole mess had been totally avoidable. The police had labeled the murders a robbery gone wrong. After all my mother’s medical bills, they didn’t have much and I guess the bastard who broke in took offense to them not having more shit for him to steal. So he’d shot them both dead before he’d left. I’d been out at a movie with a girlfriend and returned to see the killer pulling out of our driveway. Having no idea why he’d been there, I rushed inside to see what had happened. Never in my wildest nightmares did I imagine that I would find what I did. Both my parents, lying dead in pools of blood. Yeah, I had more than one reason to hate the sound of Harleys. It had been an Iron Hammer prospect that had pulled the trigger that night.

I cleared my throat. “Ah, yeah. I just get a little tense around the sound of Harleys. Really, I’m fine.”

The lady chuckled and relaxed. “Clearly, you’re not from around here then, sugar. That’s just a few of the Charon MC boys. The local club here in Bridgewater. So long as you’re doing nothing to harm anyone, you have nothing to fear from those men. Quite the opposite. So, you visiting or moving to the area?”

I looked her in the eye to try to figure out if I should trust this woman, at least a little. As much as her motherly vibe was drawing me in, I was nervous to trust it. After the morning I’d had, I was so tense I felt like I would shatter completely at any moment, which wasn’t good for my cataplexy. Ultimately, I figured I didn’t have anything to lose by giving Marie a little information.

“Well, actually, I just arrived in town, looking to get a fresh start here in Bridgewater. I don’t suppose you know of any work available?”

“Well, sugar, that all depends on what you’re willing to do to earn your bread.”

“I’ve worked as a waitress, barista and cleaner. I can cook and prepare basic stuff. Honestly, at this point I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“Got any references on you?”

That made me wince. I didn’t even know if my boss had survived the attack, but even if he had, he wouldn’t be giving a reference to a worker that ran off without giving any notice. “Sorry, I, ah, I had to leave in a hurry and didn’t think to grab them on my way out.”

That earned me a raised eyebrow from the older woman but she didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“You got trouble following you?”

Fuck. How was I going to answer that one? Before I could form a viable lie, the Harleys pulled up in front of the shop. My gaze jerked toward the window, but before I completely lost it and had another attack, I saw the words Charon MC on each of the vests the men were wearing and breathed easier. I was okay. It wasn’t the Iron Hammers, but the local club. The club which both Gemma, and now Marie, had told me would keep me safe. I wasn’t sure I’d ever fully believe a MC could equal safety, but it looked like I would at least need to learn to live with them around me.

“Relax and enjoy your sandwich, sugar, and I’ll be back over to chat some more after.”

I had no idea what the hell I’d tell her about the trouble when she returned, but pushed the thought aside as I lifted my sandwich to take a bite. Damn, but I really was hungry. In no time I had my sandwich eaten, then I sat sipping my coffee as I watched the four bikers flirt with Marie. I was surprised to see them hand over money for their orders. I figured all MCs were like the Iron Hammers and thought they didn’t need to pay for anything, if they could get away with it.

As Marie got busy behind the coffee machine, the four men all wandered over and sat at a table only two away from mine. I couldn’t stop my heart rate from picking up when one of them glanced my way and gave me a wink and a flash of a grin before he turned back to his friends. He had his hair really short on the sides and only a little longer on the top. His arms were covered in tattoos—even his hands had ink on them, along with his neck, but his face had looked friendly when he winked at me and now he was smiling and laughing with the other men. Just like a normal man. The other three looked more serious. One was an older man with a big, bushy beard that was mostly gray with a little dark brown threaded through it. He had a blue bandana around his forehead that he adjusted often, as though it was a subconscious action. The other two had their backs to me so I had no idea what they looked like, aside from their broad shoulders and clearly muscled bodies.

I was still staring at them in wonder at how non-threatening they seemed to be, when Marie returned.

“They certainly are easy on the eyes, aren’t they?”

Heat raced over my cheeks as I glanced away from them and toward her.

“I wasn’t really looking at them—more staring off into space.”

She laughed at that, loudly enough the tattooed biker looked my way again.

“Oh, sugar. No need to make excuses. Trust me, we all look our fill. Now, about work. I own this place and could use an extra worker. You came in after the lunch rush today, so you didn’t see how busy it gets. But my last girl up and disappeared on me a few days ago, and I’ve been too busy since to look at replacing her.”

That brought my full attention from the bikers to her. I almost couldn’t believe what I’d heard. Seriously? The first place I asked had work that lined up with my skills?

“For real?”

With a chuckle she slid into the seat beside me. “For real. What’s your name, sugar?”

“Zara.”

Technically it was my middle name. But using Claire seemed too risky. I wasn’t sure how far, or fast word would spread about me running off this morning. However, it seemed better to play it safe when I could. When it came to paperwork, I’d just tell Marie I’d always gone by my middle name.

“Pretty. Well, how about you come on back here at closing time and I’ll let you know what I need from you. We’ll get all the paperwork sorted then too, and I’ll show you the few machines I have here.”

Yeah, as much as I knew how to make coffee, every machine was a little different. “That sounds wonderful.”

Marie left to serve more customers and I sat motionless. I was a little in shock at my luck. Looked like coming to Bridgewater really was a good idea. I looked around the cafe with a new interest. It was clean and tidy, and homey. The last place I worked at had tried to look like a Starbucks, without actually being one. This place was its own identity. And the coffee was amazing. Marie clearly believed in serving quality products.

I had a strong feeling I could be happy working here.

Now, I just hoped that hotel I’d seen a few blocks away had a weekly rental rate that wouldn’t kill my finances.

Mac

I parked my ride with the other bikes out the front of the club’s bar, Styx – named after one of the two rivers Greek mythology states the Charon ferried souls across. Some days I wondered if the MC didn’t take the whole Greek Charon thing way too far. They’d called the gym Acheron. I mean, seriously? Who names a fucking gym after the river of pain? I had to chuckle, since Styx was the river of hatred. Hardly made sense for a bar, either. They should have named it after the Greek god of excess or some shit if they wanted to keep it relevant.

Still mentally debating Greek mythology, and trying to remember the name of Greek god of excess, I made my way inside. I hadn’t been here many times. Normally I just hung out at the clubhouse. The place had a bar and good company, even had women available if I had an itch needing scratched. But Taz had convinced me we needed a variety of scenery now we were patched in. Which really meant Taz had done all the club whores too many times and wanted someone new to fuck. At some point, the man was going to have to deal with whatever the fuck it was that he was trying to bury under pussy and tattoos, but considering I wasn’t ready to air my own shit, I wasn’t going to start hassling my brother about his baggage.

I returned the gesture, when the prospect manning the door gave me a chin lift as I passed him. I entered with a smile, so fucking glad I didn’t have to do those shit prospect jobs anymore.

Having a top rocker was a sweet, sweet thing.

“Hey, Mac!”

Nodding at Taz, I made my way over to where he stood at the bar. Within moments, I had my favorite beer in hand and turned my back to lean against the bar so I could watch the crowd. Thursday nights were busy, but not crazy like a Saturday.

“Hey, Taz, do you know what the name of the Greek god of excess is?

Taz jerked back from the bar to glare at me. “What the fuck do you want to know that shit for? And that’s what Google is for, mate.”

Not feeling like explaining myself, I ignored his question as I slipped my phone out of my pocket and started looking it up.

“So, whatcha been up to?”

In response to my question, the big Aussie shrugged a shoulder as he turned back to the bar to take a swig of his own brew. “Not much today. Been out at the range most of it.”

The club wanted to buy the local gun range, but the current owner, Gus, wasn’t willing to sell out to an MC. What he was happy to do was let a decorated USMC sniper in to practice. So, Taz had been given the task of softening up the old man so he’d hopefully sell to the club at some point. I actually wondered if it wouldn’t be a better idea to have Taz buy it, with the club funding him. Maybe that was what Scout was planning. I made a mental note to suggest it to Scout at church next week, just in case the man hadn’t already considered it.

Finally Google loaded and gave me what I wanted. “Ha! Got it. Dionysus. Huh, guess that answers that, then.”

“Dion-who? And what the fuck does that answer?”

Taz was looking at me like I’d lost my fucking mind.

“I was thinking about how stupid it was that the bar was named after the river of hatred. Figured it would make more sense to use the Greek god of excess, but his name is Dionysus. Barely say that shit sober, can you imagine trying to say it when you’re wasted?”

Taz just shook his head at me. “You’re fucked up, mate. And not in the good way. You need to get laid, or at least have your dick sucked. Plenty of willing ladies to choose from. What do you say? Shall we go find ourselves a little somethin’?”

With a smirk at Taz’s enthusiasm, I shrugged a shoulder. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with some bitch who just wanted to be with a Charon. Most of them whined way too much to make it worth the release. Especially the ones who wanted to be an old lady and thought they were such a good lay, all they had to do was get a brother in bed to get the title. Nope. I wouldn’t be picking up a barfly tonight. If I wanted some relief, I’d get it from one of the whores who knew the score back at the clubhouse.

“Maybe later. I’ve been working my ass off all fucking day and want to relax for a bit.”

“So, how’s the first week at the gym going?”

“Really good. Had a few of the old boys bitching on Monday when they first came in, but we showed them their back room and they settled the fuck down. Damn glad we decided to keep the entrance back there open so they don’t have to come through the main gym area.”

Taz wriggled his eyebrows at me with a smirk. “Any hot sheilas come in?”

“Sheilas?”

Having been hanging around with Taz for over a decade, I knew exactly what he meant. But it was always fun to tease him.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Women, asshole. Any good looking women come in?”

Lifting my beer I took a slow drink, mainly so I could watch him squirm as he got increasingly frustrated with me.

“Of course we’ve had women come into the gym. That was the whole fucking point of cleaning the place up, remember?”

“Yeah, but I’m asking about good-looking ones.”

I shrugged. “There’s been a few pretty ones come in. Why you asking? Lost interest in all the ones at the clubhouse already?”

Taz drained his beer, suddenly looking more serious than I’d seen him in a long while. I frowned at him. What the fuck?

“Hey, I’m not trying to bust your balls here, man. If you want to come work out at the gym and troll for a girl, you know you’re welcome to. You certainly won’t be the only one.”

He ordered another drink before turning back to me. “Nah, mate. You’re right. Best to just stick to the willing and wet at the clubhouse.”

Interesting. So he hadn’t dragged me out here to find something new to fuck after all. I’d never seen Taz look more broken than he did in that moment and I wished like hell I knew how to help him. Before I could think of anything to say, Keg came over and joined us.

“Hey, Taz, you tell Mac about that new piece of ass working for Marie yet?”

I winced at the tension that continued to radiate off Taz. Clearly he could use a few minutes to get his head on straight.

“How the fuck did you get named Keg, anyway? What? You set a record for drinking one or something?”

A wide grin split the young man’s face. “Nah. When I first approached Scout about prospecting in, he shut me down. So I started turning up with a keg whenever I could afford to. Six months later, he gave me my prospect cut and started calling me Keg.”

Now, that made me laugh. Some of the stories behind road names were fucking hilarious.

“How about you? What the fuck is Mac supposed to mean? You take on a truck and win or something?”

“Short for MacGyver. You know? The old TV show? I’m handy with my knife and can, pretty much, make anything out of anything. Got given the name at boot camp.”

“Huh. Might have to test that someday. Could be fun. What about you, Taz? Fun story behind your name?”

Taz had drained his new beer and his shoulders had dropped to a more relaxed-looking posture. I hoped like hell whatever had gotten under his skin earlier was out now.

“Nah, mate. No story. The boys in boot camp thought it was funny to call me Tassie Devil because I’m Aussie. I’m not from Tasmania, but the guys didn’t give a shit about that and the name stuck.”

I grinned. “I heard it was more to do with the fact when he loses his temper, he destroys shit. Just like that cartoon character, the Tasmanian Devil.”

He flipped me the bird, but was laughing. “Yeah, I wasn’t real good at controlling my temper back in the early days. The USMC doesn’t waste time in forcing you to get that shit under control, though.”

I wasn’t so sure he had complete control of it. He’d just gotten real good at hiding it. On deployment he’d used humor, stateside he seemed to have mixed it up with sex and ink.

“So, Keg, tell me about this new girl Marie’s got working for her.”

“She’s no girl, my man. That one is all woman and soft curves.”

That caught my attention. Marie’s Cafe was only about a block away from the gym, so I’d been going there for food nearly every day while we were doing renovations. I hadn’t been in there this week, though. Now we had the public working out in the gym, I couldn’t just wander off whenever I felt like it.

In fact, a lot of the Charons were regulars at Marie’s because she had the best damn coffee in town. Normally Marie hired teenagers. Of course, that was also why she was often run off her feet, because those young girls would just take off with no notice. I was glad to hear she’d finally hired someone older, who hopefully had some kind of work ethic in her.

“A real woman, huh? Might have to go check her out tomorrow.” I gave Keg a smirk. “Not like you’d know what to do with a real woman, Keg.”

Keg wasn’t quite at Taz’s manwhore level, but he wasn’t far off.

“Hey, just because I take advantage of the easy and willing at the clubhouse, that are all young and dumb, doesn’t mean I don’t want something more. I mean, not yet, I’m still having way too much fun with the variety right now, but one day I want to settle down with a good old lady and have me a couple kids, you know?”

Raising an eyebrow, I glanced over at the man. He was maybe twenty-two years old. So fucking naive and innocent. At his age I’d already been to the Middle East more than once on deployment, had killed men. How different my life could have been...