This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

BIKER DADDY: The Chain Gang MC copyright @ 2017 by Claire St. Rose and E-Book Publishing World Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Subscribe to my newsletter for updates on new releases and exclusive prizes!

By Claire St. Rose

The biker wanted me raw and ready.

Some mistakes haunt you for life.

I let the biker have me exactly how he wanted – wild, reckless, and raw.

Then he left me in his dust, just like everyone said he would.

But he also left a baby in my belly.

It was a mistake to sleep with him.

But God, not many mistakes feel that good.

My knees still quiver at the memory.

His body – chiseled, inked.

His hands – aggressive, strong.

His words – filthier and more dominant than I ever thought possible.

He had me every way he could.

And then he left me alone.

Well, not quite alone.

There was also the matter of the baby.

It’s been a year, and I’ve tried to forget about him.

He’s not coming back – or so I thought.

But when Jackdaw hears he has a son, he comes roaring back in town.

He’s coming to claim what’s his.

My body.

My soul.

And our child.

It was just a regular Tuesday when Mindy got up, slipped into the cute little dress uniform she wore to work at Cook’s Diner, put on the stupid, frilly apron, and pinned the stupid, frilly hat onto her dark brown hair.

Then, she put on some light makeup. If she wore too much, the truckers tried to take her out back and offer her money to take off her shirt; if she didn’t put on enough, her tips sucked, and customers complained. They showed up at Cook’s because the food was good and the uniforms were both short and low cut. Cook was a good guy, but he didn’t believe in subtlety.

Mindy’s shift went fine. Louise, who usually worked the night shift, called out, and Mindy agreed to pick up the double. She could use the extra cash, and it wasn’t like she had much else going on. Her DVR could wait until tomorrow. Cook would give her dinner on the house as a thank you.

But around 7:30 pm, just as the sun was setting over the mountains, Mindy heard the roar of a motorcycle coming up the road. Not just one, she realized after a moment, but a bunch. Bikers. Inwardly, she steeled herself, willing them to pass by. Bikers could be great, or they could be total assholes, and she did not want to deal with the second type after nine and a half hours on her feet. The tips weren’t worth it. The dinner rush had just ended, and she was looking forward to a nice, relaxing few hours until she could go home to a bubble bath in her leaky tub, then fall asleep watching infomercials on late night TV.

The bikers turned into the diner’s parking lot, and Mindy fought back a groan as she plastered a smile on her face. She shouted back to Cook that there were—she counted in a hurry—about a dozen guys in leather and on bikes heading in, and she heard Cook curse. He’d just sent Donnie, the second line cook, home for the night, and he was about to work his bad knee right into the ground. They’d get it done, though. She and Cook had been working together for a year now, and they knew each other’s rhythm. They’d get through. But damn, these bikers had better pay well.

They piled in; an assortment of men, from big and burly to lithe and even scrawny to downright fat. There were bearded faces and clean shaven faces and scruffy faces, but every single one of them had tattoos. They varied in quality; some of them looked like prison tats, while others looked professional but faded by years of sun and wind exposure.

Mindy tried hard to ignore the stirring in her belly. She had a soft spot for tough guys; guys who looked like they could toss you onto a bed or into a wall (after they asked nicely) with equal ease, guys who didn’t spend time talking about their feelings or fussing over stuff that didn’t matter. That suited her just fine. She didn’t have much room in her life for feelings either and preferred a rough and quick tumble and a rapid goodbye to an awkward relationship that fizzled out anyway. What was the point in getting attached to anyone? She liked a life where she could just pick up and go whenever she wanted. She’d been in Providence for eighteen months now, and she was starting to get itchy. She and Cook had become friends, and that wasn’t good. Attachments did nothing but screw her over. Maybe a quick rough and tumble would get her on her way with a smile on her face. She did like a good, stacked biker.

At first glance, though, none of the men in the diner quite fit her rather specific preferences. So, she focused on work—taking orders, passing them on to Cook in the most logical way she could, filling cups with black coffee, and trying not to laugh when a couple of guys ordered things like tea or hot chocolate on the sly. She enjoyed that a man could be a man with whipped cream in his mustache.

As Cook filled the orders and she passed them out, she could see the men enjoying looking at her body. She was willing to work it a little; being appreciated scratched that itch nearly as well as an actual lay, though nothing like as good as shaking the dust of a town off her heels. Let them look down her shirt and glimpse her panties when she bent over to pick up something that one of them had dropped. It would almost certainly up her tips—she didn’t care what anyone said about outlaws and bad boys, bikers always tipped well—and it was fun. Let them think she was nothing but tits and ass; it didn’t hurt her.

But then one of them grabbed her and hauled her into his lap. He laughed when she yelped, and she was furious at herself for making such a weak sound. He was laughing and shouting something to his friends, something she couldn’t quite make out through her rage, but his hand came down on her breast, and it was game over. She thumped him as hard as she could, but he was the kind of solid that just laughed at her fist. If she’d been able to stand, she could have hit him in the bread basket and knocked him over. With leverage, she could have clocked him in the temple and dropped him if necessary, but like this, close to his body but not close enough to bite, there wasn’t much she could do.

And then someone’s hand circled her wrist, and truth be told, that was when Mindy found herself really scared. One dumbass thug who wanted a cheap feel she could handle. If she was about to get pulled into some kind of round robin, things were going to get really bad.

Except that instead of being pulled into a circle of men who all wanted a turn, she was shoved behind someone who was big and strong and broad. He was taller than her, just a bit, but she had worn heels. She was off balance, and she let her hands fall on his back to balance herself. Every muscle in his body was tense, but not towards her. He faced off with the man in front of him, who was no longer laughing.

“Wester,” the man said. Mindy couldn’t help but notice that he had one arm held out in front of her, keeping her back, but also putting a shield between her and the men in the booth. There was ink all up and down his arm; a coiled chain that circled his wrist and then wrapped around his forearm before disappearing under the rolled-up sleeve of his cotton shirt. In another time, she thought distractedly, she would enjoy running her fingers up the lines of the ink, and seeing just how far up his arm it went.

“Jackdaw,” the dirt bag replied. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”

The man—Jackdaw?—laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in the sound. “You know, Wester, most guys don’t need bullies around to make sure they treat women like people.”

Wester bristled, and his face grew red. His voice grew soft and dangerous. “The diner is within bounds for the Wardens, Dawson. Don’t push us.”

“Ain’t pushing,” Jackdaw said. “Just explaining how things are. This has been Chain Gang territory for years, and Grim’s death ain’t changing that.”

“Changed an awful lot of things,” Wester said, and he stood up slow out of the booth. He was taller than Jackdaw, bigger and broader. He wasn’t fat so much as he was huge. He looked like some of the guys in the pro wrestling that Cook turned on late at night; huge and powerful, with hands like bear paws. “Might be some more things are going to change. Might be the Chain Gang can’t be led by some skinny shit who named himself after a fucking bird.”

The punch happened so fast that Mindy only realized that Jackdaw had moved after the blow had already landed. Wester gave a huge groan and bent over, clutching his stomach; Jackdaw grabbed the man’s hand and pulled it down to connect his nose with the big man’s knee. Behind her, she heard Cook shout that he was calling the police, and they all better clear out right now. Every man who came in with Wester was on their feet, and she knew that she and this man who had saved her were about to die. But then he grabbed her hand like some kind of hero in an action film and whispered, “Run.” That was the only warning she’d got before he tugged her towards the door, running towards the outside. He pulled a bike off its kickstand and dropped a helmet on her head with no ceremony.

“I don’t know how to ride,” she managed to say, her heart pounding in her throat.

“Ain’t nothing to it,” he said, pulling at her waist. “Get on, hold on, don’t let go.”

Okay. Okay, she could handle that. She slung her leg over the back of the bike, finding a place to settle her feet, and wrapped her arms around his waist as tightly as she could. She was barely settled on the bike’s saddle before there was a plume of dust rising behind them, Jackdaw tearing off towards the open road as the bikers behind them fanned out towards their own bikes. They were already gone, though, before she heard the first engine cough into life somewhere behind them, and the man she was clinging to didn’t seem afraid at all. That made it easier to breathe.

After the first few miles, he slowed down to a more conservative speed, and Mindy let herself feel the thrill of what had just happened. The adrenaline was still roaring through her, eager and desperate, and having her arms wrapped around a super cut biker who had just rescued her was not calming down her raging hormones.

He drove the bike to a small apartment complex that she vaguely recognized as being on the outskirts of Providence. He rode the bike around the back, away from the parking lot, and then pulled to a stop.

“We’re going to hide here for a little bit,” he said. “Safer. Until Wester and his boys calm the fuck down.”

Mindy slung her leg off the bike, the space between her legs still vibrating with the rhythm of the engine, and tried to push thoughts of finishing off that rhythm right out of her head. “And what if I don’t want to hide with you? I don’t even know your name.”

He raised one eyebrow and gave her the most come-hither look she’d ever seen. “Thought you heard back at the diner. Jackdaw.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Jackdaw isn’t any kind of name.”

“It’s a biker name.”

“What’s your real name, Birdman?”

He threw back his head and laughed, then stuck out a hand. “Jack Dawson,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

She reached out and shook his hand. “Mindy Scarlet.”

The son of a bitch actually laughed. “That’s a porn star name if I ever heard one.”

She yanked her hand out of his. “What the hell kind of a thing is that to say?”

He shrugged. “A true thing. I’m not saying a thing about you, ma’am, just that your name sounds like you should be on a billboard or dancing around a pole. And no shame on those that make their living that way. That’s more athletic than I’ve ever been in my life.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking for any shame or trickery in his voice or his expression. She saw absolutely none. “I was handling myself just fine back there, you know?” It might not be a polite thing to say, but she didn’t like the idea of him thinking that she was in his debt.

“You absolutely were,” he replied. “Honestly, Wester and I got beef that goes way back; rescuing you was almost a side benefit.”

Her mouth gaped open, and he laughed at her.

“Come on, now. It can’t be that much of a surprise.”

And then she realized where she’d heard of this man, of Jackdaw Dawson before. The other waitresses had a name for him; Mr. Big. It was a direct reference to the bulge he carried in his worn Levis. She couldn’t keep her eyes from straying down there now, taking him in. They were not kidding. No one said he slept around, and none of the waitresses had ever been bothered by him, but somehow Mindy hadn’t ever waited on him.

She thought about arguing more, about explaining that she wasn’t going into some dark apartment with a man she didn’t know, but she was hungry. She’d been hungry at the diner, and she was hungry now, and Mindy Scarlet had never really bothered denying her hunger. That was one of the many benefits of leaving her life in the dust every so often; she had the freedom to do exactly what she needed to.

“Alright, fine,” she said. “Show me this wonderful hiding place where we will never be found.”

Jack blinked for a moment, and then a smile traced its way across his face. “Right this way, ma’am.”

“If you don’t stop calling me that, I will walk right out into the road and wave down anyone on a motorcycle that I see,” Mindy snapped, her hands back on her hips. “You have to be ten years older than me.”

That smile quirked like he was going to bust out laughing again. “Sorry, Mindy,” he said, nodding to her. “Come on in.”

Later, she’d be embarrassed by it. Not much, but just a little. Jack led her down a hallway, then took out a key to open a door in the darkened building. She stepped inside a room that wasn’t much bigger than a closet but looked clean enough. “This is where you live?”

“No,” he said. “This is an old dorm building for the Chain Gang. From before—well—some stuff happened. But no one comes here anymore, not even the Wardens’ assholes.”

That was all she needed to hear. She could see the mattress in the corner, and that was what she wanted. She stepped into Jack’s space, made sure he didn’t hesitate, then wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

There was a long moment when she was quite sure he was surprised, but that faded quickly enough. He pulled her hips tight against his, and then moved them, pressing her tight up against the door. His hands came to her body, one hooking her leg up to wrap it around his waist, the other reaching up to caress her breast. It felt so good, it felt so incredibly good to have a touch she wanted wiping away the touch that had felt so terrible, and she rocked her hips up so that her cloth covered pussy smashed into his denim wrapped harness. And God was he ever hard.

He broke the kiss for a moment to look at her in the dim light, his hand cupping the back of her head.

“Are you sure?” he said. “Tell me you’re sure. Tell me you want me.”

She reached between them and cupped his erection, hearing him hiss in the darkness.

“I want you,” she murmured, even though what she meant was I want this. He didn’t say anything after that. He lifted both of her legs, cradling her against him easily and carrying her to the mattress. He dropped to his knees first, then laid her down on her back. He didn’t hesitate, just flipped up her ridiculous skirt and—Jesus, she was still wearing the absurd frilly apron—then her panties were off, and he was covering her with his mouth, and she stopped worrying about the apron.

Her back arched up off the mattress at the splendid feel of his hot tongue stroking her slit and finding the right rhythm to make her heave against him, desperate and eager and so very wanton. It felt so good, so incredibly good, but even as he twisted his fingers inside of her, groaning at finding her so warm and open and welcoming, it wasn’t what she wanted. She tugged at his shoulders, pulling him up to her and fighting with the buttons of his shirt. He tore the apron strings, trying to get the apron untied, and then yanked at the button front of her dress. She showed him the zipper, and he yanked it down, burying his face between her small breasts as he let out another one of those groans. He angled his hips up enough to unzip his fly and push his jeans and boxers down, and then it was just a few short movements before his hard cock was tracing the tip of her opening.

He froze, right there, and caught her chin in his hand. She noticed how very blue his eyes were, how strong his face looked, the sandy blond of his hair, and the scar that ran along his jawline and disrupted the flow of his stubble, which looked real, not just artfully poorly shaved.

“Tell me you want this,” he said. “Tell me with words.”

She angled her hips up, trying to pull him deep inside of her, but he teased away.

“Tell me.”

She lay there for a moment, her dress open around her, his arms still in his shirt but his ass bare, and she tried to find the words. To explain the hunger, the need for him, the itch that had overtaken her tonight and the sure sense that he could scratch it just right.

“Yes,” she said, not finding anything better after a long, soul-searching moment. “Yes, please. Jack. Jackdaw. Fuck me.”

He groaned as he sunk into her, as sweet and smooth as a magnet turning towards the north. Her body was arching up to meet him in moments, aching at the sense of him so very deep inside of her. He was big, really big, and she was astonished he’d slid in so smooth; it told her something about how eager and ready and wet she was. She could feel her body stretching to accommodate him, but even more, she felt him crashing into her. She didn’t know what was driving him so deep into her body, but she didn’t care; she didn’t care if it made him fuck like this, made him want her this much.

He reached down, his hands going under her ass to adjust the angle and let him drive in just a little deeper. It made his pelvis grind into her clit, and within moments an orgasm was circling her, swirling through her, making her bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. He cried out with the pain, and she felt his body tense, felt his cock swell just a little bit more before he came, jerking inside of her in sharp, shattering spasms. He had barely taken a breath after that before he was reaching down between them, making just enough room to finger her clit in sweet, tight little circles. It would have been too intense without his cock still inside of her blunting the sensations just enough to drive her over the edge and make her spasm for him, shattering and bursting into bright lights as he stroked her gently through her climax.

When she came back down to earth, he crashed down next to her, laughing softly. His hand lay on the flat of her belly, a completely natural feeling of possessiveness that she found she liked. She’d never tolerated a man being possessive before; any attempt at cuddling was sharply rejected, and the offending man was sent on their way. Or, if they were at his place—which was much more likely—she found an excuse, got up, and left.

But Jackdaw’s hand on her belly was somehow soothing. Calming. She liked it quite a lot. She liked seeing that the chain wrapped all the way up his bicep before it turned into a piece of dangling chains over his chest. And maybe his back, too. She wanted to find out. She wanted to trace every inch of it with her fingers.

For now, however, sleep was claiming her, and she let it. Her eyes drifted shut with his hand on her belly. Mindy slept.

He woke her up; she didn’t know how many hours later. His cock was hard as steel against her ass, and his hands were roaming over her side. When she moaned and arched into him, he found her nipples and twisted them. This time she came for him long before he entered her, but he did enter her, and he filled her up again.

After that, it didn’t matter whether the Wardens were chasing them or not. They spent two days in that little room, wild and wanton together, fucking every time they were awake, and existing on whatever Jack could rustle up at the nearby corner store for food. She let the battery on her cell phone run down, ignoring Cook’s increasingly panicked text messages. It didn’t matter. Jack mattered. It scared her how much he mattered.

That was Wednesday and Thursday.

It was Friday now.

She woke up to find him gone.

At first, she assumed he’d just gone out for food, but as hours passed and he didn’t return, her stomach started to twist in fear and worry. She waited longer, but she got hungry, and she had no idea where he’d gone. No note, no cell number, and the old fears started to twist in her. The knowledge that everyone left, eventually, and that he was part of everyone, so this was inevitable. The knowledge that she’d done something wrong; not been good enough in some way. That she had failed him, and herself, just like she always did.

So, Mindy left that little room, telling herself that those two days were a nice dream, and now it was time to get back to her life. She could have scrawled her phone number on the wall in lipstick, but that seemed pretty goddamn pathetic, even for her. It had been two days, and she smelled like sweat and sex, and she was scared. So, she got out, used the little bit of cash she’d tucked in her apron from tips on Tuesday night, and got a cab back to her apartment. She resolved never to think of Jack Dawson again.

And she was doing a damn good job of that for two long months. Two months until she put together the nausea and the late period and the fact that none of her bras fit anymore. The stick turned blue nearly the second she peed on it.

That was also a Tuesday. That was when shit, for Mindy, got very real.

Mindy stared at herself in the mirror, and tried to decide whether she looked more horrible with the stupid damn apron that Cook insisted be tied up high so that it fell over her growing bump, or around the middle of it, where it completely highlighted that she was looking less and less like she’d started skipping gym time and more and more like—well, like she was a woman with a “condition,” as her gram would have said. A long torso and years of planks and sit-ups meant that the situation wasn’t dire yet, but that “yet” was getting closer and closer with every passing day.

“What am I going to do with you, Bean,” she said to her belly, and not for the first time. After that initial appointment, her OB had convinced her to sign up for an email newsletter that told her what size her baby was every week by comparing it to a fruit or vegetable. The week it was the size of a mung bean had stuck with her, for some reason.

So far, she’d managed to avoid Cook’s prying questions, and she’d been able to trade all of her shifts so that she could get to her appointments. But right now, they were only every month. When she had to go to weekly appointments, that wouldn’t be so easy. And it wasn’t like her bump was getting any smaller.

The adult thing to do would be to tell Cook exactly what was going on and pray he was willing to have a pregnant waitress on staff. After all, some people got off on that kind of thing, and her mosquito bite tits were certainly filling out her bra better than they ever had before. The Mindy thing to do would have been to decide not to have the baby at all, or to give it up, or at the bare minimum to cut the string and move on to somewhere where she would always have been pregnant. Somewhere she and Bean could build a life.

But she couldn’t quite shake the idea of Jackdaw; the incredible way he’d played her body like a tuned string. Since the vomiting stopped, her hormones had gone absolutely wild. She’d given up on her fingers and bought a vibrator, and she was still incredibly horny all the time. No one had told her pregnancy could be like this. She thought about him often, the gorgeous ink up his shoulder, the way he’d felt when he buried his fingers, his tongue, and his cock inside of her. The two days that they hadn’t been able to take their hands off each other’s bodies. She couldn’t help thinking how it would have been if he’d come back to that little room.

She heaved a sigh and adjusted the apron again. Even if he’d come back, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. He would have hated the idea of Bean, and he would have insisted on her making a different choice. Or worse, he would have just left then, and somehow, that would have been even more soul-crushing.

She patted her belly. “Who couldn’t love you, Bean? Well, you can quit it with the heartburn any time. But other than that...” She had to go out there. If she stayed in the bathroom any longer, Cook would start making noises about sick waitresses serving food, while taking pointed glances at her belly. God, he had to know. She should just admit it. If she just admitted it, she could do whatever was necessary to keep going. But there was no way she could get the words out. Somehow, saying it out loud would make it real in a way that hearing the heartbeat and the OB appointments and the endless blue pregnancy tests those first few days had.

The apron was still awful, but it would have to do for tonight. She walked out of the small bathroom and into the dining area. Then her heart just about stopped in her chest.

She saw the ink first; the chain that spiraled up his forearm, disappearing into the rolled up cuff of his button down shirt. Then, the sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes. Because he was looking at her. He was looking at her with a surprised but pleased expression and—Oh crap, there was nothing to do but run. Mindy turned on her heel and rushed through the back. She heard Cook yell a surprised, “Hey! Girl!” echoing through the kitchen. She yanked off the apron and tossed it onto the floor.

She’d come back to Cook’s when hell froze over.

When Jack saw Mindy come out of the back, wearing that damn frilly apron that had somehow gotten him so cranked up the first time he’d seen her, his heart lifted up just a little bit. He’d never meant to leave her behind like that, but when Bodhi finally caught up with him outside of the old clubhouse, there was no choice but to go with him. He thought he’d be back in an hour, so he hadn’t gone back inside to wake Mindy, or leave a note or anything. It was half a day before he got back there, and by then she was long gone. He couldn’t blame her. And it wasn’t really a surprise she ran for it as soon as she saw him. It would be either that, or a slap across the face, and he would have deserved either one.

He cut away from the flirty waitress who was running her hand down his arm, whispering something about how he’d earned his nickname—which, damn, he knew was supposed to be an ego boost, but having a whole bunch of waitresses whispering about the size of his dick was actually pretty creepy—and headed for the back. He’d heard Cook yell at the girl as she moved away from him, and then yell louder as Jack ran past the food prep stations and the hot grill. He didn’t much care; he needed to talk to Mindy, and he needed to do it now.

Cook actually blocked him, and Jack seriously considered knocking the other man flat on his ass. The girl he needed to talk to was getting away. But Cook was shouting, right in his face, and something he said finally got through to Jack. “What? What did you say?”

“I stated,” Cook said, in the irritated tone of someone who is repeating themselves, and not for the first time, “that you better treat that girl nice after getting her in as much trouble as you have.”

Jack blinked several times, very fast. He couldn’t make Cook’s words make sense. Trouble? What kind of trouble had he gotten her into? The Wardens hadn’t been back to the diner, and guards were posted to make sure that Cook’s place was safe, and that Chain Gang territory was respected. Had someone been hassling Mindy somewhere other than work?

And then the pieces clicked together. When she’d seen him, there had been a moment. One moment where their gazes locked and her hand fluttered over her belly, which wasn’t as flat and tight as it had been when they’d been together. He hadn’t thought anything of it, but trouble. Cook had said she was in trouble. And that was what his mama used to say. Shake her head and cluck her tongue and say, “That girl is in trouble.”

Jack let out a curse and shoved past Cook. He thought he needed to talk to Mindy before, but if this was true… he had to talk to her now.

He ran out the back door, hoping to find the girl standing or sitting somewhere sobbing. But it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t ever that easy.

He looked along both of the roads that led away from the diner, and down to the east, he saw a small figure moving at a rapid pace away from him. He ran for his bike and kicked it into gear, setting off after her. When he was within shouting distance, he called her name.

She didn’t say anything or look back at him, but he saw her shoulder stiffen all of a sudden. Her pace picked up just a little more, although one hand came to the small of her back like she was winded or sore.

He slowed way down, to the point where speed wasn’t keeping the bike balanced well. He put his feet down, walking it along next to her.

“Mindy, come on. Let me give you a ride—to wherever you’re going. We need to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said, her teeth clenched tight.

“Come on, don’t do this. We can talk. I’m sorry for what happened. Business took me away, and I thought I’d be back in minutes, an hour tops. And then everything in my world exploded, and you would’ve gotten hurt if I went back to you.” Her jaw was working, but she hadn’t said another word to him. “Mindy, I swear. I’m so sorry. I wanted to talk to you—”

She spun, facing him, and he let the bike idle out. “Then, why didn’t you?” She was shouting, and she seemed to notice and try to reel herself back in. It didn’t work well, though. She stepped into his space and jabbed him with one finger. “You knew exactly where I was. You knew how to find me. And you didn’t try. So, you must not have wanted to talk to me very bad.”

Well. Yes. That was the logical flaw in his plan, since the very beginning. The truth was that he was sure that a girl as pretty as Mindy wouldn’t want a damn thing to do with a rough-edged biker like him, especially not if she knew what had pulled him away that morning. If she knew he had blood on his hands. He spread his hands, trying his very best to look soft and worth forgiving. Now that he was looking at her again—God, he didn’t care if she didn’t want him, he’d do anything to be worthy of her. Especially if he was right about the swelling in her belly. Had she noticed that her uniform was starting to stretch around her middle? He wanted to lay his hand over that soft swelling. He wasn’t sure why he had so little doubt that he’d caused this. Any other man, he was quite sure, would be suspicious—would wonder how many other bikers she’d left the bar with—but there had been something about that night that made him just trust that this was his. She was his. There had been a connection there, or else why would she be so pissed?

“I’m sorry, Mindy,” he said, instead of trying to explain. “Let me give you a ride home. Or wherever you want to go.” He looked off to the west and pointed. “There’s a storm coming in, and it’ll be a bitch. I don’t want you caught in the rain. Not in your condition.” It was an old-fashioned thing to say, but what the hell, he was more old-fashioned than the ink and the bike let on.

She followed his gaze down to her belly, and then she stepped back, crossing her arms fiercely under her breasts. Now that she’d called attention to them, he couldn’t help but notice that her uniform dress was stretched there, too, with a lot more cleavage than he remembered from that first night. He tried to keep her impressive tits in his peripheral vision and focus on her face.

“What condition?” Her expression was fierce, daring him to say anything.

“Mindy. Come on. Tell me, please. Is it mine? I never would’ve left you alone all this time if I’d even thought…”

She scoffed at him. “Jackdaw, we spent three days fucking every time our eyes were open, we never once bothered with a condom, and it never occurred to you that something might have happened? And I swear to God, if you suggest I should’ve been on the pill, I’ll—”

He put his hands up, his palms facing out. “Whoa, whoa. Mindy, I promise, not a word of that is gonna come out of my mouth. If you say it’s mine, I believe you. I’m just asking because it’s not like we know each other well. Shit, you could’ve a boyfriend, a husband—a girlfriend, I don’t know. Even if it’s mine, maybe you don’t want to talk about that. Maybe you’ve got someone who can’t know. I can respect that. I can even understand it. I just gotta know what’s happening, and what you need from me.”

The words were hard to choke out, the idea that she might be carrying his kid, and he might not get to be a part of that at all, but he was not owed anything by this woman. He had to figure out a way to earn a space in her life. And that would be hard, sure enough, but the alternative was unthinkable. Because that was his child; he knew it as sure as he knew that he was breathing and that there was a storm on the horizon.

There was a war happening on her face, and he pretended that he could tell what was happening inside her head. Something like: I don’t want to be bothered with this handsome galoot even though he is utterly gorgeous and melts my panties with his gaze. There is trouble following him around like a storm cloud. But my feet are tired and aching, and I so want to rest. Perhaps he will be a gentleman and rescue me without bothering me further?

Okay. It was a pretty cheesy inner monologue that he imagined for her, but he also had a deep love for black and white movies with Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, so maybe it wasn’t entirely surprising. And she was shifting back and forth on her feet like they ached. She was wearing black pumps that were relatively sensible for a day of work in the diner, but not for stomping along a dirt road for miles.

“The last time I went for a bike ride with you, my life got much more complicated,” Mindy said.

Jack couldn’t help but notice that while she hadn’t confirmed that the child was his, she hadn’t denied it either. “I know.”

“I don’t want any more trouble in my life, Jack Dawson. I need my life as simple as possible from here on out.”

With a baby on the way, he wasn’t sure how anything in her life would ever be simple again, but he sure as hell didn’t need to be the one who said that.

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “I want to help you simplify things, okay? I want to be there. For you, and the baby.” He let his voice drop in pitch and volume and saw her move just a tiny step closer to hear him. “I would’ve been from the beginning if I’d known, Mindy, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t come looking, but I mean that without reservation. I would’ve been there every moment.”

She rocked on her heels just a little, her expression softening into something almost quiet and sad, and then she locked herself back up tight again. “Do you have a spare helmet?”

“In the saddle bag.” He pointed.

She reached for it without saying another word, slapping it on her head like she’d done it a million times—maybe she had—and then stepped over the saddle, slotting herself behind him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and tugged herself up to him, and it was strange. He’d never touched a woman’s pregnant belly before, and he’d always thought it would be… kind of soft and squishy, like any sizeable belly was. But as she leaned into him, the swell of her belly was so obvious that he didn’t know how anyone could not see it. It was a firm roundness against his back. He fancied that he could feel the softer swelling of her breasts above it, even through his leather jacket. He squeezed his pelvic muscles tight and firmly told his cock to behave itself. He was trying to win the girl over, not win her back into bed.

He pushed the bike back into gear and set off down the road. Mindy whispered directions in his ears, and he took her towards her home.

To Mindy’s utter shock and amazement, when she climbed off the bike at her apartment building, Jackdaw made no move to follow her. She handed him the helmet and gave him a challenging look, ready to argue with him about absolutely anything. She’d gone the whole ride furious that she’d given away even as much as she did about the pregnancy and his role in it. She hadn’t out and out confirmed that he was the father, but she’d done a crappy job of denying it. She wanted to have a better plan, but she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to him. He had just watched her with that still, quiet expression, the one that had practically torn her panties straight off the first time they met, and there was no way to push back from it.

She spun on her heel, thrilled that she didn’t wobble and fall into the dust, and went straight inside. She walked up the stairs to her apartment, went in, and locked the door. Then she ran to the window and peeked out from behind the curtain. He was still there, and he had been watching her window. He gave a little wave, and then he kicked his bike back into motion and rode off, a plume of dust marking his location.

She was so angry she wanted to kick something or fuck something, but not too many people she’d bumped into wanted to fuck a woman whose belly was growing like this. It wasn’t that she particularly minded the way her body was changing, but she did mind the way her clothes weren’t fitting—the way things seemed to be shifting out of control. There were foods she loved that she couldn’t eat anymore because of the heartburn, and other things she was craving like mad.

She couldn’t kick anything. So, she was by God going to fuck something. She was exhausted, even though she’d only worked half her shift, and she threw off her clothes as she stomped into her small bedroom before flopping down onto the mattress. She hadn’t made her bed in the morning, because what was the point, who was going to see it other than her? She was going to have to get a bigger place sometime in the next twenty weeks, but God, how could she even try right now when all she could manage was to work and sleep? All the magazines said you got more energy in the second trimester, but all she’d gotten was hornier.

Her vibe was exactly where she’d left it, charging on the nightstand, and she had a funny mental image of Jackdaw following her up to the bedroom and seeing it there. Taking it out of her hands as she tried to stash it somewhere, anywhere, that he wouldn’t see, and laughing quietly to himself.

“Oh, no,” she could hear him say in her head. “No, we’re going to have fun with this.” He’d slide into her, just as sweet and smooth as he had that first time, and then he’d push the vibe into her clit, and she’d—

The orgasm came fast, her fingers buried inside her cunt and the vibe pressed hard on her clit, making such tiny circles that they hardly counted as movements. She came hard, grunting into her pillow, feeling her entire cunt pulse hard around her fingers. She kept going with the vibe until it started to ache, twisting every last bit of pleasure she could get out of the moment. And, for the first time as she sagged into the mattress, she sat with the certain knowledge that it would have been better with him.

She curled up on her side and let herself fall asleep.

***

She woke up to her phone buzzing right by her head. She jerked and fumbled for it. She wasn’t entirely sure when she’d grabbed it from her purse or how it had gotten there; she had a bleary memory of waking up to go pee and grabbing it on the way back, thinking she’d check her social media accounts before she fell back asleep. Clearly, she hadn’t made it that far.

The call went to voicemail before she could organize herself enough to pick up the phone. She slapped at it a few times until she managed to get her hands in order and look at her notifications. The missed calls and messages and texts were all from Cook. She hadn’t missed a shift, so he was clearly checking in on her. But why were his messages so increasingly frantic? She scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand and pulled up the diner’s phone number before tapping call.

“Hey,” she said as soon as he answered. She was surprised at how gravely her voice sounded. How long had she been asleep?

Cook’s voice, meanwhile, sounded like someone speaking while they were being held at gunpoint in a movie. “Hey, Mindy? How you holding up, girl? You rushed out of here in a terrible hurry last night.”

“I’m fine, Cook. I just thought I was going to be sick, is all, and I couldn’t handle coming back in because of the smell. I should’ve called so you wouldn’t worry.” Lying came so easy to her. It had for years now, but it still struck her how simple it was to spin a tale and have people believe it. She didn’t understand people who were bad at lying; the key was to half believe what you were saying yourself.

“Well, if you can make it in to cover a shift for Jessica, I’d appreciate it. Carol’s here, but you know how she gets when she has more than six tables.”

There was something about his voice that just wasn’t right. “Cook? Everything okay?”

He laughed, and the sound was way too high-pitched and forced to be natural. “Of course everything’s fine, Mindy. Just get your cute butt in here, alright?”

She shook her head. “You know I’m going to have to walk in, Cook. I’ll do it, but I won’t be there for thirty minutes or so.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine, just get here. Alright?”

Cook’s Diner was literally the last place on earth that she wanted to go right now. Wait, no, that wasn’t true. It would still be better than traveling back in time to Gram’s trailer. But it was the last place on earth she could actually go to that she would want to go to. That was the point.

She ended the call and pushed herself up to a seated position. Her entire pelvis ached from yesterday’s walk; she’d pushed herself way too fast, stomping away from the diner, and she knew it at the time. Her back was a wreck, and her feet were swollen. There was no way she could put those pumps back on her feet. Cook would be pissed that she turned up in sneakers, but he’d have to damn well cope. That’s what he got for working a pregnant woman half to death, even if he didn’t know she was pregnant. And it wasn’t his fault anyway. Absolutely none of that was the point, at all.

She dug through her closet until she found the uniform dress she’d almost thrown out because it was sized wrong, and was too big for her five months ago. Now, it closed over her breasts and her belly without gaping like the old one had. She’d have to reclaim the apron she’d thrown off in her panic yesterday. That would be nice. She shook her head and headed out to the diner.

Jack told himself, quite firmly, that he and Bodhi were not at the diner to threaten Cook or stalk Mindy. No. They were just after a cup of coffee and some lunch. He couldn’t be blamed for running into Mindy when she basically worked at the diner full-time and seemed to pick up extra shifts whenever she could. Or so the other waitress had told him when he’d slipped the girl a fifty and asked for the details.

Bodhi sat across from Jack in the booth, his small body sprawled out. The guy’s name wasn’t actually Bodhi; he was actually named Samir and had gotten nicknamed Bodhi in the service. He had light brown skin and wore a short, well-kept beard that was a deep brown, nearly black. He was Jack’s VP in the newly reformed Chain Gang and the most reliable man that Jack personally knew.

“So, we’re not stalking this chick,” Bodhi said. “Just to be clear.”

“We’re not.”

“Because the club’s paying, Daw, so I’m not complainin’, but I’m on my fourth cup of Cook’s really bad coffee, and at some point, I’m going to get acid reflux.”

“I’ll buy you some Tums.”

“I’m gonna need a whole bottle. This coffee is bad.” Bodhi let the last word ring out just a little. Cook’s hand came through the window to flip them off before he went back to cooking. The coffee wasn’t bad at all; for a roadside diner, it actually ventured towards good. Cook kept his pots scrupulously clean, and the carafes were constantly being emptied and refilled, so there was no time for the flavor to get stale. Jack laughed a little at it.

But just a little. He was stuck on how Mindy hadn’t told him that she was pregnant. She hadn’t really admitted that the baby was his yesterday, but she also hadn’t denied it even a little bit. They’d only been together those few days and granted they’d spent most of their time naked, sweaty, and biting back screams, but there had been quiet times when she’d curled up in his arms and run her fingers through the hair on his chest. They’d traded dreams, and told jokes, and there had been a connection there—more than just his cock penetrating her cunt. He’d gotten the sense that it was the kind of thing that could have grown, given time.

When he’d gone out for a couple of beers and some jerky, he’d seen Bodhi outside the old clubhouse. He’d waved to Bodhi and called him over, intending to tell him about this great girl that he’d hooked up with, but that was when Bodhi had delivered the news the Wardens were planning to try for a takeover while the Chain Gang was disorganized after Grim Teller’s death. The two gangs had been one just a few years back, but Grim had decided to clean things up. The guys who didn’t want to stop running drugs and women headed off in their own direction, and that was fine for a bit, but Providence wasn’t big enough for two motorcycle clubs, at least not when one of them thought that murder, extortion, and selling drugs to children was the best possible way to keep the coffers full. It wasn’t that the Chain Gang was full of Boy Scouts, Jack was always quick to explain when the topic came up, but they sure as shit didn’t sell drugs to kids, or sell kids to adults. Some lines were uncrossable if you wanted to stay a human being.

“So, you’re sure about this girl?” Bodhi asked, and Jack pushed the tension out of his shoulders before it got a chance to settle there.

“I don’t know about the girl,” he said, forcing himself to be honest with his second. “But I’m sure about the baby, and I’m sure it’s mine. The timing lines up. I just need to talk to her some more. Make sure she understands that I’m not going to be an asshole. I want to help.”

“And we’re driving home the ‘not an asshole’ point by stalking her?”

“You have a better plan?”

Bodhi shrugged. “Send her an email? A text? A nice card from Hallmark? Maybe even flowers? Give the girl a chance to realize that you’re in this for the long haul, and you’re not just some deadbeat who wants to get off on his pregnant-lady kink and then disappear once there are diapers to change.”

Jack paused. “Wait, that’s a thing? The pregnant girl thing?”

Bodhi laughed. “There is a kink for everything, and everything is on the Internet. You have got to get off AOL and find yourself a real web browser. My God.”

This time it was Jack flipping Bodhi off, but Bodhi laughed just as hard. He was working on a clever retort when he saw a tiny bundle of fire and fury slamming the diner door open. Mindy was wearing that cute little uniform dress, but her apron was gone. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been wearing it yesterday either. Without the pockets and the frills, the start of a swell to her belly was even more obvious. The dress she was wearing today was big enough that the buttons didn’t gape, but that didn’t actually hide her belly; if anything, it made it more obvious.

She stormed into the diner, letting the door bang shut behind her, and surveyed the booths with her hands on her hips. When she saw Jack and Bodhi, her eyes narrowed. Jack fought the urge to laugh at how fierce she looked for someone so small. Some poet had said something about that, he thought. But he pulled his mind back from the distraction to focus on the woman in front of him.

“Are you actually kidding me?” she snapped. He opened his mouth to answer, and she lifted one finger in a don’t you dare gesture. He shut his mouth again. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, mister, but you will absolutely not dog my place of employment trying to get back in my pants. You ruined that a long time ago. You could’ve found me if you’d cared even a little bit, and you didn’t so you have no claim on me, or—or anything to do with my life. Do you understand? I don’t ever want to see you again. You don’t come here, you don’t bother me, you don’t bother Cook, you just go away, and you stay out of my life. Do you understand?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just spun on her heel and rushed through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen and the back of house area. Jack thought about following her, but Bodhi blocked him with his outstretched leg before he even got a chance to shift in his seat.

“Time for Plan B.”

Jack sagged, running his fingers through his hair, and took a very deep breath. Not going after the woman he believed to be the mother of his child was agonizing. “What’s Plan B?”

Bodhi shrugged. “Don’t know yet. You’ll figure it out. But it involves you not being a damn asshole.”

“If this gets out… Bodhi, she could be in danger. You know Wester wouldn’t hesitate to use her against me if he knows.”

“Daw, you know I’d follow you into hell itself if needed, so I’m not going to call you a player. But let’s be honest here; you’re not so discriminating about where you stick your dick that someone’s going to make the connection between you and some little waitress at a diner on the outskirts of town. Now, if you keep showing up here, and you keep causing fireworks, someone’s going to hear. But if you stay away, play it quiet, act like an actual person, I think we can handle this situation.”

“This is my child,” Jack said, with a hiss. “And my child is not a situation.”

Bodhi raised one eyebrow. “If you don’t cool it the hell down, it’s going to cause a situation. Daw, look. I know you like the girl, but I need you to be real for a minute here. You don’t have any way to know at this point. She hasn’t said it. She’s right; you didn’t come back for her. She’s not in danger now. Let’s make sure to keep it that way, alright?”

Jack looked longingly at the door, and Bodhi nudged his calf in a way that Jack wasn’t entirely willing to describe as a kick.

“Come on, man. Let’s get out of here before we cause a problem for the nice lady.”

For the second time in as many days, Mindy fought back the tears as she rushed through the kitchen. She didn’t head out the door this time, though; as frustrating as it was, she needed to put on a normal face for the rest of the world. Losing this job would be a disaster for her, especially with a baby on the way. Even if she took off in the middle of the night, who would hire a pregnant girl with a GED and some vague experience with odd jobs, retail, and waiting tables? In this market, she was sunk. She had a good thing going in this stupid town – if Jack Dawson would just quit messing it up.

That said, she figured five minutes to sob her heart out wasn’t asking for too much. She sank down into the old couch in the employee break room, the one she hadn’t noticed was musty until she was pregnant, and put her head in her hands. She let the tears come and didn’t try to stop them. She cried for the lonely child she had been. The kid who hit the road the moment she looked old enough to be on her own. The kid who had done all sorts of stuff, only some of it legal, in order to stay safe over the years. The girl who bugged out of town as soon as people started to remember her name. The girl who now had no idea of how to build a life for herself, but who had decided to have a goddamn baby on her own.

“Bean, what are we going to do?” she asked herself, stroking her belly.

And then she heard a shuffling sound, and looked up, seeing Cook leaning against the door jam. “Sorry,” he said.

Shame rushed through her, and her cheeks went bright red. “I didn’t—you weren’t supposed to—”

“Figure out you were pregnant? Come on, Mindy. You started showing three weeks ago, and you spent two months barfing your guts out every time we had fish as a special. I’m not a genius, but I’m not an idiot.” Cook shook his head, then pulled a folding chair close to the couch, sitting down facing her. “What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered into her hands. “I need this to be easier than it is.”

“I can do a little of that,” he said. “I’ll bring on some extra help—make sure you get to spend part of your shift off your feet. Do you—I don’t mean to be an ass. Are you in contact with the father?”

She thought of Jackdaw, sitting outside in that booth, trying so hard, and her, so angry and refusing to accept any kind of kindness because what if she accepted it and it was withdrawn later? That would feel terrible, and she didn’t want it to be like that. And intellectually she understood concepts like if you don’t accept the attempts of other people to love you, you can’t be angry when they don’t love you, but her childhood had made that a lot easier to say than to believe.

“No,” she said. “No, I’m not.”

Cook seemed surprised. “Oh,” he said. “I thought—Dawson—”

She flinched at the name, and Cook’s eyes narrowed for just a moment.

“I see,” he said. “Does he know?”

She weighed the burden of doing this all on her own with the idea of having an actual friend, someone who wanted to be there to support her. Cook had been good to her, kind to her, helped her get set up when she rolled into town.

“No,” she said. “He’s figured out that I’m knocked up, and he suspects, but I haven’t confirmed it.”

“Any reason why not?” She shrugged, and Cook sighed. “He’s a good man, Dawson. Not a great man, not by any stretch, but he’s a good one, at least. I think you should tell him the truth.” She hesitated too long, and he shrugged. “Not my call. I’ll tell him and Bodhi to leave, alright? Tell them that they need to leave you be.”

She saw in his eyes that he would do it, and she thought fast. “No,” she finally said. “No, you’re right. I need to face this. I’ll take care of it.”

Mindy had taken a deep breath before she walked back out of the swinging doors. She didn’t want to do this, but she needed to do this.

Jack and his friend were just getting up from the booth. Jack looked up when she pushed the doors open. He hid it quickly, but the look of naked surprise bled quickly into pleasure before he locked down a more neutral, calm expression. She wanted to run and hide, but she needed to tell him the truth. And if she was going to be entirely honest, she’d had no idea how she was going to pay for the ongoing medical care as she needed to go to more regular appointments, never mind how she’d pay the hospital bill. She had no idea what Jackdaw’s finances were like, but maybe he’d be able to help out in some way? Plus, it only seemed fair to tell the man about his child. He hadn’t treated her badly, exactly, he’d just treated her without a lot of consideration. That could be worked through in a way other things couldn’t.

“Can we take a ride?” She held her gaze firmly on Jack’s face, refusing to look at his friend. She willed him to see what she was offering, what she needed. It only took a moment for him to nod.

“Cook’s okay with you taking off?” His voice lifted at the end like he was asking a question, but she sensed that it was absolutely a statement.

“Yeah, he understands.”

Jack nodded, then glanced at his friend, who nodded back. “This way,” Jack said, gesturing towards the diner’s main door. She walked out the door, and it amused her just a little that she knew which of the two bikes parked outside the diner was his. He handed her the helmet again, and she strapped it on, then climbed onto the bike behind him. “I know a place,” he added, his voice quiet and conversational, not acting like this was a momentous occasion that was going to shake both of their lives all the way down to the ground. Mindy put her head on his back, wrapped her arms around his waist, and held on tight.

As he sped out of town and onto a dusty old road, she decided that she could get used to this whole motorcycle thing. The combination of the intense vibrations of the engine and the feeling of Jackdaw’s solid body against hers had her breathing hard, and that was before the exhilaration of flying down the road in near perfect freedom.

She hadn’t really explored Providence; she’d lived and worked there, but the more she saw of a community, the more she wanted to stay there, and that made it harder when the time came to move on. Jack took her just outside the city limits and then turned the bike off the road entirely. He slowed down dramatically and led them down a dirt road that was lined on both sides with trees. She let herself relax a little, leaning back and admiring the view. And then they came out of the trees, and a big open body of water lay in front of her. She gasped just a little; she knew there was a big lake nearby, but she hadn’t thought of how big it might be. She’d never bothered going to check it out.

Jack cut the engine and walked the bike to a spot under some trees where a bench had been planted down into the ground. He set the bike down and helped her off, but didn’t immediately drop her hand once she was on both feet next to him. He made her body sing, even now, and she spent a moment luxuriating in the sensation of feeling someone else close to her who she was attracted to. She’d been uninterested in partnered sex since she’d found out she was pregnant; it wasn’t that she felt unattractive, just that it felt pointless. She was so horny, but she wasn’t the kind of horny that would be fed by sex with someone she didn’t know. Her vibrator had gotten quite a workout the last few weeks, but holding his hand, she couldn’t help remembering his hands on her body, lifting her up so that he could split her open…

She shook her head to banish the thought. She was here on a mission, but now that she was standing there, and he was looking at her expectantly, she couldn’t find the words.

Mindy let her hand fall out of Jack’s and walked to the edge of the water. She bent down, surprised at how much Bean was already constricting her ability to move. She’d never realized before that pregnant ladies had such a firm, unyielding mass in the center of their bodies, and how much it changed movements and posture. She managed to get down there and get her hands on a few flat, rounded rocks. She skipped them out into the open water, enjoying the sound of the rock moving over the mild waves. She appreciated that Jack didn’t come up behind her or try to talk to her. He gave her the space she needed to find her own peace with the words she needed to say.

“I can’t prove it,” she finally said, three or four rocks in. “I mean. I can tell you I know it’s yours, but I can’t prove it, so if that’s where you’re going to go with this conversation, let’s just be done already.”

She glanced behind him, but he was shaking his head. “If you say it’s mine, I trust you. Timing’s right and God knows we weren’t careful.”

“I was on the pill,” she said, and she tried to push the defensiveness out of her voice. “But I missed a couple because—well, there we were—and I guess that was enough.”

He nodded this time. “I’m not looking to blame you. I was there. I could have said no, either not done it, or gone for condoms. This isn’t your fault.” He was quiet for a bit, then seemed to settle on the right words. “I’m not saying it’s not a lot. I never planned to be a father. But there’s a lot I didn’t plan, and I’m not going to disappear on you. If you’re keeping the baby, I want to be there for everything you’ll have me for.”

“We don’t know each other much at all.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to talk him into staying or out of it. Maybe the fact that she wasn’t sure was a good thing? She didn’t know that either.

“That’s true,” he said. “But it seems we’ll have some time to change that.”

She considered. She considered doing it all on her own, but having the freedom she’d always craved, and she considered committing to this town and this life and this choice. She wasn’t sure at all when she nodded her agreement, but it was at least worth a try.

“Alright,” she said. “Okay. But I need to know. What are we talking about right now? Are we going to be, what? Co-parents, friends, or a couple?”

He held his hand out to her, and after a moment, she dropped the last rock she was holding back to the dirt and walked to him, letting her fingers tighten in his. “When you’re here, like this, what are you thinking about?”

She forced her breath to even out. “It feels good to be holding your hand.”

“Just good?” There was something in his eyes, a spark, that made her think it was much more than just good for him.

Mindy took a breath, decided to be brave, and then stepped closer to him. Jackdaw wrapped his arms around her waist as she stepped into his arms and put her hands on his chest. She could feel his heart underneath it, big and strong and solid. “This feels better.”

He exhaled deep and slow. “How about this?” He tugged, and she was tight against him. The bump was in the way, making it more awkward than it had been before, but not so awkward she wanted to step back.

“That’s very, very good.” She tilted her head back to look at him, and he obliged her with a kiss. The press of their lips together was electric; sparkling through her in such bright arcs that she thought her fingertips might overheat and light his shirt on fire. It wasn’t the mindless passion of that first kiss in the tiny, dirty room, but it was more than a friendly gesture. She felt him swell and stiffen against her, and she wrapped her arms tight around his neck, pulling herself up onto her tiptoes. He steadied her weight, turning against her to deepen the kiss as his tongue brushed over her mouth. He sought entrance to her like a man coming home after a long journey, and she opened to him eagerly. It didn’t take much to get her eager these days, but between the vibration of the motorcycle and the heat of the kiss, she felt control slipping through her fingers. She groaned into his mouth, and he responded in kind.

“What are the rules?” he murmured. “Can I touch you? Can we hurt it?”

“We’re not going to hurt it,” she said. “You can touch me.”

He didn’t need another word; his fingers were lifting her skirt, pushing aside her panties, and plundering her body. She stiffened fast, her body on high alert. His attention was so fierce that she almost lifted up off her feet. She clung to him, her knees going weak as he circled her clit, fast and tight. How did he remember just the right rhythm after so many months? After those few days, he’d played her body like a master musician, but she’d been so sure she’d forgotten.

“Jack,” she murmured into his mouth. “Jack, oh God.”

“Let go,” he whispered back. “Come for me, Mindy-girl, come for me and come back to me.”

She did, and she did.

The difference in how Mindy held onto him as they headed back into town was subtle, but he couldn’t help but notice it. She was resting on him instead of holding herself away. It felt beyond amazing. Having her on his fingers like that had been incredible, feeling her silent orgasm as she shook against him, cradling her after as she cried—it had been the sort of thing he never dared to dream of. He found himself thinking of her in terms of a family; lives spent together, growing old together. He’d never considered that he was a man who could have a future before. He’d thought he would be a brutal soul floating from place to place until he ran out of time and died alone.

But having Mindy resting against him, he couldn’t shake the idea that maybe it could work out. Maybe he could be enough of a person to be with her. To be a father to the baby. She called it Bean, it turned out. She’d told him the story, and he’d found himself brushing his fingertips over her bump like a man entirely smitten. He regretted that he was only here now; that he hadn’t been there during the first few months when it sounded like things had been hard. When she’d needed someone to hold back her hair and tell her it would get better eventually.

But he also needed to admit that it wasn’t going to be as easy as he wanted it to be. What he’d said to Bodhi was true; if the Wardens got wind of this, they’d be merciless. They’d come at him through Mindy. They still blamed him for the death of Grim, and they didn’t believe any evidence to the contrary. They’d do anything necessary to hurt him. So, he was going to have to do something to protect the woman and his unborn child. Maybe bring her to the clubhouse and set her up in his suite. It was a nice place, really, not the old bar sort of man’s club that the Wardens had, back when they and the Chain Gang had been interchangeable. She’d be happy there, and he’d be able to keep her safe. Absolutely. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He needed to protect both her and the baby. The best way to do that was clearly to keep her where he could see her.

As they cut through the wind, he felt the conviction grow; he couldn’t let Mindy go back to that apartment on her own. He’d seen the outside; it wasn’t a safe place. It wasn’t bad, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t a good apartment. It wasn’t safe. Not for the mother of his child. They’d stop by the diner so that she could let Cook know everything was all right, and so she could collect her things, and then they’d be on their way. He’d take her to the clubhouse, send some of the girls by later to pack up her things, and he’d have her in the perfect place. Where he could protect her.

He pulled up to the diner with those thoughts in his mind and cut the engine to the bike in the dust outside the front door. Cook was standing outside, bouncing on the balls of his feet, with a straight-up squirrelly look to him. Jack didn’t like it at all; he’d never quite worked his way around to trusting Cook, not all the way. The man was decent enough, but he had some dark stuff in his past, stuff most people in Providence didn’t know about. Nothing horrible, but gambling debts, some old drug problems, things like that. Someone could apply a disproportionate amount of leverage to the man, and he’d crumple like tin foil. That just wasn’t the kind of guy who made it safe for a club, but tradition was tradition. God knew the Chain Gang had seen enough trouble in the past few years without him looking to start changing around small things like where the club spent their time. It would work itself out eventually.

But seeing Cook out there like that, when he was already feeling so protective of Mindy; something inside of him just snapped taut without warning.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked as soon as the roar of the bike’s engine died off.

“You two ran off,” Cook said, and Jack didn’t believe the note of concern in the man’s voice, not for a moment. “I was worried something was wrong.”

Jack scoffed, and he felt Mindy sit back behind him. “Come on,” he said. “Ran off? You saw the girl come out to talk to me. Saw us head out.”

“You were gone a long time,” Cook snapped, and then Jack felt the tingle of concern in his stomach snap into full-throated worry. There was something going on with Cook, and he didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it. Bodhi had already taken off, and Jack found himself looking for snipers and checking for bolt holes. He didn’t like how easily he slipped back into that mindset, but there was no denying that being on high alert had saved his life more than once. He didn’t like it, but it was still a skill worth having.

“Back off,” he heard himself say, his voice belonging to a different man from a different time. Behind him, he heard Mindy hiss his name, but he didn’t pay her any mind. He was between her and danger, and he was going to make sure she was alright. Not just because of the baby, though that would have been enough, but also because of her. Because she mattered to him. Because she’d come back to him when he asked her to. “We’re just here to collect her things and be on our way.”

He heard Mindy’s drawn in breath behind him, and he considered for a moment that it was possible he wasn’t doing the right thing. But he pushed that consideration away. It wasn’t helpful; it didn’t meet the goal of protecting the woman and her baby.

Cook looked confused. “What do you mean? Collect her things?”

Jack wanted to punch the other man, right in the stomach, and then walk over his writhing body to get what he needed. “That’s what I said. I’m taking her to the clubhouse where I can watch over her properly.”

“Jack.” Mindy’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, and it cut through the growing fog around him, the fog borne of training and experience and the need to survive. He glanced back at her and was surprised to find anger all over her face.

“What?” Okay, it wasn’t the best or most insightful question he’d ever asked, but he didn’t think he entirely deserved the look of pure hatred that shone over her face when he spoke.

“What the hell do you mean by ‘I’m taking her to the clubhouse where I can watch over her’? I don’t know if you’ve got some other girl on the side because there’s no way you asked me what I thought about this plan.” She had her hands on her hips, and the fire in her eyes about set him off right there. But that wasn’t the point, and he told his dick to settle the hell down. He needed that blood in his brain.

“Mindy, come on. You know the Wardens are trouble. That’s who grabbed you that night we—” He felt his cheeks go red, actually blushing. God, that was ridiculous. He was a grown man, a motorcycle club president. He for the love of God did not blush. “Anyway. They’re causing trouble for us, for the Chain Gang, and if they find out about the baby, they could hurt you. I want you—and the Bean—to stay safe.”

That was the wrong thing to say—revealing her pet name for the baby when she had been very clear that no one knew but him. He knew it as soon as the words escaped his mouth, but he couldn’t take them back. But beyond that, his overprotective streak was shining bright and strong, and oh she was not going to have a single word of it.

He braced himself for the tongue lashing that he was very sure was coming, but instead, she stared at him. He couldn’t even call it a glare, not really, just a long, revealing look that seemed to tear him down all the way to his soul. And then she turned on her heel and walked directly to Cook.

“Cook,” she said, her voice shaking even though her hands were steady on her hips, her back turned entirely to him now. “I need a ride home. Can you help a girl out?”

Cook’s gaze flashed between her and Jack for a few heartbeats, and Lord she was going to make him pay for that later, but that was Cook’s problem. Jack shook his head; there was no chance to push a girl like Mindy into a choice she wasn’t ready to make, and that was just the truth. He could feel the point when he’d gone wrong—been too brash and too pushy—and she had every right to be angry at him, as much as it pissed him off that she wouldn’t just admit that he was right. He had to let her get to the right conclusion on her own. He’d do the shit Bodhi had suggested later—send her a card and some flowers or something, or ask to take her out to dinner, and sell the idea right. She’d come around to his way of thinking.

Still, it stung like hell seeing her get into Cook’s car as the other man threw furtive glances over his shoulder at Jack. Jack tried to give him a steady look, to show that this wouldn’t be forgotten, but that he also understood what was happening, and he wouldn’t be coming after Cook for helping the woman out. He would have done the same thing in the same situation.

Watching the two of them drive off, Jack entertained the thought of following them. He could hang back far enough that they wouldn’t see, and he could make sure she got home safe. But it would just add fuel to the fire of him doing—well, whatever it was she was saying he was doing. Being controlling, overprotective, whatever. She was right. But he also wasn’t going to stop. She was pregnant with his child, she’d said as much. They were going to need to talk about what her accepting his help meant. He didn’t want to be controlling, but he also wanted to make sure that his child had the best possible care and start and all of those things he hadn’t had when he was a kid. So, he’d let her cool down, say he was sorry, and then they’d talk more.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was doing something very wrong.

Mindy rested her head against the window and tried to think. As soon as she’d gotten into the car, Cook had asked her what she needed, and the cold truth was that she didn’t know.

“Do you want to stay in town?” His voice had been so gentle and kind.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” She closed her eyes tight and tried to will everything away. There was no more pretending now. She wrapped her arms around her belly and silently swore to Bean that everything would be alright; she would take care of everything and make sure that it was all fine. Stomping away from Jack had felt like the rightest right thing she’d ever done, but as soon as she was in Cook’s car and driving away, she realized how very much she’d wanted him to stop her. For him to rush over, grab her hand and yank her to him, demanding that she go with him to wherever he told her she could go. She’d wanted him to stop her from acting like an idiot by being an idiot. Mindy, girl, that’s never going to work out in your favor.

She’d told Jack the truth, and he’d behaved very well. She’d heard about guys who didn’t handle it half that well finding out that their girlfriend was barely knocked up, never mind halfway to birth. And he’d gotten protective, but what did she expect from a guy who wore leather and rode a bike and was the president of a group of thugs and highwaymen who deliberately chose to be outlaws? Wasn’t that half of what turned her on about bikers and that type of guy? Wasn’t that what she’d always said before? That they were fiercely protective of what was theirs but didn’t hold hard feelings once you were done being theirs?

And yet she’d run the moment Jack gave her that kind of protection. Was it because she had finally found a place where she could maybe rest? Was she going to be one of those sorts of troubled women who demanded that everyone love them even as they refused to be loved? Was she going to be just like her mother, and was she going to pass that kind of horseshit along to the Bean in turn? She wanted so much better than that. Not for herself, she knew better than to wish for good things for herself, but for the Bean. For the baby, and the child, and the adult that the Bean would eventually turn into.

She thought about telling Cook to turn around, but what were the odds the famous Jackdaw, the one the waitresses all called Mr. Big, would still be there? He wasn’t one to wait around, and hell, maybe she wasn’t even the first woman he’d knocked up. He could have children spread across a dozen states, not one of whom knew their daddy. She didn’t know a thing about the man, and here she was thinking about having a life with him, about him protecting her. It was nonsense, and she knew it was nonsense, and it was time to smarten up. So, she let Cook keep driving.

“Let me take you to a motel,” he said. “I can pay for the room if that’s a problem. Let you get your head together somewhere he doesn’t know where you are. So you can be calm, happy, rested, and figure out what you need to do next. Does that make sense? Sound right?”

She didn’t know what to do or what to say. She let her head loll against the window and closed her eyes. It was just easier. Easier, right now, to be passive. To let someone else take care of things. She wished she’d let Jack take care of things. That would have been nice. To just rest with him and let him be the one who figured things out. Yeah, she didn’t know much about him, but she was having his baby, so surely it would be good to get to know him. Just in case he really was some kind of dirtbag jerk who should never be allowed near a child. Because she’d already made the call not to run away, so surely—positively—it made sense to do it this way?

Yeah. Yeah, she’d let Cook take her wherever he wanted to take her, and she wouldn’t fight because it was going to be easier this way. And then she’d call Jack on her phone, tell him where she was, and tell him she’d made a mistake rushing off with Cook. That she should have listened to him and talked to him instead of disappearing. He would understand, and they’d work things out.

But right now, she was so tired. She’d swear the Bean sapped all of her energy. It was better than the first trimester when she’d been so constantly sick, but her energy hadn’t ever recovered, and she could trust Cook, she could rest here. That was good. That was okay.

It was a voice that pulled her out of sleep. She couldn’t quite make out the words, they were so quietly spoken, but she heard them. She thought it was Cook talking, but she wasn’t sure. Something about on his way, something about a girl. Maybe she was dreaming, maybe he was listening to the radio. By the time she pulled herself together enough to open her eyes, sit up, and wipe the drool from her lip, Cook was silent in his seat, both hands on the wheel, focused on the distance. It had gotten dark while she had been asleep, and the headlights didn’t do much to illuminate the darkness, outside of showing the winding twists of the old road.

They weren’t on the highway. Why weren’t they on the highway or one of the main routes around town? Nothing was on these old back roads.

“Cook,” she said, hearing the gravel in her voice. “Where are we?”

He was startled by the sound of her voice, glancing over at her with a nervous expression she didn’t remember seeing him wear before.

“Hey,” he said, his voice just a little higher pitched than she was used to. “I thought you’d sleep longer.” He winced, and she didn’t know quite why. “You just looked so tired.”

She remembered her thoughts from before she went to sleep, how very tired she had been, and how she’d longed for someone else to make a call for her. How passive she’d gone. Looking at Cook now, she was entirely sure she’d made absolutely the wrong choice.

“What’s going on?” She tried to make her voice firm and calm at the same time, but the fear that was swelling in her stomach was making that extremely difficult. She tasted acid on her tongue and tried to steady her breathing.

He shook his head hard; he seemed even more upset than she was. “You need help, Mindy. I know you don’t want me, and that’s just fine, but you and your baby need help. That man is a monster, he’s done terrible things, and all of the Wardens know it. I don’t know why the Chain Gang still follows him. He’s a monster. Your baby will belong to a monster if you’re not careful.”

He spoke with a conviction that she might have admired in a different circumstance. At this moment, however, the fear in her stomach solidified into something that was dragging her down, fast and hard.

“Cook, answer me. Where are we, and where are you taking me?”

“I’m taking you to a motel. Just like I said.” His jaw set, hard and fast, and she stared at him, trying to read between the lines.

“Who’s meeting us there?”

He winced again, and she got it, all of a sudden.

“One of the Wardens. Because they want to get me and get the baby, to use against Jackdaw.”

“It’s not like that,” Cook snapped back. “It’s not like that at all. They’re good men, they’re just trying to survive in a bullshit situation, and he doesn’t understand. He won’t admit what he did to them, and that makes it harder for them to do their work. They want to clean up this town, and remove the unsavory element.”

Objectively, she noted that she was fighting back as if she was somehow involved in the Chain Gang. But then, maybe she was. Maybe she already was. Maybe that was going to be a thing she was going to need to admit and deal with before she could move forward.

“Cook, how are you involved with these people?”

“I didn’t want to be,” he said, shaking his head again. “I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. I wanted the diner to be neutral territory. Neutral. I just wanted to make food and keep my head down. No more gambling, no more ladies, no more things that I shouldn’t be doing. I was going to get my shit together and then I was going to go back and win big. Pay off the diner, and then I’d have enough money for the rest of my life. It only takes that one big score, you know? That one big win, and then you can retire. You can be done with it. But Wester knew about it, I don’t know how, but he did, and he said—horrible things, if I didn’t do what he said, horrible, terrible things. And he’s right about Jack Dawson, Mindy, you have to believe me. Wester showed me the evidence that Dawson killed Grim Teller. There’s no other possibility. No one else could have done it. And it was after that, things started going wrong in the diner. They were fighting and arguing. Wester said he’d make it all stop. And all I had to do was help him take down Jack.”

His eyes were so shifty and nervous that Mindy almost didn’t recognize Cook as the man she’d worked for these past few months. There was an urgent desire to scream and yell, but it wouldn’t have done any good. It wouldn’t have changed anything. She couldn’t jump out of the car on a dark road in the middle of nowhere, so she was just going to have to go as far as Cook planned on taking her, and then see what would happen next. She was going to have to be brave. She was going to have to take care of herself, and trust that doing so would help her take care of the Bean. But the good news? Mindy was pretty damn good at taking care of herself after all these years.

“Okay,” she said, completely comfortable in the lie. “I think you might be right. I trust you.”

She saw Cook relax a little. “I’m so glad you think so,” he said. “I just think this will be the best thing for you. For you and the baby. Babies need good fathers, you know? Fathers who are present in their lives.” He stopped short of saying that he could give that to her and the baby, but she got the sense that it took him serious effort.

She nodded, though. “I know. I grew up in a broken home, too.” It was a gamble, but it got her a furious nod, so she went with it. “Kids need their parents. They need people who are present and who love them.”

He breathed what she could only take as a sigh of relief. “I’m just so glad you agree.” His hands relaxed on the steering wheel, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. That was one step down. If Cook trusted her, she would be more likely to find an opportunity to get away from him and call someone for help.

They had driven for maybe another ten minutes before she saw on the horizon the lights of an old cowboy and biker bar that looked like it had been lifted directly from a movie set. There had to be two dozen bikes parked outside, with a bunch of pickup trucks lining the parking lot itself. Men milled around the front of the building, long neck bottles in their hands and a certain rowdiness to every step they took. But not all of them. There were two men standing in front of the bikes, backlit by the lights of the roadhouse, and they stood at a kind of attention that made her nervous. She didn’t think there’d be any talking them down or convincing them that she was harmless. No, they had something much more sinister in their postures.

“Who’s that?” she asked Cook, but he didn’t reply. He did, however, start to clench the steering wheel again as he drove directly up to the two men.

“Wait here,” was all he said to her as he stepped out of the car. She couldn’t hear what he said, but he walked over to the big man, extending his hand. The bigger man—Wester, she realized suddenly, the shithead who had pulled her down into his lap in the diner that day and started this whole goddamn mess—ignored the extended hand. He said something, jerking his head at the car. Her presumably. Cook nodded and said something back. Wester nodded. He glanced at the man next to him. It was an odd combination of speed and incredible slowness as the other man pulled a gun and shot Cook in the stomach.

Everything inside Mindy convulsed with a toxic combination of fear and rage. She screamed, slapping at the dash so hard her hands hurt. Cook collapsed in slow motion, his mouth frozen in a wide O of shock and fear and something so very much more. She pressed her palms against the glass, an echoing noise through her head that she didn’t even realize was a scream until it stopped.

Wester took the gun from the other man and began wiping it down. The man came to her side of the car. She clung to the door handle, trying with all her might to hold it shut, but he yanked it easily out of her hands. She tried to pull her way out of the passenger’s seat, hoping to climb out the driver’s side, but she got tangled in the seatbelt. He opened the door and held her against the back of the seat, his arm pressing against her throat just enough to make it hard to fight. He unbuckled the belt, leering down her top as he did so. His breath was sweet, like gum. It was the most distressing part of the whole thing, somehow. She wanted a monster of a man to have breath like rotten meat. Sweetness was unanticipated.

He hauled her out of the car by her arm, gripping her bicep far too firmly for her to think that running away would be useful. He hauled her towards Wester, who had wrapped the gun in a cloth and tucked it away somewhere. Her face was wet, but she couldn’t remember when she’d started to cry.

Wester looked her up and down, and she felt dirty everywhere his gaze touched.

“I’m not looking to hurt you,” he said, his tone polite and conversational, even as his gaze lingered on her breasts. Her uniform had torn in her struggle with the other man, and her bra was showing. This bra fits about as well as the rest of her uniforms did, which meant she was just about spilling out of it. He had lots to stare at, the filthy son of a bitch. “But you have something I need.”

“I don’t have anything.” She snarled, yanking against the other man’s grip. It wasn’t going to get her anywhere but bruised, but she couldn’t hold still and let him keep looking at her like that without saying something.

Wester glanced down at the curve of her belly, accentuated by the way the monster at her side was twisting her arm up and around, keeping her up on her tip toes to avoid the incredible pain in her shoulder. “You have exactly what I need. Leverage. But the good news for you is that I’m quite sure it’s the baby he wants, not you, so when you’re done…” He waved a hand in that way men do when they are discussing reproductive things, “… gestating, I’ll be more than happy to let you go.”

She felt another scream roiling through her, and her free arm wrapped around her belly, both trying to protect Bean and trying to keep the scream inside. Screaming wasn’t going to do any good now. She was painfully sure of that.

And then she heard a sound, rising up over the noise of the roadhouse. She told herself she wasn’t sure, that she didn’t know, but she did. She knew, all through her body, that it was Jackdaw, and he was there to rescue her. She couldn’t hold back the grin, but then there was another sharp crack, too close to her, and the scream she’d been holding back was released. The man twisting her arm spasmed next to her, jerking her arm so hard she thought it might break, and then he let go. She spun towards him, ready to use any opening to her advantage, but he was already dropping down into the dust.

Wester broke right, diving for the cover of Cook’s car. Cook was groaning in the dust, his hands over the wound in his belly that was gushing blood. For just a moment, Mindy felt bad for him, worried that he might die there in the dust of this biker bar. But he’d brought her here and been ready to hand her and Bean over to people who were prepared to hurt them, very badly. She felt bad, but not so very bad. She hoped someone would get him some help. She had zero obligation to be the one who tried to help.

Jackdaw spun the bike around, kicking up gravel that bit at her lower legs, but she pushed that sensation away, making it something she would deal with later. Right now, she needed to get away from all of this before another shot rang out and took her down with it.

“Get on!” Jack shouted, but she was already running, slinging her leg over the back of the bike like she’d done this a thousand times. Jack barely waited for her to get settled before he tore off again, racing into the darkness of the night. She clung to him, and let herself believe that it was the rush of the air that pulled tears from her eyes.

Mindy clung to Jack’s back as he tore through the night. Once they were a good distance from the roadhouse and no one appeared to be following them, he slowed the bike down and road at a more sedate pace. She didn’t try to talk to him; she was still shaking hard, and she was sure her voice would quake. No point in making him think she was even more vulnerable than she actually was.

She hated that she’d left Cook there on the ground, bleeding. He had been a friend to her once. Or at least, she’d thought that he was. She had apparently been painfully mistaken, but she needed to believe that all of his kindness hadn’t been some kind of angle to get her into a compromising position with the Wardens. She shuttered against Jack’s broad and stable back, thinking of what might have happened if he hadn’t rescued her. Sure, Wester had said that all he wanted was the baby—as if that wasn’t bad enough—but she’d heard stories of what some of the more nefarious biker clubs were like. Men terrorizing women, using them as they wanted, thinking of consent as some kind of joke that city folk worried about. She was sure Jack wasn’t like that. Even though they’d been passionate and barely contained that first time, she’d never once felt like he wasn’t attentive to her needs. If she said no, she was positive he would have stopped. Even the way he’d spoken to her about Bean. He’d asked to be a part of the process, not demanded that she give him his baby or any of the other caveman things he might have said. Every sign pointed to him seeing her as an actual person, not just a walking set of genitals.

She was sure that another woman would have been terrified, ready to run the second Jack stopped the bike. Instead, she found herself trusting him, and maybe just a little bit thrilled by the life she’d now walked into. She felt strong and powerful instead of weak and on the run, victimized by the world. She’d put up a good act for a really long time, telling everyone just how independent and untouchable she was. She’d had one-night stands or relationships where she didn’t bother learning the names of family members or friends. What was the point, when she’d just be gone again as soon as she felt that itch to move on?

The Bean had changed so many things. Maybe her desire to cling to Jackdaw as the world spun around them was hormonal. Or maybe it was just that he felt safe and secure, like a protector. She wasn’t afraid of the life he would bring with him because he was with her. And he would keep her safe. He’d already done that twice; rescued her from those who would hurt her. He said he wanted to keep doing it, as long and as often as needed. Who would possibly turn that down?

The bike pulled into the parking lot in front of her building, and Jack balanced the bike with his feet as it idled.

“We need to talk,” he said. His tone was calm, neutral. More, she thought, than she deserved from a strong alpha male who had just had to rescue his woman from near certain disaster.

“Yeah, we do,” she replied. “Do you want to come up?”

“Sure. Just let me take my bike around to the back.”

She slipped off the back and waited for him while he led the bike out of sight of the main road. Of course, if they were looking for her, this would be an obvious place to look, but still. It was better than nothing.

When Jack walked back around the building and into the lights in front of the apartments, she was struck by just how good he looked in his dusty denim, worn black boots, and the leather jacket over a flannel shirt. The way he moved was strong, powerful, but loose jointed and cool at the same time. She did not doubt that he could seduce her one moment and obliterate someone with his fists the next. The same hands that had teased her body into incredible heights of delight could drop a man to the ground if necessary. It was a heady thing to notice, and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t like it quite a lot.

“This way,” she said because the other option in her mind was, “Do me, baby, do me now,” and even if she was going to say that, she would find better phrasing. Way too stereotypical. But those goddamn pregnancy hormones were reacting with incredible strength to the man in front of her.

She led the way up the switchbacking exterior staircase until they got to her apartment door. She fished her key out of her uniform pocket, incredibly grateful that it hadn’t gotten lost along the way—and that she hadn’t brought her purse with her to the diner earlier because there was no chance she would have managed to get it out of Cook’s car. She unlocked the door and held it open for him while he walked inside, then locked it behind him.

“Give me a minute. I want to change my clothes. There’s water in the kitchen, or a beer, or whatever else you want.”

Jack nodded and went into the small, galley kitchen as she went down the hall to get changed.

It was kind of a funny moment, standing in the bedroom, wondering what to wear to seduce the father of her child. If she wanted to seduce him. Which she wasn’t entirely sure of, but he’d touched her so well before, like he knew her just as well as he always had. Like he hadn’t forgotten a single detail of what she liked; what made her body sing.

The biggest problem, however, was that most of the clothes she would have worn to seduce someone before were not close to fitting now. There was nothing sexy about maternity jeans; it just wasn’t possible. But she wasn’t quite ready to go out there in pajama pants and no bra either. So, maternity jeans it was. She put on a tank top over her bra, then a loose sweater to disguise the fact that her boobs were about to pop out of the bra like some kind of anime character. She really needed to go shopping. She really needed some money to go shopping. And, shit, with Cook shot, maybe dead, it wasn’t like there was going to be anyone at the diner to pay her. Double shit.

She pushed the thought away; that would have to be tomorrow’s problem. She pulled her hair up into a loose bun and went back out to the kitchen.

Jack Dawson, the fierce biker and leader of the Chain Gang, known as Jackdaw, appeared to be putting the stove-top kettle on. There were two mugs on the counter, and there were peppermint tea bags in each of them.

She didn’t mean to say a thing, but she couldn’t help sputtering. “What are you doing?”

He glanced up almost guiltily. “I read that a lot of women don’t feel good during pregnancy, and that peppermint tea helps to calm their stomachs. And I saw it in your cupboard when I was looking for a water glass, and I thought maybe you’d like it.”

Okay, that was all logical, and even correct. “And the second mug?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never had peppermint tea. Figured it was worth a try.”

Mindy tried not to laugh. “That’s very open-minded of you.”

Jack gave her a sideways smile that was so sweet it made her heart open up wide. “I’ve got a lot of things to start being more open-minded about.” The kettle whistled, and he poured water into both of the mugs, then passed her one. She directed them to the living room; onto her couch. “I never planned to be a father. I feel like it’s important for you to know that. Some people grew up imagining bouncing little babies on their knees who looked exactly like them, but that just wasn’t ever me. It wasn’t like I didn’t want kids, I just—” He stopped himself, took a long moment, then a deep breath. “I want to be a part of this. I want to know you better, and I want to know this kid. But I don’t know if I’m going to be any good at it.”

She set down the tea, reached out, and took his free hand in hers.

“Look,” she said. “I’m in the same boat, okay? I never thought I’d be someone who stayed in the same town for a month, let alone a year, or a lifetime. But this is where I’ve found myself, and I’m going to keep doing the best I can at it. And if you want to do this with me, I’m all for it. It’ll be less lonely that way.”

He took a sip of the tea, made a face, and then set it down on the table next to hers. “In what capacity are we doing this together?”

Her heart started to flutter in her chest. There was a deeper, more earthy sensation, further below. “Can you be more specific with your question?”

He chuckled slightly, then tugged at the hand that was holding hers. She went to him easily, naturally, shifting so that she was sideways on his lap. One arm curled behind her back, the other rested on her upper legs, his hand cupping her ass.

“I mean,” he said, slow and luxurious, “Are we going to go into this as friends? Lovers? Somewhere in between?”

She shivered against him. She could feel his erection swelling below her, and she shifted, letting him feel the weight of her against him. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before reopening with a laser focus, right on her mouth.

“I don’t know,” she said. “We don’t actually know each other very well at all. But one thing I can tell you for sure is that pregnancy hormones are a bitch, and I want to get laid basically every time I can, so maybe we can start there, and see what happens?”

This time he shifted her, and he groaned just a little at whatever sensation her shifting ass provoked. “So, what you’re saying is you want me to fuck you every chance I get?”

“Yes.”

“Starting now?”

Her cunt was wet and heated, and she looped her arms around her neck, letting her breath speed up and her body yearn for him without complaint. “God, please, would you?”

“Fuck yes,” he replied before he claimed her mouth.

It was a deep kiss from the first touch of lips, passionate and intense and eager. His tongue carved through her lips, opening her mouth for him; his hand cupped the back of her neck, turning her mouth to the angle he wanted. She kept the kiss in play, eagerly meeting every thrust of his tongue with her own, and straightened up so that she could turn and straddle him. He was hard and eager, and she was wet and ready, but she wanted to savor this. She had been so long without him inside of her, and he’d ruined her for every other man, for all of her toys. Nothing felt as good as him, nothing, not in all the time she’d been without him.

He pulled her sweater up over her head, breaking the kiss for just one moment, then pulled the straps of her tank top down. He buried his face in her swollen breasts, his hands lifting them up and out of her bra. He was delicate with her nipples, teasing them with his teeth and watching her before taking them into his mouth and running his tongue over them. After a moment, he settled on one side and teased her breast with lips and tongue while he tortured the other side with his fingertips. She buried her hands in his hair and let her hips shift, feeling the seam of her jeans press up past her lower lips into the aching need of her clit. Her panties were soaked, completely soaked, and she was about to be lit on fire with the need for him.

“Please,” she murmured. “Please, please. Go slow next time. Love me next time. This time, fuck me.” He froze for just a moment, gazing up at her, and that was when she realized what she’d said. She waited, holding her breath, looking for his reaction.

“Get up,” he said, and she was sure all the way down through her that he was about to leave. He did stand, but he didn’t head for the door. He kissed her again, bending down to meet her lips with his, and then cupped her ass, lifting her up onto her toes to press her against him. Her belly stopped their hips from connecting all the way, but she didn’t much mind. “Show me where the bedroom is.”

She led him down the little hall to the bedroom that suddenly seemed much messier and dingier than it had the day before. He didn’t seem to mind, though, focused entirely on her tits and the swell of her stomach. He stripped off his clothes, folding each article neatly and placing it on the nearest flat surface which wasn’t too littered with her things. She smiled at the precision of it, and just to annoy him, she shucked her jeans, her tank top, and her bra and panties, dropping them all on the floor. She stood before him naked, feeling truly sexy in her body for the first time in weeks, and he watched her. His cock was hard and ready, just as thick and solid as she remembered. The yearning for him rippled through her belly, and she reached out to him, pulling him into her with a smile and a willingness she hoped he could feel.

He kissed her again, his hard cock pressing at the underside of her belly in a way that made her giggle. His hands were harder, needier, stroking her breasts, kneading her ass, pulling her against him and cupping her ass to press her mound against him as he buried his face in her tits again. “What do you want? Tell me what feels good.”

For a moment, her cheeks heated, but then she remembered how they’d taken each other in every position and in every spot that either one of them had been able to think of in that small little room. She stepped away from him and grabbed her small bullet vibe from the nightstand. She crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees and glanced back at him. He all but snarled and came to her quickly.

“Like this,” she said, pushing her hips back against him. He answered her with a wicked smack against her ass. The sting made her cry out, yet it burned through her in the most delightful way.

She could feel his cockhead nudging at her, and she relaxed into him. He was big, and she hadn’t taken anything that was anywhere near as big for a while. He fucked into her slowly, nudging into her, taking her, enveloping his cock with her cunt. He was incredibly gentle and careful, and it was one of the most erotic things she’d ever experienced. The moment when he was fully seated inside of her, their hips tight together, she felt pleasure coursing through her, just a heartbeat away from an earth-shattering orgasm.

And then he started to move within her.

Her body was so tuned and eager that she was coming within a couple of strokes. Her arms shook too much to support her, and she let her face fall into the mattress; the better to hide her screams, my dear, as he fucked her slow and steady. She could hear him groaning as her pussy tightened around him, squeezing him. The orgasm just kept going, rolling through her. Every time she thought the pleasure was about to ebb away, he’d hit some secret depth of her cunt, and she would shatter all over again. It hadn’t been like this ever, not even when she was playing with her toys.

His arms circled around her waist, higher than her belly, and pulled her gently up so that her back was pressed against his chest. She looped an arm around his neck to keep herself steady and tried to turn her face to kiss him.

“No,” he said gently and turned her chin with his free hand so that she was looking at the mirror over her bureau.

At first, she didn’t want to look, but when she tried to turn her head, he took her chin and very gently turned her back. She could see herself, breasts heavier than they had ever been, belly swelling with the beginnings of stretch marks tracing her lower belly. And she could also see herself being fucked by a gorgeous man, covered in ink, who was kissing her neck and meeting her gaze in the mirror.

“Oh God,” she whispered, and he pressed the bullet vibe into her hand.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Come for me, and let go. Let go, Mindy-girl, please.”

She bit her lip for a moment and then turned on the vibe. All it took was a quick press against her clit, and the orgasm peaked, jerking her so hard that at this angle she almost came right off his cock.

Jack grunted behind her, and then his hands were tight on her hips, tilting her forward just enough that he could drive into her, fuck her hard and pounding, just like she wanted. She kept the vibe on her clit, felt him pushing deep inside of her. A scream of pleasure rose up inside of her and demanded release, and there was nothing she could do but let it out. She screamed his name, falling forward again so that he could bury himself in her. Just a handful of those deep strokes and he was groaning, locking himself deep inside of her with little shifts of his cock as he pulsed into her.

She could hear him whispering her name as he went limp, gently pulling her to the side with him and spooning her up in his inked arms for a little rest.

When Mindy woke up, she wasn’t being held anymore, and someone was moving around her room. She went from sleeping to awake so fast that her heart was still throbbing in her throat when she realized that Jack was the one moving. He had found an old suitcase of hers, and was stuffing clothes into the bag somewhat at random. She took a moment to steady her breathing and then sat up, wrapping the sheet around her breasts as she crossed her legs.

“What are you doing?” Her tone was sharp; she did her best to lighten it with a smile.

Jack jumped like someone who had been caught doing something they should not have done. Which, of course, was probably the case.

“Hi,” he said, after a moment. “I was…” He sighed and scrubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I don’t want to have another fight.”

She raised her eyebrows and settled in a little bit more. “That’s good. Me either. So, could you tell me what you’re doing?”

He sat down on the bed, not quite close enough to reach out to her. But having him sitting was somehow less threatening than the hovering stand he had been holding before.

“You’re not safe here. Wester’s plan to kidnap you is proof of that. You should—” He visibly paused, collected himself, and then continued. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to bring you to the Chain Gang clubhouse. I have a room there. You’ll be safe; protected by all of the Gang’s brothers and girls. No one will bother you. And Wester will have to go through all of them to get at you again.”

“And how long do you intend this to go on?” Mindy asked. “It’s not like a biker gang clubhouse is a great place to have a squalling infant.”

He laughed a little ruefully. “You’d be surprised what we’ve had in that place over the years. But no, you’re right. I think this would just be temporary, while we sort out Wester and the Wardens. I know that man, and there’s no way he’s the actual brains of that operation. We need to figure out what’s going on and come up with a plan of action. But I need to focus to do that, and I will focus better knowing that both you and the baby are safe.”

It was foolish to say yes. Mindy had learned over the years that there was no reason to rely on anyone but herself. No one else stood up for her, no one else took care of her. Relying on other people led to pain and misery and unhappiness. But here was a man who wanted to take care of her, help her be safe, make sure that she and the baby were cared for. It felt like a dream. Like a movie. Like something entirely different than anything else that had ever happened in her life.

And yet here she was, with it happening. She had to believe that it wasn’t a fluke. Everyone had to have at least one dream come true in their lives.

“Okay,” she said, taking a long, deep breath before she could push the word out. “Okay. Let’s give it a try.”

She’d never seen Jack smile so broad, and she’d never felt so good as when he reached across the bed and took her hand.

Stupid hormones.

Mindy stood in the bar at the front of the clubhouse, trying to look stronger than she felt. The room had gone silent when she’d walked in on Jack’s arm, and she couldn’t read the room well enough to understand why. She recognized the man who had sat with Jack in the diner booth. She recognized a few of the other gruff and narrow-eyed faces that were watching her. Even more than that, she understood the looks that were being directed her way. They said that she was trashy. That she was after something. That she was here for no reason other than to hurt someone they cared about. She’d had plenty of friends look at her that way. It was part of why she’d stopped trying to pretend that she was capable of anything outside of the bedroom. And those looks were happening right now, with the swell of her belly feeling bigger than she could possibly imagine, as if she was expanding right in front of them—God, she hated this part. Anything would be better than this. This was why she gave in and just ran away. It wasn’t worth all this. Nothing was.

The worst part was that Jack was clearly bristling in response to the questioning. Diner Man’s question had been fairly innocent, even though the tone was pretty shitty. He wanted to know who she was. That made sense, and she couldn’t fault him for asking why his boss and, she assumed, friend, was bringing some trashy waitress to the clubhouse. But it still hurt. Jack leaping to her defense wouldn’t fix either of those things.

In another situation, she would have just walked out of the clubhouse and called it done—taken a cab back to her shitty apartment, packed up her shitty things, and moved on to the next shitty town that struck her fancy. Start her new life there. If she were feeling generous, she’d send Jack a postcard with a forwarding address. Or maybe she’d see if he came looking for her. That would be nice—to have someone looking for her for a change. That would feel good. And terrifying. But mostly good.

“Look,” she said, telling herself that she was just testing the waters. “I can just go, Jack. We don’t have to do this.”

Jack caught her arm in a grip that was firm without being tight or painful. “You’re not going anywhere, Mindy. We’re going to sort this out like civilized adults.”

Her stomach twisted, and her throat tasted like acid. She wanted nothing to do with any of this, but she had no idea how to get away from the mess. “Jack—”

“No. No, we’re going to talk. That’s how this is going to go. Bodhi, come over here.”

The man from the diner took a long, slow breath, and then walked across the room like he was walking towards his death. He stopped, facing Jack, just more than an arm’s length away. His gaze did not fall on Mindy at all.

Jack reached his hand out to the side in a welcoming gesture.

“Mindy,” he said, “this is Bodhi. He’s my second in command with the Chain Gang and a longtime friend of mine. He’s awfully protective of me and the Gang in general because we’ve been through some serious shit these past few years.”

She put on her very best for-company smile. It was rusty, after all those years in storage, but she did it anyway.

“Hi, Bodhi,” she said and stuck out her hand to shake. After a moment, he took it. She made sure to keep her grip firm, but not overbearing. His hand was far too loose, but after a moment, he tightened his grip on hers and smiled. “Pleased to meet you,” she added.

“Bodhi, this is Mindy. She’s—” Jack glanced at her, looked her up and down, and then shrugged. “You know, honestly, we haven’t specifically discussed it yet. But she’s having my kid, and we’re going to try and make something work. The Wardens just made a serious pass at kidnapping her, and they nearly got away with it, so for now, she’s staying here, with me, and she’s going to be safe here. I need you to explain that to the rest and make it real clear that this isn’t a topic of conversation, and I’m going to go get Mindy settled in my room. Does that work for everyone?”

Bodhi smiled slowly, offering a short nod. “Of course,” he said, though there was still a little bit of hesitation in his voice.

Mindy tried to let it go; if the situation were reversed, she wouldn’t be very nice about it either. He was being a lot more gracious than she had ever been, than any of her other friends had ever been. She could try and believe it would stay that way. Even if it was hard to believe, she could try.

Jack nodded with the assurance of a man who trusted that his word would be obeyed without further conversation. Bodhi had accepted the order; now the order would be carried out. That was simply how it was.

In a way, Mindy envied the conviction. It had to be refreshing; to believe that strongly what you asked for would be given.

Jack took her hand and lifted up the bag he’d insisted on both packing and carrying for her, and led her down the hallway. The front room of the clubhouse was like every movie set of a biker clubhouse she’d ever seen: cement floor, bar in the corner, tables scattered around, pool tables, darts. There were also relatively nice couches where a few girls and guys were curled up. She saw women wearing leather. Not as many as the men, granted, but a few. It was nice, in an interesting way. She’d grown up with such a narrow and constricted version of what women could be. Seeing a broader version of that was interesting. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it, not all the way, but it was definitely interesting.

The hallway, though, wasn’t the kind of masculine, hunter’s lodge kind of decor she’d expected. It was painted, first of all, and in a nice, welcoming blue. The doors were wood, but they were actual doors, not top to bottom plywood like you got in college dorms. They all had locks.

Jack’s room was the farthest from the main area. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, and she was surprised at the room in front of her. It was… well, nice. The bed was covered with a lush, maroon comforter and fluffy pillows with light gray covers. He had a light-colored wood desk in the corner with a laptop on it. There were a sliding closet door and another door that wasn’t all the way closed. When she peeked in, she could see an attached bathroom with a big bathtub and a showerhead. She made a happy sound at the base of her throat at the thought of curling up in that tub at the end of a long day on her feet and just letting her worries and pains soak away.

“It’s not the fanciest thing in the world. If you think you’d be uncomfortable here, I can find a way to put you up in the hotel. But some of the club folks are pretty good cooks—guys and girls, don’t look at me like that, we all take turns at whatever needs doing—and I… Damn, Mindy, I just want you where I can lay my hands on you. Is that alright with you?” He looked so shy, all of a sudden, with a softness to him that she’d never seen before. He had been brusque, fierce, sexy, and firm with her, but never shy.

Mindy reached out and took the bag from his hands, setting it quite firmly on the floor next to the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. Instead of going for a kiss, she turned her head to the side and let herself rest on his shoulder. She made a happy, contented sound as his arms closed around her.

“This is fine,” she murmured, swaying slightly against him. It took him a moment to give in to the movement, and then she felt some insubstantial tension drift out of his frame as well. “I like being close to you, too, Jack. I feel safe here.”

“I’m going to find someplace else by the time the baby comes, okay? I’m not going to make you have a baby here in this place. The crap the kid could get into, crawling around. But this is a safe place to be until I can find something better.”

She nodded against his chest, then drew back. She’d been on her feet long enough, and she was tired of having them swell. She pushed her shoes off and rubbed her soles, trying to ease the ache in them. Jack grabbed his chair, dragged it over, and sat down. He reached down and lifted her left foot into his lap. She sighed happily as he began to massage, first working his knuckles into the arch of her foot, then slowly starting to spread that tension and pain out. She let her back go, flopping back onto the bed. She could feel the weight of the Bean most at this point, pressing down into her back. Everyone said that, at some point, this would make her feel dizzy, or even sick; so far, however, so good.

“So, can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked. “Why are the Chain Gang and the Wardens fighting? Why am I even relevant in all of this macho guy stupidity?” He ticked the bottom of her foot for a second and she shrieked and tried to yank it away; he held onto her ankle and reeled her back in, behaving himself after she gave him a glare.

Jack sighed. She got the idea that he’d told this story a lot, and that it had caused him some pain every single time. “We used to be one club. The Chain Gang. Prez was a guy named Grim Teller. Good dude, but the club was running into financial stuff. A lot of the guys were using, a lot of guys ended up in jail, and Grim wasn’t having it. He kept trying to run against the cops instead of focusing on the club’s legitimate interests. He was putting all of us in danger. So, some of us let him know that we weren’t putting up with that anymore. It wasn’t why we’d decided to ride, and we didn’t want anything to do with that kind of lifestyle.”

“What’s the difference?” she asked. His gaze shot up at her, and she saw the defensiveness in his eyes, but after a moment, it faded. He sighed.

“I know it might seem weird to an outsider. But not all clubs are full of the kind of outlaws they make TV shows about. Yeah, we live rough, and yeah, we sell drugs, but we sell the kind of drugs that working people use when they get home after a long week, and they just want something to help them unwind. We don’t sell to kids, we don’t deal in flesh, and we sure as hell don’t sell guns. There’s a difference.”

“Okay.” Mindy agreed. “I can see that.”

He nodded and switched feet. “Anyway. We let Grim know that wasn’t the kind of club we wanted to be associated with, and we—me and Bodhi and a few other patched folks—I guess you’d call it a mutiny. We ran him out of the club. A bunch of the guys went with him. And we said good riddance. Club’s big enough for two gangs of meatheaded fool men.” He grinned a little, just a bit ruefully. “And that was fine, for a little while.”

“And then?”

“There’s always an ‘And then,’ isn’t there? Yeah. And then, someone killed Grim Teller.”

She hissed in a breath, and Jack nodded.

“It was a bad thing, too. He wasn’t just killed, he was slaughtered. And… it happened the night we were together. I bumped into Bodhi that morning when I went out for supplies. I needed to go and deal with it, and it took so much longer than I thought, and when I got back, you were gone.” He was quiet for a moment, then shook himself like a dog shaking off water. “Sorry. Wrong story. Anyway. Most of the Gang was out at the roadhouse that night. I was conspicuously absent. So, some folks have gotten it into their heads that I’m the one who killed Grim, and that I sent the rest of the Gang out to the roadhouse to make it less obvious I wasn’t there.”

She propped herself up on her elbows; damn, he looked good like this. He looked up and grinned at her, clearly aware. “Why didn’t you tell them you were with me?”

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t really have made a difference. You’re a woman, and the Wardens don’t patch women. The Gang wouldn’t care you were a woman, but you weren’t patched so they wouldn’t have listened either. Why drag you into this, just to make your life messier?”

It was weirdly patriarchal, and also really kind. “Thanks for that,” she said, after a little pause.

His shoulders moved again, like this wasn’t something he thought he should get an apology for. “It’s fine. Anyway. So now they’re after us, trying to make me pay for what happened to Grim. And we’re mostly trying to stay out of their way while we figure out what the hell to do about it all.”

She was silent, and then she asked the question she had to ask. “You didn’t have anything to do with it? I mean, you were with me. But you didn’t have someone do it or… something like that?”

He sighed, his fingers stilling for a moment. “The last time I killed someone was overseas. I’ve worked very hard to make sure that I’ve never done something like that again. I’ve worked hard to be a good man.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“That feels really good.” She hadn’t even known that the knot in the ball of her foot existed until he dug into it with his thumb. When it released, she felt something in her back let go as well. “Mmm. Hello.”

“Hey,” he said, and his voice was gruff. “God, woman, do you know how good you look like this?”

“Like what?”

He reached out, holding his hand over her belly for just a minute before he laid it down and caressed the bump through her shirt. “You look alive. You look gorgeous. I dunno, earth goddess fertile or some other stuff. I don’t know what to say about it. But you look amazing. Beautiful. Exquisite.”

She felt that same, warm stir in her body; the heat that he made rush through her. “Do I now?” She shifted on the bed, letting her thighs fall a little open, arching her back to show off her breasts a little better. He made a snarling sound between her legs, and then he moved up the bed, leaning down over her and capturing her mouth with his.

“I want you so very much, all the time. How long can we keep doing this? We won’t hurt it?”

She arched again, letting her hips bump against his and causing him to let out a long hiss. “Depends. How kinky do you want to get?”

Something dark sparkled in his eyes, and she felt another frisson of excitement run through her. “How kinky do you like to get?” He ran his fingers through her hair, and at the base of her neck, they tangled tight in the strands, right up against the scalp. He used the grip to tug her head back, kissing her throat as she gasped. A surge of wetness flooded her panties, her hands twisting his shirt up into knots.

“God, I love that,” she whispered, and he responded by nipping her with his teeth, then suckling on her skin just a little too hard.

“Do you now?” He gripped her breast in his hand, his fingers tracing the mound until they came to her nipple, then giving it a twist. Gentle at first, and when she arched into his grip, harder. “And what about that?”

“Fuck. Fuck, Jack. That feels so goddamn good.” She hadn’t done much “wild” stuff before—she’d heard on some radio talk show once that handcuffs shouldn’t even be considered kinky anymore, because who hadn’t tried that—but now she had an incredible urge to beg for the hard and heavy slap of his big, callused hands on her ass, her tits—anywhere he cared to put them. She’d had a guy try it once, but he was half-hearted at best. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it hadn’t been all that good, either. She’d wanted more in an indefinable way, and she’d been so young that she hadn’t known how to ask. She knew what she wanted at this moment, but she still didn’t quite know how to make the words happen.

“If I wanted, very much, to spank you,” he said, his voice the low growl that made her arch with delight underneath him, “how would you feel about that?”

She hissed through her teeth. “I’d call you a mind reader and ask where you wanted me.”

He stood up, fast, pulling his belt loose and tossing it in the corner. “Strip.”

She made short work of her pants and panties—she’d never thanked her lucky stars for elastic waist pants so hard in her life—and pulled her top over her head. Her bra came after, and then she was naked. She stretched for him, letting him see her whole body. He made that low sound again, deep and harsh.

“Hands and knees,” he said. She moved quickly, doing just what he’d said. A pillow was placed between her hands, and his hand between her shoulders pressed her gently down, leaving her ass up in the air. He spread her ankles and knees, making space so that he could see her soft, wet pussy, and he stroked her. His thumbs parted her labia, moving from her opening to her clit, pinching it sharply between his thumbs when he reached that peak. She groaned and leaned back into him; he slapped her ass lightly for the rudeness.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, and when she said yes, his voice changed entirely. “Then tell me who gave you permission to move?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then she wanted to try out a new word in her mouth. “Sir.” Oh, yes, that felt good. It felt good in this spot, in this position, at this moment. From the low hiss she heard behind him, he liked it too. He liked it just fine.

His hands rubbed the fullness of her ass, and she enjoyed the warmth and motion of his broad hands. When the first spank came, she yelped in surprise.

“One to five,” he said, his voice calm and conversational, almost impassive. “Where was that on your threshold?”

“Uh.” She fought to find a word, any word. The right word would be nice, but any word would do at that particular moment. The sting on her ass was bright and shocking in her mind, but not actually painful. “Two?” she said.

He struck her again, same spot, harder this time, and she hissed out a number without thinking about it. Three more slaps on that one spot before he moved to the other side, five slaps there, and then he was rubbing her ass again, stroking the wounded and sore flesh. He’d lost his clothes at some point, she didn’t know when, but when his cock pressed against the opening of her swollen cunt, she groaned hard. He slid into her easily, wet and soft, and he buried himself so deep inside of her that she wondered how she still had room to breathe. His hips slapped against the soreness of her ass, and God did it feel good. It felt so good to have him all the way inside of her, full of her, splitting her wide open. His hands were solid and firm on her hips as he pulled her back, forcing her farther back on his cock. She could feel the orgasm building, building wide and strong, and she reached for it, pulling it close and letting it wash over her in slow moving waves. He followed her so fast, grunting over her, that it was hard to tell when her orgasm ended and his began.

When he was finished, he sagged into her, wrapping his arms around her belly and dragging her down to the bed with him. She snuggled back against him, letting him hold her, and sighed.

When Mindy woke up later, Jack was gone, and her stomach was growling. The room was dark; it took her a moment to realize that it was dark outside the double hung windows too. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and looked around until she found the bag with her clothes. She’d worry about putting things away later; right now, she just wanted to get some food and find out where Jack was. She wasn’t normally clingy, but at the same time, she didn’t know a damn thing about this place or these men. Jack said she’d be safe here, but was it a relative value of safe? Were there rules she had to follow that she didn’t know about? And, while she was obsessively worrying, what was going to come of all this? Jack had said she wouldn’t stay here forever, but what did he have in mind? It’s not like Providence was chock full of expensive hotels where he could put her up or something. Were they going to like get a little house with a picket fence? She was not at all sure she was ready for picket fences. Would he want a dog? Would they fight over the name of the dog?

She shook her head hard, trying to dislodge the spiraling anxiety. None of that mattered right now. She needed to focus more carefully. There would be plenty of time to worry about dog names when she knew what he wanted from her and what he wanted for her and the baby. Then she’d been able to weigh that against what she wanted for her and the baby. When all the pieces were in place.

She walked out of the room and down the little hallways. She hadn’t seen much of the place when they’d come in earlier, just the decor of the hallway and the main room. Despite it being quiet on the way out of Jack’s room, she still expected to get back to the bar and lounge room and see it full of rough and tumble guys who were one step away from beating each other over the head with beer bottles. What she eventually saw was very different.

The room was full and pretty smoky, but not to the level where she felt like she was walking into a sticky blue cloud. There were people playing poker, darts, pool. There were people bellied up to the bar. There were girls dressed in skimpy outfits, draping themselves over various bikers and clearly doing their best to turn people on, but there were also a variety of people dressed in leather, and they seemed to come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, including shapes that clearly had breasts. There was something really nice about that, she thought again. How much different would her life have been if she’d managed to break out of Gram’s strict but painfully clear ideas of what it meant to be a young woman trying to get out of the trailer park?

God, she couldn’t imagine getting pregnant out of wedlock back in the town she once pretended was home. Gram would have called a priest and an adoption agency, in that order. She would have shipped Mindy off to one of her many, many sisters, all just as old and crotchety and fundamentalist as she was, and Mindy would have… God, she didn’t even know. She didn’t want to think about that gray and dingy life.

Here, she felt like maybe she could be part of something. Who were you if you were the girlfriend or the… something more of the president’s wife? Did the president of a bike club have a First Lady?

She giggled at the idea of choosing china patterns for this room lit by a combination of light boxes and ceiling lamps. There was something comfortably seedy about the place, and she liked it. Perhaps dishes with pinup girls. There had to be something like that, right? There was something for everyone.

In looking around, she noticed Bodhi behind the bar, pouring a line of shots for those nearby. Since she didn’t know anyone else in the room by name, she decided to head in that direction.

When Bodhi noticed her, he gave her a nod, but it still seemed reserved. He passed out the shots and then moved over to her. “What can I get you?”

She took a moment to consider her stomach. She didn’t feel particularly nauseated, and she thought maybe she could actually eat and drink something. “Virgin Bloody Mary?”

His mouth spread into a little smile. “That I can do.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Did you think I was going to do something else?”

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, his teeth closing on his lower lip and his gaze carefully focused on his work, and then he shrugged. “Jack had words with a lot of us while you got rested.”

“Words?”

“You know. He wanted to be sure you were being careful. About a lot of things. I guess one of the girls did some Internet research for him—about stuff pregnant women are supposed to eat and not eat. He sent Ally out for these.” He put a gigantic pill container on the bar next to the drink in front of her. She picked it up and turned it over, recognizing the brand of prenatal vitamins her doctor had suggested. And she hadn’t been taking.

Something flared inside her belly, but she wasn’t entirely sure if it was frustration or appreciation for how attentive he was being. The line between protective and controlling was very fine, and she couldn’t be sure what side of it he was falling on without seeing him face to face. “I see.”

“You gotta understand,” Bodhi said, and Mindy raised her eyebrows. He took a moment and stepped back his tone. “This just isn’t how we normally do things, especially when the club is threatened. We keep things in the family. We stay close to home. We… take care of our needs here.”

Something about the way she said it made her look around the room, seeing all the girls who were hanging on leathered members. They looked happy, content—smiling. But was that really the case? As soon as she turned back, Bodhi was shaking his head.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “It’s not bad that he hooked up with you. It’s not bad that you’re…” He gestured at her form in a way that she supposed was meant to take in everything about her, from her pregnancy to her status as a normal. “But it’s different. And we’re all in a place where different is bad.”

“Because of this thing that happened with Grim, and what’s happening now with the Wardens?”

Bodhi’s eyebrows went up a bit. “He told you all of that?”

“Yeah. It’s a pretty intense situation, definitely. I get why people are being cautious.”

Bodhi seemed to relax, just a little. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

“Can I ask where Jack is?”

“He’s out patrolling with some of the guys.” She must have looked confused because he clarified after a moment. “We ride about a mile radius around the clubhouse every so often. We want to make sure that there’s no one in the area who shouldn’t be there. We don’t do it as often when things are calm, but—well, things ain’t calm.”

“And I’m not making them calmer?”

“You know the truth?” He picked up a glass and started to polish it, the sudden perfect image of a carefully considerate barkeep. “I don’t think you have anything to do with it. I think that we’d be just as nervous if Jack didn’t have someone to relax with, or if we knew there was a girl and she wasn’t here. There’s no good situation here. There’s a lot of people looking for someone to be nervous about. It looks like that’s you. It sucks; I’m sorry about that.”

Oddly, the perspective helped. If it wasn’t about her, then she could let it go, brush it off, and focus more heavily on getting settled in, making friends as much as she knew how, and just being part of the club. Apparently, this was going to be her life now. She’d lived rough long enough; maybe she could try living rough with a family. Honestly, there was something appealing about that.

Jack had said everyone did something to help.

“Tell you what,” she said. “I know just enough about tending bar to be dangerous. Want to show me enough to be good? Maybe, in turn, I can get some dinner?”

Bodhi’s careful, practiced smile suddenly blossomed into something much more real.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m sure we can do that.

Mindy almost didn’t notice Jack when he entered the room. She was focused on Bodhi who was showing her how to pour shots and the few mixed drinks that tended to get ordered. He told her it wouldn’t ever be enough to really tend bar outside of a place like this, where the most complex thing anyone ever asked for was a vodka tonic or a whiskey soda, but she could fill pretzel bowls and pass out long neck beers as well as anyone. In fact, all the years she’d worked as a waitress came into play; she could easily tell who was coming up to the bar for a drink or for conversation, who wanted to get their whiskey neat and walk away versus who was going to settle down for a little bit. She knew when someone was going to want another shot, and when they were ready to walk away but didn’t want to yet. It all came naturally to her. And she liked feeling useful. It was good to be useful.

She saw him between pours, standing by the front door, his hands on his hips and a slight upward curve to his mouth. God, that man had gorgeous lips. Yes, his cock was phenomenal, but it was his easy smile that kept drawing her in. She didn’t expect a guy who draped himself in that much ink to smile so easily. She gave him a little wave, and he walked over to her, sliding onto the bar stool. His hands were dusty, the grime caked into the creases of his knuckles; they must have been riding the dirt roads around the outskirts of town.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a dump like this,” he asked.

She laughed. “That’s really the best line you’ve got?”

“I wasn’t thinking about how to pick you up until I found you behind my bar.” He propped his jaw up on one hand and gave her a grin that made her body tingle. “How did you get behind my bar?”

“I like being useful. Bodhi showed me the ropes.”

He laughed then, throwing his head all the way back. “Bodhi,” he called. The other man looked up from the far end of the bar. “You making a move on my woman?”

Bodhi raised a beer in salute. “Only the best, boss.”

There was a round of laughter in the bar, and she wasn’t sure entirely why, but she felt positive that something had loosened up in the room. Maybe Jack was treating her like any other woman he might have brought into the fold of the club, or maybe it was something else. Having the man they relied on here with them. That sort of thing always made a place run more smoothly. A good boss made people feel more secure. And him calling her his woman. That felt better than she’d thought it might. Interesting.

“Something to drink?” she asked, instead of unloading her every thought onto his unprotected head.

“Vodka, neat,” he said, and she poured the shot just like Bodhi had shown her. Jack nodded at her before tossing it back and grinning.

“So, you like me being your woman?”

He went just a little still. “I like it pretty well. Is it all right with you?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. She would have leaned across the bar to kiss him if she were entirely sure she could get there without her belly getting in the way. Instead, she settled for giving him a long, deep smile that was meant to warm him from his head to his toes.

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“A bite here and there.”

He reached out a hand and led her down the line of the bar, lifting their hands over the various folk seated there as they went.

“Bodhi,” he called. “I’m taking my woman for a burger.” She laughed as he put a little more emphasis on ‘woman’ than was strictly needed. Or maybe it was the ‘my’ he was pushing. Either way, it made her feel pretty good.

He took her to a table in the center of the room, away from the bustle, and told her he’d be right back. Mindy sat still, feeling much more on display now than she had a few minutes before. She did her best to roll with the feeling, letting it be just a thing that was happening instead of a thing she needed to worry about. It worked okay, but she was sure it would work better if people, especially the girls, would stop looking at her all the time. The whole thing was just nerve-wracking.

After about ten minutes, Jack returned with a tray loaded with burgers in baskets, and about every burger topping she’d ever heard of or thought of laid out in front of her. Bacon slices, two kinds of cheese, ketchup, two kinds of mustard, lettuce leaves, tomato, half an avocado.

“What’s—Jack, what are you doing?”

“So, I said I’d go get us some burgers. Caitlyn’s cooking tonight, and she’s great on the grill. But I had no idea what you’d want on your burger. So, I just… kind of brought everything.” There was something about a big man covered in tattoos looking sheepish that just made her want to giggle. She assembled her burger—cheese, bacon, avocado—and took a big bite. In the first few months of her pregnancy, she had barely been able to eat meat at all, and then as soon as the all-day nausea faded, all she wanted was the rarest, juiciest burgers she could get her hands on, all day long. This one was gorgeous. She had to move fast to keep her chin from getting wet and dribbling onto her shirt.

“Oh my goodness.” She groaned.

Jack laughed as he assembled a more traditional heartland burger—lettuce, tomato, mustard, and ketchup. He had a double patty, she noticed. She’d have to ask about that next time. “I’m glad you like it.”

There was something about him, different than what she’d noticed before. She finished chewing, then set her burger down. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” he said, way too fast. He seemed to realize it too and sighed, took a bite, then chewed. After he swallowed, he said, “Everything’s quiet. It’s really quiet. I know that should be good, but after we’d stopped the Wardens from snatching you, we all assumed they’d come to the clubhouse. Try a frontal assault. And instead, they haven’t done anything. They’re not the type to generally do nothing.” Jack shook his head. “The thing is, the longer they wait, the less leverage they have. So, the only reason to wait is because they’re getting something big ready. And that means we need to prepare. But how can we prepare when we don’t know what we’re preparing for? So, we keep running more and more patrols, which gets everyone more and more riled up. And it all spins around.”

She reached out to touch his hand, and he shook it off. Her upset must have shown on her face because he gave her a quick, soft smile.

“Sorry,” he said, his tone lower. “The patches don’t need to see me being worried. That won’t ease minds.”

“What do they need to see, then?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know how much I can ask of you.”

“Well, you can start by asking. I’m a big girl, I’ll say no if I don’t feel comfortable with what you say.”

Another half-smile from the man across from her. Mindy had to smile.

“Okay,” he said. “It would be good for the people here to see you as more than just my woman. For them to believe that you’re here because you fit in, and, separately, because you’re with me. There are some who think you might be some kind of spy, others who believe you’ll steal me away from the club in their time of need. People are worried about what’s happening. If you could reassure them about some of that, it would help.”

Mindy nodded. “Tell me how to do that.”

He smiled, and it was the first real smile she’d seen from him since they sat down. “Hang out with the girls, and with the guys. Working the bar tonight was great, do more of that. Ask around and see what you can do to help. Talk to people. Just be yourself, Mindy. You’re—” He paused and laughed. “It’s funny, I guess, because I don’t know your favorite color or what kind of music you like or anything like that, but I feel completely confident that I know you. I know what kind of person you are, and I know what you can do.”

“And what can I do?”

“I think you can help me make this club a family again,” he replied, and something shone in his eyes; they were so bright and hopeful that it made her feel shimmering as well.

“I’ll do everything I can to help,” she said, knowing full well she’d do that and more.

“Alright,” he said.

They ate. Then he took her hand and led her back through the building to his room. She went with him, very willingly, and this time when she caught other women watching her, she gave them the friendliest smiles she could. She got some in return this time, too.

Mindy squeaked as Jack pressed her up against the wall.

“We keep fucking fast,” Jack said, running his hands lightly down her sides in a way that was almost ticklish, but not quite. “I want to fuck you slow. What do you think of that?”

“I think,” Mindy said, losing all sense of what words meant or what order they were supposed to go in as his hands skated over the tips of her breasts, “that I just want you to fuck me, and I’m worried less about the speed.”

Jack laughed, his mouth moving over her neck in light, slow kisses. “Then I don’t think you’ve ever been fucked slow. Not properly anyway. I think it’s time we changed that.”

She was so very hungry for him, and she did her best to express her displeasure with her hands, dipping them down low to cup his erection through his jeans, but he evaded her easily. She kissed him harder, more passionately, but while he met every movement of her mouth, he didn’t let her increase the pace of the kisses. She let out a sad little groan that he met with another soft laugh.

“Mindy,” he murmured against her jaw, leaving a slow line of kisses that traced up to her ear. “Mindy, I have more self-control than I think you realize. Unless you think you can actually overpower me—which I am fairly sure you can’t… unless you have Donnie Yee levels of skill—you can just enjoy this.”

But she wanted him, and she wanted him now. Was that so hard to understand? She bucked her hips against his, and he groaned in response, but nothing he was doing sped up at all. He pinned his hand under her jaw and used it to stretch her neck up, giving himself better access to the delicate underside of her jaw. He didn’t restrict her breathing at all, but even just the knowledge that he could, sent happy little flutters through her. She’d never thought of herself as being into the rougher side of BDSM, but the feelings he sent through her, the way her ass was still happily stingy from the light spanking he’d given her before, the way she wanted him to take her as rough as he could right now… She was starting to think that she had a very different set of preferences from the ones she’d always indulged. Not that this was the right time to figure that out—and then his hands were skating over her breasts again, and she was arching up into his hand, begging him to tease her nipples, making her pant, making her his.

“You’re so gorgeous, Mindy,” he whispered into her ear. “You look so alive. I hope it doesn’t sound creepy, God, I hope it doesn’t, but this?” He ran his hand over the swell of her stomach, and there was something about the gentle attention paid in his touch that made her press up against him. “This is gorgeous. You were beautiful the first night I met you, and you’re beautiful now. I love the way you move, the way your body looks, the way it feels to touch this and know that, mean to or not, we made this. We started this.”

It was kind of funny, in a way that wasn’t necessarily about humor. She’d never expected a big romantic speech from this man. It wasn’t that she’d thought him incapable, she just hadn’t thought it was a thing he was likely to do. It didn’t mesh with who he seemed to be.

Maybe it was time to expand who she thought he was.

She pushed against him again, but this time it was to get some space between the two of them. He seemed to recognize it for what it was, and gave way, letting her move. She took his hand and drew him towards the bed with her. “Mindy…”

“Trust me, Jack,” she said. She stretched out on her side, pillowing her head on her arm, and patted the space on the bed next to her. He moved slowly, cautiously, and then he laid down next to her. He leaned in to press his lips to hers again, but she stopped him, pressing her finger to his lips for just a moment. “We’ll get back to that.”

He gave her an odd look that was quickly turned into a smile. “All right. What do you have in mind?”

“Do you read?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Some, I guess.”

“What was the last book you read?”

Something she never expected to happen suddenly did. His wind-tanned cheeks reddened, and his eyes darted away from her. He mumbled something into his arm. She laughed and poked him, and he rolled his eyes. “Chernow’s Alexander Hamilton.”

“The one that the musical was based on?”

“Not just that book—Miranda did a ton more research—but yeah, that biography is what got him started. Anyway, it turns out that the guy was completely interesting, and so… yeah. I liked the musical a lot, so I decided to read more about the guy.” He stared at her, his expression smiling, but clearly ready to turn stormy if he didn’t like what he saw next. “Not what you expected a biker to be reading?”

She made her own smile as open and accepting as she could. “Jack Dawson, you keep surprising me, over and over. It’s almost getting to be ordinary.”

The smile turned into that grin that she liked so much. “Well, that’s fine then. Want to answer your own question?”

She laughed a little. “My answer is a little more stereotypical, I guess. I just finished the most recent Alisha Rai book, Hate To Love You.” He clearly didn’t recognize the name or the title. “It’s a steamy romance novel.” She waited for the judgment to enter his eyes, but it wasn’t there.

“Given how you’ve been talking about being completely insatiable since the pregnancy started,” he said, giving her a gentle poke in return, “it makes sense that you’d be reading those sorts of books. Do you enjoy them?”

She nodded. “There are so many where the heroines are these amazing women, in charge of their lives, not taking crap from anyone. They go out, and they get what they want, and they don’t feel like they need to apologize for it. That’s pretty cool, you know? There aren’t a ton of books or movies or anything out there where women get to be like that.”

“Speaking of movies,” he said, getting into the spirit of her ‘get to know you game,’ “what did you see most recently?”

“I actually haven’t been to the movies in years. I might watch a little TV here and there, but I just don’t enjoy video stuff the same way. You?”

“I’m not a movie guy either, but there’s a bunch of TV shows I love. One of the guys here got a Netflix account for the clubhouse on the big TV down in the basement, where the prospects and regular bar patrons aren’t allowed. I’ve been watching a bunch of stuff—The West Wing, Leverage, old Star Trek.”

“Cats or dogs? Dogs for me.”

“Also dogs. Big ones.”

“Good. Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Cookie dough.”

“Ooooh, cheating.”

They went back and forth for a while like that, talking about favorite foods, where they’d grown up, childhood best friends. After a little while, the conversation morphed from a series of back and forth questions to telling each other stories about crazy things that had happened.

Jack rolled onto his back to stretch, it made all the sense in the world to curl up on his shoulder, and then when he pulled out the tie that held her braid together and started running his fingers through her hair, everything changed. The mood heated up again at that moment, and she felt the warmth running through her, that deep, intense desire for more contact than she had right now.

She leaned up on her elbow again and then moved to kiss him. He met her this time with the passion she hadn’t felt before.

“I want to give you slow,” she said, “just like you want. But you have to let me lead. Will you?”

He grinned and pulled his shirt over his head, then bent his arms and tucked his hands under the back of his head. “What else do you want me to do?”

She considered. There was only so slow she was willing to go, really and honestly. “Strip for me, Jackdaw. Show me all your ink.”

He raised his eyebrow, grinning as he moved his hands to the button of his jeans. “You’ve seen all of it. I haven’t gotten anything new done since the last time you saw me a couple hours ago.”

“Of all the ways I ever saw you,” Mindy said as she pulled off her own shirt, bra, and leggings, “I’m not sure I ever saw you like this.

His cock was semi-hard, standing up from his groin, wet at the tip already. She’d had different plans before, but this would work.

She took him into her mouth in one smooth motion, letting his groan ripple through her even as she let him go as far down her throat as she could without gagging. He hissed at the sensation, and she felt the glorious sensation of his cock thickening in her mouth, stretching her lips just a little further. She let him slip back for a long moment, enjoying him panting at the sensation, then took him again, bobbing gently on his cock as he groaned. She thought he’d tangle his hands in her hair, but he kept them up, behind his head. Interesting. Very interesting. It didn’t feel like a sub thing, just him enjoying what she was doing for him. That was nice. Very, very nice.

She teased him for several strokes, wrapping her hand around the thick base of him as she suckled his head, listening to his sounds, enjoying the salty wetness of him on her tongue. When his breathing started to pick up the pace, she slowed, looking up at him. His gaze was intense, focused, and yet she wasn’t sure that she was entirely who he was seeing. That was exactly the look she wanted.

She’d felt so shy about her body for the past few weeks. Worried that the stretch marks starting on her belly would make her unappealing, or that the growing swell of her stomach would make her unattractive, but as she sat up, straddling his hips, there was none of that in Jack’s eyes. If anything, he seemed fascinated by her. His hands came out from behind his head to rest on her thighs, stroking them softly as she shifted, positioning his cock at her opening.

She was so wet that she was fairly sure she could have taken him in one long, smooth stroke, but he’d said he wanted to fuck slow. She could give him slow. She took just the head of him at first, teasing her way down his shaft, loving how he gripped her thighs so tight she thought she might bruise, but he let her set the pace she wanted. He trusted her. He believed that she would give him what he wanted. What they both wanted.

She backed off and sank down again, over and over, taking him a little deeper every time. As he got comfortable with her slow, easy rhythm, he started to rise up to meet her, pushing into her as she sank down onto him, until their hips were meeting with every thrust. She felt the urgency starting to build in her, centering around her clit and pressing inside, circling his cock where she opened to meet him. She had to fall forward to keep moving at the speed her body was demanding, and she balanced herself with her hands pressed on either side of Jack’s shoulders. His hands left her thighs, finally, and cupped her breasts again, teasing and twisting at her nipples, driving her pleasure to ever increasing peaks.

At this angle, her clit dragged over his shaft, making her shiver and shake and want him all the more. She could hear his breathing tightening, feel his cock swelling inside of her, and she knew he was very, very close.

“Mindy,” he murmured, even his voice tight. “Mindy, beautiful girl. Can you come with me? Can you?”

She felt her own release on the horizon, and she nodded, finding no words at all. His hands came down on her hips, and he was slamming into her, so hard and fast that she cried out, hard, and the orgasm she’d been feeling in the distance rushed over her, leaving her keening as she tried to keep from screaming. He yanked her down as he kept rolling his hips, capturing his mouth with hers. She could feel him as he tipped over the edge with her, his cock spasming inside of her as he came.

She collapsed onto his chest and then had to roll off him, cuddling into his side. The weight of her body on top of her belly felt like lying on top of a basketball; awful, uncomfortable, and nothing she wanted to do again.

“Goddamn,” he murmured into her hair. “I mean. We gotta work on getting to know each other and stuff, and I’m all in for that, but I gotta say, knowing we can connect like that is pretty spectacular too.”

“Can’t help but agree,” she murmured, leaning up to kiss him again.

“You want to sleep some more?”

She shook her head. “I think I’ll shower.”

“Mmm. I’ll join you.”

She swatted his belly lightly, and he laughed, curling up as if it actually hurt. “Animal.”

“No, believe me. I need at least…” He glanced at the clock across the room, then nodded. “Twenty minutes to recover. So, if we shower fast, you’ll be safe from my manly charm.”

“And if I don’t shower fast?”

He made a growling sound deep in his throat. “Then I might just decide that you need to be taught a lesson about who is in charge in this relationship.” He twisted her nipple between his fingers, and she couldn’t even pretend to be angry about it. He swatted her on the ass again, where he’d spanked her before, and she hissed. She pushed back from him and giggled as he chased her into the shower.

This was something she could adjust to.

The next morning, Mindy was just getting out of bed and putting her hair up when there was a knock on the door. Jack had been up for about twenty minutes already, and sat at the small desk in the room, going over some accounting figures someone had emailed to him overnight.

“Come in,” he said, without looking up from his computer. Mindy sat on the bed and crossed her legs, trying not to feel like an intruder in the room.

Bodhi came in. If he’d had a hat to clutch in his hands and twist, Mindy was very sure he would have done it.

“Hey, boss,” he said.

Jack frowned for just a second; Mindy only saw it because of the angle. When he spun the chair to face Bodhi, his face was calm and neutral. “Hey, Bodhi. What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Bodhi replied, twisting that imaginary hat. “Just… some of the patches and the ladies. A bunch of folks were talking. And they—well, we—got to thinking about the situation you—you two—have in front of you.”

Jack nodded. “Keep talking.”

Bodhi actually looked slightly relieved. “Anyway. What would you two think about… you know, formalizing things?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, which was good because it kept Bodhi’s attention on Jackdaw, and hopefully kept him from noticing that she was terrified and couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. Married? What the hell was the guy talking about? She’d adjusted to the idea of having a father for her baby, like, yesterday, and now they were talking about marriage? She used every ounce of self-control she had ever possessed in her life not to just scream at both of them for talking about this in the first place.

She waited for Jack to say that this conversation was ridiculous, so when she heard the words, “Tell me more about why people want this,” she thought she would actually explode.

“Excuse me,” she said before Bodhi could get another word out. Jack, she couldn’t fucking believe him, lifted a hand up to silence her. Even more shocking, she went quiet.

Bodhi shot her a nervous glance before he continued. “They—okay, we—think that part of the reason the Wardens made a grab for Mindy is that they don’t see you as having claimed her. You’re just, you know, shacking up together. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” It all came out in a rush. “But they see her as a prize they can steal away from you without provoking much response, but still hurting you plenty.”

“Whereas if she’s my wife, they know that it will bring hellfire and brimstone down on their heads.”

“Exactly,” Bodhi said, relief in his voice. Mindy did not feel any such relief. Instead, she felt the urge to tear both men apart with her bare hands. “And, frankly, boss? Some of us are worried that the Wardens will decide that the best way to get what they want is to bring the ceiling of this place right down on our heads. No one wants to see that, you know? We just want to see you, us, and her stay safe.”

Jack finally looked over at Mindy. His expression was still carefully neutral, but he nodded slowly.

“Start making preparations,” he said. “The lady and I need to have a conversation, I think.”

Bodhi’s expression shifted to nervousness again, but he nodded fast and hard and backed out of the room, not taking his eyes off either one of them just in case something got thrown at the wall and he needed to dodge.

Mindy managed to wait until the door closed, very softly, before she turned to Jack. “What are you even thinking?”

He wasn’t quite looking at her. “It makes a kind of sense, Mindy.”

“Nothing about any part of this situation makes any kind of sense, and I’m not marrying you.”

“Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about! We don’t know anything about each other, and this is the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m never getting married!”

“And you’re never having a baby, and you’re never staying in the same town for more than six months, and you’re never going to care about anyone. Am I right?”

Mindy went silent in shock.

He nodded. “I’ve been there, okay? I get it. I had some rough things happen when I was a kid, and I was convinced that the only way to get through it all was to start running and never stop. So, I ran, I ran hard and fast, and I didn’t stop. Until I ran into a brick wall, and I was lucky. When I fell, the Chain Gang was here to pick me up. To help me build a new kind of family.” Jack paused, running his hand through his hair, and then finally looking right into her face. “The fact that they’re suggesting this, instead of trying to throw you out, or tell me to take you to some hotel in the city, is a testament to them loving me and having a good feeling about you. I promise, Mindy. They want to bring you into the fold, and this is how they know how to do it.”

She sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face. “There’s probably not an option where we teach them a new way, is there?”

He shook his head slowly.

“So, it’s this, or you have to try and hide me somewhere, or I stay here and live in fear of that monster of a man grabbing me again, and know that I’m putting you and your people at risk.”

He winced. “It’s not exactly that stark, but… yeah. That is probably the cliff notes version.” He took a long breath, and then let it out in a rush. “Look, if it would help… we could make sure it’s a marriage in name only. That we don’t… you know, consummate it. And then, after, we could try and get it annulled. Or I’d give you a divorce and let you go on your way. Once things are settled with the Wardens, we can play this any way you want. I just want you to be happy. I want you and the baby to be safe. So, if you can tell me how to do that, I’ll make it happen.”

“A marriage in name—you mean, stay here with you, sleep in this bed with you, but not have sex with you?”

He nodded, and she had to laugh at the misery she could see on his face.

“Come on, Jack. This hour might be the longest stretch we’ve ever gone without falling straight into each other. Let’s get real; that won’t ever work. Right?”

He offered a rueful grin. “I felt like I needed to offer.”

She got up off the bed and went to where he was trying to look relaxed in his chair. “That’s very sweet of you.” She slid her legs on either side of him, straddling his lap, and letting him feel her weight. He let out a soft mmmm of desire as his hands cupped her ass, lifting her just a little so that her groin rubbed against his hardening cock. “I’ll say yes. But you need to ask me properly.”

“Do you want me down on one knee?”

“That would require me moving. I don’t want to move. I just want to hear you say it.”

He slid her against him faster, his eyes going dark as the lust increased between them. Neither one of them was going to orgasm like this, but goddamn it did feel good.

“Mindy,” he whispered, his gaze locked on hers. “Will you marry me, pretty girl?”

“Yes, Jack Dawson,” she said, watching the heat in his eyes increase. “Yes, I absolutely will.”

A curl of fear went through her as she spoke the words, but she pushed it away as hard as she could. It didn’t have to be forever, not if she didn’t want it to be. But right now, Jack said it was the best way to protect her and the baby. She trusted him. The decision was actually easy. As long as she trusted him.

And she did trust him. Didn’t she?

In theory, Mindy knew she should have had a birth certificate and other documentation in order to get the marriage license, but Bodhi simply said that he’d take care of it. Meanwhile, a woman named Liz decided that she would take Mindy shopping for something to wear that would be just right for the occasion, while others of the club said they’d get the main room set for the ceremony. All in all, Mindy was surprised at how excited everyone was. She’d assumed they would just sign the license at the town hall, once she managed to get a copy of her birth certificate. Instead, they were treating this like… well, like an actual wedding. She kept waiting for the burst of nerves, but they didn’t happen.

Liz piled her into a car, an older model sports car that roared when Liz hit the gas and still had a stick shift. Mindy didn’t know enough about cars to name the make and model of this one, but she knew power when she heard it.

“Where did you find this beauty?” Mindy asked, ready to make conversation.

Liz gave her a sideways grin. “Rebuilt it myself. You like?”

“I don’t know much about cars,” Mindy admitted.

Liz’s grin spread. “I didn’t either when I first started spending time here. Don’t worry. You’ll pick it up soon enough. We all do, at least the basics.” She was quiet for a while; the town of Providence didn’t have much to it, so Liz was heading north on the Interstate, heading towards the bigger town up that way. Mindy hadn’t ever noticed a bridal shop there, but maybe Liz had a different plan? Didn’t it take weeks to order a wedding dress, anyway? She shrugged off the concern. Liz seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Maybe she was like the club version of a wedding planner. She took care of all the wayward women who needed not-quite-shotgun weddings. That made Mindy smile, too.

After the silence had stretched a while—comfortably, there was something peaceful and relaxing about it, somehow—Liz spoke again. “So, you and Jackdaw. How’s that going?”

Mindy smiled. “So far so good. He seems to be a really good guy.”

Liz nodded. “He is. He really is. He saved us, you know? When Grim went bad, and some of the guys followed him down that path, things got dark for a while. Real dark. For the girls, especially. Grim wouldn’t patch women, you know, so it was just the girls who hung around who… took the brunt of some of the stuff that happened. We tried to protect the younger ones when we could, but there were so many of them, and they were…” She shook her head, shaking the old memory loose. Mindy was very familiar with that moment; it was interesting seeing it from the outside.

“I’m glad he did that,” Mindy said.

Liz managed a wan smile. “Us too. The point is, though, that he means something to us. We’re glad he’s happy, and we want to see him stay that way. I just… want to make sure you’re in this.”

Mindy nodded slowly. “To tell you the absolute truth? I’m scared out of my mind. There’s not a day I don’t wake up and wonder how the hell I got into this. Well, clearly, I know, but you know what I mean. But I’m committed. I’m going to do everything I can to make this work. To make him happy, make me happy, and protect my baby.”

“Good,” Liz said, as much to herself as to Mindy. “Good. I’m glad.”

They drove into town, but instead of looking for a bridal shop, Liz pulled the car into a parking space across from a store that sold a wide variety of different things—earrings, body jewelry, pins, and magnets. They did have a selection of clothes, Mindy saw once they walked inside—soft dresses and skirts with fluted bottoms and sparkling mirrors sewn over the fabric, with bright embroidery throughout the designs. All of the items were solid colors, and so pretty.

“Do you want to go traditional with white?” Liz asked, rifling through the rack.

“That seems a little hypocritical, don’t you think?” Mindy gestured at her belly bump.

Liz waved a hand dismissively. “No one follows that old rule anymore, or no one would get married in white ever. You can do what you want. Especially with us. What do you think?” She pulled out a white dress with narrow shoulder straps and soft purple-gray embroidery over the bodice and down the skirt.

“That’s really pretty.”

“Come here then.”

Mindy went and, when directed, lifted her arms up over her head. Liz pulled the dress down over Mindy’s head, pulling and tugging the dress in a bunch of directions. Finally, she nodded. “Yup, I can make this look good by this evening. Let’s go.”

Mindy’s heart started to pound. “This evening?”

“Yes. And then we’ll send a bunch of the guys out to the local bars to toast your nuptials, or whatever. They’ll spread the word around. Hopefully, that’ll be enough to take you off the Wardens’ radar permanently. It’s one thing to mess with some girl Jack was screwing, even one he knocked up, but touching his wife, he’d cut off a hand for that. And he wouldn’t feel bad about it at all.”

There was something chilling in the statement, but it felt good and protective and safe at the same time. Good and powerful. Mindy was a person who mattered. A person who would be protected. Cared for. That sounded… really pretty good.

“I like this plan,” she said, smoothing her hands over her hips before lifting the dress back over her head. “I like this plan a lot.”

When they got back to the clubhouse, Mindy was quietly shocked at the transformation. The tables had been pushed back, and the pool tables had been covered with tablecloths and laid out with food. There were flowers decorating the pillars around the room. The bar had been looped with tinsel. It didn’t look like a church, but it did look fancy. And to be entirely fair, Mindy had never really thought of herself as getting married in a church anyway. She’d never thought of getting married, period.

The butterflies started up in her belly again. How was she going to survive this? How was she going to say that she’d promise herself to Jack forever? He said it didn’t have to stick once the Wardens were dealt with, but what if he changed his mind? What if he tried to take the Bean once it was born, and get away from her? What if, what if, what if?

She wasn’t sure if Liz saw the panic spreading through her or was just in a hurry, but she hooked her hand under Mindy’s elbow and tugged her gently away from the decorated room. They went down a hall, a different one from where Jack’s room was located, and then through a door. Mindy had a feeling right away that this was Liz’s room. There was something soft about it, the edges just a little more blurred and less Spartan than the ones in Jack’s room, even though his had more stuff in it.

“Alright,” Liz said, maneuvering Mindy to where she wanted her. She handed Mindy the bag that had the pretty white dress in it. “Change,” she said.

It took Mindy a moment to understand, and when she realized that was what Liz meant, immediately, her heart started to thrum a little faster. But she kept her body moving, shucking off her clothes and slipping the white dress over her head. She’d worn a light-colored bra and panties today, which was good; the dress wasn’t sheer, but it wasn’t thick enough to hide a black thong either.

Right away, Liz went to work, pulling the skirt in various directions, doing weird things with hair ties and safety pins and other stuff that Mindy couldn’t see from where she stood. Every time she twisted around to try and look, Liz poked her shoulder and said, “Eyes front, soldier,” with a little laugh. Mindy resisted the urge to giggle, too. She wasn’t a schoolgirl, and even if she was getting married in a couple hours, that just wasn’t the point.

Eventually, Liz stopped fussing with the dress and started fussing with Mindy’s hair. She tried piling it all up on top of Mindy’s head and then shook it down. After a couple more tries, she settled for piling half of it up and letting the rest fall down. She attacked with pins and a curling iron, and then she brought out a basket full of makeup. She closed Mindy’s eyes and opened them, made her look in all kinds of directions, never with more than a quickly spoken, “Up. Left. Closed. Open again.”

But when she finished, and she placed Mindy in front of the full-length mirror, placed on the back of the door, with a long crack running down the left side, Mindy was astonished at what she saw. Instead of hiding her bump, Liz had carefully highlighted it, drawing the dress tight over her breasts but leaving it loose over the swell of her belly. Her hair looked artfully tousled instead of a big mess or a boring ponytail, and the makeup Liz had applied left her positively glowing.

“Oh wow,” Mindy said. It wasn’t like some kind of movie magic transformation; she still looked very much like herself, just a version of herself that had been neatly and carefully considered. Refined.

“I do good work,” Liz said, clearly proud of herself. “Come on. Jackdaw should be ready by now.”

“Why do you all call him that? Just because of his name?”

Liz smiled. “It was a pretty obvious nickname, because of that, but in symbolism terms? Jackdaws are like crows and ravens. They’re messengers, and they are bringers of death. But they also bring rebirth. And he brought the Chain Gang back to what it used to be. So. Jackdaw.”

“It suits him.”

“Doesn’t it? Come on, though.”

Mindy followed Liz out of the room and back down the hallway. She expected to hear the wedding march start playing somewhere, but that was a silly fantasy. This was her real life. And her palms weren’t sweating, or her hands shaking, or her heart pounding anymore. She just walked, proud and confident and ready to see what happened next.

Folks were milling around the room, dressed in all sorts of clothes. She saw the same leathers she’d seen before all this happened to short, sexy dresses to suits and ties and more formal wear. But as she looked around the room, there was only one face she wanted to see. Jack stood near the bar, talking to Bodhi. Bodhi saw her first, and a grin spread across his face. He elbowed Jack and pointed. Jack turned, his expression still distracted, but when his gaze locked on Mindy, everything else seemed to fall away. She saw his lips open and close—wow, he’d said—and then he was moving towards her, very fast, almost running. When he got to her, his hands went around her waist, and he lifted her up and swung her in a circle while she shrieked. When she was back on her feet, he pulled her into a deep, intense kiss. Only when Liz started making frustrated sounds about her lipstick did Jack pull away. He put his forehead against Mindy’s and smiled and said, “Mine. All mine.”

“Yours,” she said, suddenly sure she meant it.

He took her hand and led her to the man she could only presume was the justice of the peace. He was big, burly, with a beard that came halfway down his chest and a bald head. They said their vows—she learned that Jack’s middle name was Aaron—and they were married. It took a little more than ten minutes.

And then they were celebrated by the club. Bodhi made her a bunch of different virgin cocktails while the others in the clubhouse got well and truly hammered. Except for Jack. He nursed a beer for a long time, his eyes taking in her body over and over again.

When the assigned groups headed out into the night, to spread the word that Jack’s “woman” had become his wife, Jack finally stood, leading her back to the room by the hand. She almost wished that he was going to take her to some swanky hotel, but then, at the same time, she didn’t want to wait that long.

As soon as they were in the room, she reached for the back of the dress, meaning to step out of it as gracefully as she could, but he stilled her hands. His eyes were so big and dark, and she got lost in his gaze. Her hands went submissive in his as he slowly, gently, brought them behind her back.

“Leave it on,” he said.

“Okay.” There wasn’t anything else to say, was there? Just the feel of his gaze wandering over her body, taking her in, smiling as he explored her with his eyes. God, that was lovely. It felt so good to be watched, to be cared for by him.

He lifted her skirt, hooked his fingers around her panties, and tugged them slowly down. She expected him to stand again, kissing her or stroking her with his fingers, but instead, he nudged her knees apart as he knelt on the floor. She understood what he was about to do only a moment before he did it; his tongue parted her inner lips and found her clit. Her knees went weak, and she clutched at his hair, doing her best to hold herself up. He let out a low, throaty growl and licked her harder, closing his teeth around her clit as his fingers stroked her opening, teasing up into her softer than his cock ever had. She felt wild, hungry for him, and she ground down onto his face and his fingers, desperate for whatever he wanted to give her. The white skirt of her dress falling in folds around his face was nearly enough to do her in. She was all the best kinds of slutty, fucking him in her wedding dress, just like this.

He pulled back for just a moment, and there was something wild in his eyes, too.

“Be loud,” he said. “I don’t care who hears you. I want them to hear you. Let them hear you and know that you’re mine, that you belong to me. Let them.”

Then he was back against her, his tongue lashing against her body, lifting her up onto her tiptoes with the force of his face-fucking. Her hips were not entirely under her control, pushing down onto his face, desperate for more contact, for more pressure, more everything.

The orgasm rushed over her fast and hard, furling and unfurling in a moment. She couldn’t have bit back the cry if she’d wanted to, and she very much did not want to. Her back arched, driving her ever harder down onto him, her head slamming back against the door, her body embracing the pleasure in a way that rocked her world. She wasn’t sure it would ever be quite the same again. She could feel wetness gushing down her thighs, and felt him groaning hard against her, heard his hand rubbing slowly over denim. Stroking himself, just a little, through his jeans.

She went entirely limp, and he caught her, nestling her in his arms before he stood, tossing her lightly onto the bed. He fell on her roughly, barely managing to shed his own jeans and boxers, and he didn’t even try for the shirt. She was so wet and loose that he slid into her easily, pressing her open like she’d been sculpted just for him. She made a happy humming sound when their hips met; she would have tried for something more expressive, but she was so loose limbed that she wasn’t sure she could manage a more distinct vocalization. His head hung down for a moment, his body trembling against her, and then he started to thrust.

There was nothing soft about it this time, but it also wasn’t the deliberately rough sex they’d had. This was something deeper, more primal. This was him marking her, claiming her, deciding that she was his and making sure that no one would ever forget. That sense – that belief that she was his – was nearly enough to pull a second orgasm from her on the spot. As it was, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him just that little bit closer to her.

He slammed into her then, wrecking her, driving into her hard and fast and deliberate, searching for whatever it was he needed, buried at the end of her cunt.

“Not yet,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Not done yet.” But he didn’t slow down, didn’t pause, just shuddered against her, his teeth tight on his own lower lip as he plundered her body and made it his.

When he came, he came like she had, all at once and never-ending. He pulsed into her, his gaze vague and unseeing, his body shaking like he was about to fall to pieces before he collapsed over her, panting. His fingers slid between her lower lips, clearly concerned that she wasn’t done, and she gently batted him away. She wrapped her arms around him as he softened inside of her, and loved him just as thoroughly as he had just loved her.

Mindy woke to Jack yanking away from her. She’d shucked off her pretty white dress at some point, and was lying in bed naked. She sat up blearily as he snatched a pair of jeans off the floor and jumped to yank them up his hips; she thought distractedly that he wasn’t wearing boxers or briefs of any kind. He turned back to the bed, saw her sitting up, and pointed at her bureau. He shouted something she couldn’t quite make out. It took her a moment that it was hard to make out his words because everyone else was screaming.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face to catch her attention, and she blinked hard, sucked back into reality.

“Get dressed!” he shouted. “Right now. Get to the main room. Do what you’re told! Hear me?”

He raced out of the room before she had a chance to answer. She pushed herself into motion, bleary and dizzy though she was. There was a stab of pain in her stomach as she pushed herself up onto her feet, but she made herself ignore it. Jack wouldn’t have yelled at her like that if it wasn’t important. She grabbed a pair of loose pants that weren’t hard to get into, even with the growing lump in her middle, then found a loose shirt she could shrug into without it being completely obvious she wasn’t wearing any kind of bra. She didn’t bother with shoes or socks, just hurried out to the main room.

The other women and many of the younger patches were gathered there, clustered together around the center of the room. Men were posted at each window, staring out into the darkness. She tried to step closer to one of the men, wanting to ask what was going on; she was waved away, fierce and distracted. Someone caught her arm, tugging her back towards the group of women. She looked and found Liz holding her arm.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Fire,” Liz said. “We’re staying here for now because it’s a long ways away from the clubhouse, but we need to be awake and ready to move if the wind shifts.”

“Shouldn’t we go now?” Mindy felt panic rising through her. She’d grown up within spitting distance of wildfires, and she knew how fast a building could be consumed.

“No,” Liz said. “If the wind shifts a different way, we could get trapped or caught. For right now, as strange as it sounds, we’re safest here.”

“Was it an accidental fire?” Her stomach ached more, a sharp pain that was becoming harder and harder to ignore. She swayed on her feet for a moment, and Liz’s eyes seemed to narrow in concern. It was hard to focus on her face through the pain. She saw Liz turn her head, and her mouth moved, but Mindy couldn’t make out the words that had been said. “Liz. What’s happening? Did someone set the fire?”

Hands were on Mindy’s shoulders, pushing her down into a chair. She didn’t have the strength to resist. Someone pressed a glass into her hand, and she drank it almost automatically. She tried to, anyway. She tipped the glass too far away from her mouth, and much of the liquid poured down her front. She managed to get a mouthful. That seemed better than nothing, even though she felt distant embarrassment over how she’d made a mess of herself.

Liz was incredibly short all of a sudden. No, she wasn’t short, she was kneeling, kneeling down beside the chair. Why was Mindy in a chair again? Oh, right, because there was a pain in her abdomen that was taking up the entire world.

“Did someone set the fire?” she asked again. Liz’s mouth was a thin, tight line, in a way that communicated plenty, even if she hadn’t said the words. “Is it because of me?”

At that, Liz finally shook her head. “No, baby,” she said, and suddenly her accent was a lot more southern than Mindy had noticed before. “No, this ain’t because of you. This is no one’s fault, but whoever did it, you hear me?”

“Okay,” Mindy said. There was something else important to say. What was it? “Liz,” she added, finding the words. “I’m hurting. Something hurts real bad.” God, she hadn’t said ‘real bad’ since she was living in a trailer park. It was the first expression she’d forced herself to unlearn.

Liz’s face looked concerned. She turned again and shouted something. It sounded like she was asking where Jack was; the response came back distorted like Mindy was hearing it under water. He was out fighting the fire. Someone would tell him Mindy needed him. That was good, but the pain wasn’t relenting. Nothing was relenting. Nothing was getting better. She curled her arms around her belly, letting herself bend over, trying to take off the pressure that was increasing. And then something was wrong, really wrong, because her thighs were wet, really wet, and that wasn’t right at all.

She heard someone say, “Oh shit,” and someone else say “Call 911,” and someone else said, “Get Jack right now.” Mindy thought that was nice, that someone was going to get Jack, because she was sure that this was all very bad, but she didn’t feel right at all, didn’t feel anything right, and she wasn’t sure how to say those words right now. Everything was clenched and screaming painful, and when Jack knelt in front of her, his face streaked in ash, she finally let the pain out in burbling, choking sobs. She felt screams clawing at the inside of her throat, but she didn’t want to let those out. There had been too many screams already. She knew, without a doubt, that screaming would doom the Bean in a way that enduring this would not.

“Help’s coming,” she heard Jack saying, or saw him saying, or something. “Hold on for me, baby. Just hold on tight, okay?” His hands were in hers, and she squeezed them so tight she thought she could hear his joints creaking, but he didn’t fuss at all. “You’re going to be okay. The baby’s going to be okay. You just hold on to me, and I’ll get you through this. I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

He couldn’t make that promise, and she knew that, but it was still a nice thing for him to say. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn’t blame him if things weren’t okay because it wouldn’t be his fault. It was impossible to protect anyone but yourself, she knew that, and she couldn’t even protect her baby when it was inside her own body. So, he shouldn’t beat himself up for whatever happened because she didn’t know a lot of things, but she knew the way that she was feeling right now couldn’t possibly be a good thing.

Time started to get a little skippy. Like a movie with a badly cut montage scene. But when she was lying down, somehow, strapped to something hard, she felt a little better. Not much, but a little. That was nice. Yes. Better was nice. Jack was still there, still holding her hand as she was jostled and bumped through a parking lot—why was she in a parking lot?—and then lifted into a little box. Oh. She was in an ambulance. That was what was happening. That made more sense. Someone had called an ambulance because she was in pain, and her thighs were wet, and that was a really bad thing for a pregnant woman. She knew that much. She didn’t know much, but she knew that.

There was a woman, two women, on either side of her. They were saying things, too fast for her to catch them, so she just focused on Jack’s face. They were firing questions at him, and he was answering as fast as he could. No, she hadn’t had any complications. No, she wasn’t diabetic. No, she didn’t have any allergies. No, she’d only had a couple of prenatal visits so far. Yes, he did know the name of her OBGYN. There was a sharp pain in her arm for a moment, and then everything got very cold. She started to shiver, and someone put a big, warm thing over her, and that was nice. It didn’t make the cold stop, but it was nice all the same.

Then she felt something change in the air. It was hard to explain. She was woozy, and the pain hadn’t gone away at all, and it was rising again, and she could feel it trying to swamp her, pull her down into a darkness that she wasn’t sure she could escape from. She tried to resist, but the pain was big, monstrously big, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to tread water long enough to keep from falling down into it.

But she saw Jack’s eyes go cold and dark, his mouth solidifying into a thin, tight line.

“Lauren Teller,” she heard him say, his voice an echo of pain and anger. “Fancy meeting you here.”

She didn’t know what was said next because the darkness swallowed her up whole, taking her away from where it hurt.

The darkness receded slowly, ebbing and flowing around her like ocean currents. She became aware of things one at a time. There was a beeping. She could hear it, and it rose and fell in her awareness. Sometimes she could push it away entirely; other times, it was so loud she wondered why it didn’t break her head open. God, her head hurt, that was the next thing she noticed. And when she noticed the pain in her head, she noticed her body, and that was a terrible decision. Her body was terrible, aching and sore everywhere. She wished she’d never paid attention to the damn thing, now or ever.

But something had happened; something she needed to remember. She pushed herself towards the knowledge, even though it hurt, even though she didn’t want to remember. She had been in pain, and terrified that she was losing… a baby?

The soft waves of remembrance crashed over her, and everything came back at once. She opened her eyes, her hands flying to her stomach. The pain at moving was unbearable, but she had to feel. She had to touch her belly, the swelling of her belly, and try to promise herself that everything would be okay.

She was in a room. A hospital room, maybe, except it wasn’t quite right. It was strange, awkward, not right at all. The walls should have been some harmless, pastel shade of boring, and there should have been noise in the hallways. There should have been more everywhere, more everything. She shouldn’t have been so alone. Why didn’t she have a roommate? She didn’t have health insurance, neither did Jack, so how the hell had she gotten a private room? And why did this feel so little like a hospital room?

The door swung open, and it was another thing that was off; the door handle was a regular door handle, instead of those hip bump handles all the hospitals had transitioned too— easier for people who were pushing gurneys or carting equipment or whatever. A woman walked in, wearing scrubs and holding a binder that looked like a medical chart, but there was something off about her, too. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a way that looked too messy for a hospital worker. Maybe she was a nurse, instead of a doctor?

The woman walked briskly to Mindy’s bedside and stuck out a hand.

“Hi,” the woman said. “I’m Joanna. I don’t want to keep you in suspense. The baby’s okay. For now. You had a placental tear, which caused the bleeding. It seems to have resolved for the moment, but the rest of your pregnancy might be a bit more interesting than you had planned.” She pushed a smile, but it seemed forced. Her hands were shaking on the binder. Mindy felt a thread of concern in her belly. Something had happened in the ambulance. Jack had been there, and he had said something. A name. What had he said? She couldn’t remember.

“I don’t want you to worry, though,” Joanna said. “We’re going to get you to people who can take good care of you, alright?”

“Where am I?” Mindy’s voice was raspy, croaking from lack of use. She cleared her throat a couple times, and Joanna poured her a glass of water. “Are you my doctor? My nurse?”

The woman turned her gaze away from Mindy; she couldn’t help but notice that the woman’s cheeks had gone absolutely ashen.

“It’s a long story,” she said.

“Yeah,” said a man’s voice from the doorway. Mindy’s heart raced happily even before she turned her gaze that way and saw Jack. “So maybe you should start explaining what the fuck is happening here.”

Mindy reached out a hand to him, but he didn’t come to her right away. His gaze was tightly focused on the woman. Mindy tried to understand what was happening, but her head still felt foggy and confused. She didn’t think she’d ever seen this woman before, but it was hard to be sure. There was something in the ambulance, something her brain kept reaching for and then pushing away. What had happened? She couldn’t tell for sure.

“Mr. Dawson,” the woman started to say, but Jack cut his hand through the air in a clear gesture telling her to shut up; much to Mindy’s amusement, the woman complied without a complaint. Her cheeks were flushed, but her knuckles were pale and tight where she gripped the chart.

“I’ve been waiting in this burned-out shell of an excuse of a hospital, waiting for some doctor who is supposed to come along and tell me what the hell is happening. I’ve been waiting for hours. I go out for coffee, and that’s when you decide to step in and talk to my—to Mindy without me? Are you insane?”

“Jack,” Mindy said, the tension in the room making her more nervous than felt good or right. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding—”

“Did she tell you who she is?” His voice was so dark and cold, but he finally moved toward her. He only did it to put himself between the two women, as far as Mindy could tell, but at least he was closer to her now. That helped her heart rate slow down to a terrified thrum as opposed to a high-pitched whine.

“She said she’s Joanna, and that’s she’s been taking care of me.”

Jack laughed, mirthless. “Well, one of those things is true.”

“Please, Mr. Dawson, anything else aside, I swore an oath—”

He cut her off again, though, this time, she didn’t silence as easily. “This is Joanna Fitz, wife of Lauren Teller. Remember, I was telling you about her? Daughter of Grim Teller, the man I’ve been wrongly accused—” His voice slammed down on the two words like he was hammering them in “—of murdering in cold blood? Now let me think, why would I ever consider the possibility that someone attached to Lauren who is caring for my woman and my child might possibly have an axe to grind with me?”

“Because you’re not an idiot,” said another voice by the door. Mindy glanced over and saw a blonde woman, her hair scraped back into a bun, wearing a standard, dark blue paramedic jumpsuit. “Hi, Mindy. I’m glad you pulled through. You gave us a bit of a scare in the ambulance.”

“Stay the hell away from her.” Jack snarled, and he was clearly trying to keep both women in his sights at the same time. The woman in the doorway—Lauren Teller, most likely—rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, Jackdaw. If I wanted to kill her, I could’ve done it quickly enough when I was inserting the IV. Don’t be an idiot. This is all a stupid coincidence, but hell if I’m going to take my vendetta out on an innocent baby. It’s you that I’ve been trying to talk to for months.”

Jack scoffed. “Talk to? You wanted to kill me. You made that perfectly clear.”

All three voices raised, all of a sudden, and Mindy took a deep breath before shouting “Hey! All of you! Cut the shit.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on her. Well. She should have expected that.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Mindy said, her voice incredibly cautious and careful. The room was quiet, but with the kind of tension that could break into an even more violent loudness if she didn’t say everything just right. “But my goal here is to make sure my baby is safe. All of your stupid motorcycle club war bullshit is going to fucking wait, do you hear me?”

She surveyed each of the three faces now looking at her. Joanna had a small grin on her face as if she was proud of her patient, while Lauren’s eyebrows were raised, surprised, maybe? But Jack; Jack was the most gratifying. He looked embarrassed, and just a handful of seconds away from scuffing his shoe along the floor while he apologized.

“Now,” Mindy said, straightening the sheets that were stretched over her legs and her belly. “Joanna was telling me something about the baby. Jack, since you’re here, and you have a vested interest, she should keep going now.” Lauren made to step away, and Mindy pointed her finger right at the other woman. “If you try to leave, he’s just going to fret and twitch over it—thinking about how you’re off plotting to kill him somewhere. Do me a favor and just stay, alright? You two can continue your fight in a minute.” Everyone was quiet for a moment, and after enjoying the fact that everyone was listening to her, Mindy waved a hand at Joanna to continue.

“The thing about placental tears,” Joanna said as if she’d never been interrupted, “is that they’re really unpredictable. You could carry to term and never have another problem. It could tear further, and both your baby and you could be at serious risk. And quite frankly—” She shot this at Lauren, interestingly enough, not at Jack. “We’re not equipped to handle this here. We’re a small, regional hospital. You need to be in the city, where if things escalate, you can have an emergency C-section.”

“Absolutely not,” Jack said. “I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

“Even if it kills her?” Joanna snapped back at him. “What do you think, that if she starts to bleed out, you’re going to drive her back here on your goddamn motorcycle? I hope you’re looking forward to losing your wife as well as your baby.”

Jack’s face went ashen under his wind-tanned complexion, and Joanna looked like she was going to bite her tongue to keep any more words from coming out.

“You shouldn’t have been brought here,” Joanna said after a few moments. This time she very carefully did not look at Lauren. “The paramedics ruled out the most obvious causes of vaginal bleeding at twenty weeks’ gestational age in the field; they should’ve taken you straight to Grace Hospital. They never ever should’ve brought you to Providence Medical. And they should’ve known that.” Another snap in her tone, and this time it was Lauren who looked just a little bit embarrassed. “Now that you’re here, the most responsible thing I can do medically is to transfer you, now that you’re stable. You should stay on bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. No sex, no lifting, no anything. Rest, relaxation, and honestly, a few prayers might not hurt either.”

“The bleeding stopped?” Mindy asked, trying hard not to burst into tears. For all the times she’d been tired of being alive, she’d never actually wished to be dead. “My belly doesn’t hurt anymore. Before, it hurt so much I couldn’t take a breath.”

“It’s stopped for now,” Joanna said, carefully. “Frankly, I’ve never seen someone who showed so many signs of a stage two abruption spontaneously stop. I know it happens, but it’s certainly not a thing that we commonly see. I didn’t think—” She stopped, but Mindy could hear the words in the quiet. Joanna thought that she was going to lose her patient and her patient’s baby.

“It was already slowing in the field,” Lauren said, her own voice quiet and careful. “That made polyps or something else the most likely cause. Jo, I promise I wouldn’t have brought her here if I’d known. I swear I wasn’t trying to get you involved in this.”

“Well you did,” Joanna replied, but there was less malice in the retort than Mindy expected to hear. God knew she would have been nastier to Jack if he’d done something like that to her. Not that she was any kind of a doctor; the worst thing he probably could have done to her was brought a dozen bikers into the diner during a dinner rush or something. But that wasn’t the point. Focus, Mindy.

Lauren glanced at Jack. “I heard about the marriage. Felicitations.” Her voice rolled through the Spanish like a native. It was musical and soft; that was lovely.

“Shut up,” Jack replied. That was less lovely.

Lauren sighed. She stepped into the room, closed the door behind her, then crossed to sit down in a chair. Jack glowered at her, but he didn’t try and stop her.

“Look,” she said. “I’ve had one question to ask you for four months. I’m going to ask it now. Okay?”

“What?”

“If you didn’t kill my father, who did?”

Jack made a sound, low in his throat, that Mindy thought of as his most intense frustration. “If I knew that, Lauren, I would’ve already served the son of a bitch’s head to you on a silver platter. I would’ve bought the goddamn platter, too. I keep telling everyone; I don’t goddamn well know.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because he was with me,” Mindy said, her voice cutting through the room again, making everyone look at her. She ran her hand over her belly. “Making this.” It was the corniest thing she’d ever said in her life, but she was hoping that the direct appeal to her status as a mother-in-training would make the women in the room sympathetic.

It worked on Joanna, but Lauren rolled her eyes. “Of course she’d say that.”

“Why?” Mindy snapped again. Jack started to say something else, but for once he went silent when she glared at him. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know anything about me, okay? I got hauled into all of this club shit against my will. I didn’t mean to be some kind of crazy pawn in this stupid war, but then your man Wester grabbed me and tried to—to I don’t even know what, but he scared the shit out of me, you understand? And—”

“Hold on,” Lauren said. “What’s this about Wester?”

Mindy glanced at Jack, who nodded at her to continue. “He was working with Cook, from the diner? To, I don’t know, deliver me to them. They were at some roadhouse, and Cook drove me out there. He said he was going to take me out of town, get me away from all of this mess, but he took me there instead. He got out of the car to talk to Wester about something, and Wester shot him in the stomach. I don’t know if he’s alive or not.” Sorrow she hadn’t felt for Cook in days rose in her, and she fought to control her voice and keep from crying. “Wester said he was going to—do things to me. To hurt me. Take my baby, once it was born. Jack saved me.”

Lauren looked like she’d swallowed something that tasted absolutely awful.

“Jack,” she started, then shook her head.

“Your father was a good man,” Jack said, his tone quieter and calmer than it had been since Mindy had woken up. “He and I didn’t see eye to eye on much, but he was a good man. He wanted a different kind of club than I did, and was willing to go an awful lot further than I ever would to see it happen, but he wasn’t evil.” He took a deep breath. “Wester’s evil. He’s dishonoring your father’s memory. I didn’t kill Grim, Lauren, I swear it to you.”

“We grew up together, Jack,” Lauren said. “I don’t know how you could’ve looked into Dad’s eyes and pulled a trigger. In the back of the head, maybe, maybe you could’ve done that, but right in his face? I don’t know how you could’ve done that.”

Jack shook his head. “I couldn’t have done that, Lauren. There’s no way. Grim took me in when no one else would have me. I’ll never forget how he saved my life, no matter what came after. I want the man who killed Grim just as much as you do, I swear it. I’ve been trying every damn thing I can think of to figure out who did this, but every lead comes up dry.”

Lauren leaned forward, creating a steeple with her fingers and resting her chin on her hands.

“I’ve tried to keep the club under control,” she said, almost talking to herself. “Tried to keep it going in Dad’s image. But the Wardens don’t patch women, you know that, and so the idea of being led by one?” It was her turn to let out a cold laugh. “They don’t quite spit and grab my ass when I walk by, but I’ve… There have been hints that they’re not paying much attention to what I say. I’ve been trying to figure out who’s the ringleader of the opposition.” She glanced up, meeting Jack’s gaze again. “Sounds like your money would be on Wester?”

Jack was quiet a while, considering.

“He crossed me plenty of times when we were all one club,” Jack said. “He was the first one to go behind Grim’s back if he didn’t agree with things. There were some that thought Wester was the one actually running a lot of the dark shit that was happening, and Grim just wasn’t willing to cross one of his lieutenants publicly. I was always partial to that theory, even if I couldn’t prove it. Yeah, if I had to put money on someone undermining you, he’s the first one I’d be looking at.”

Lauren shook her head.

“Alright,” she said, after a bit. “Alright. You head on back to the clubhouse. I need to do some cleaning, it sounds like.”

Joanna started to protest, but Lauren glared at her. “Tell me this isn’t appropriate medical treatment when the bleeding has stopped. Monitor and treat only if necessary, right? Prolong gestation as long as baby and mother are healthy.”

Joanna looked like she was swallowing glass as she spoke. “Technically, but someone has to monitor vitals. If either one of them shows even the slightest hint of distress, they have to get to an ER, a real ER, immediately.”

Lauren glanced at Jack, who was focused on a very, very small square of the floor.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll bring the equipment by myself, tonight. I won’t get out of the van; I don’t want to cause trouble for you with your men.”

“And women,” Jack said, after a moment. Lauren’s head snapped around. “Chain Gang patches anyone who wants in and meets criteria. Men, women, folks who identify as neither or a little of both. Whatever. We’re a family. You love all your family, doesn’t matter what they wear, or what they have between their legs.”

“I didn’t know that,” Lauren said. Her voice sounded a little husky.

“Do you need my help?” Jack asked. “I’d do what I could. For Grim. For how he saved me.”

“I’m not sure,” Lauren said. “I’ll… keep you posted, alright? I’ll let you know how things go. Maybe we can pool our resources or something, keep from redoing each other’s work.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Jack said. He stuck out his hand, and after a moment, Lauren shook it. “You need to realize, though, that I can’t call off the Gang. Not while the Wardens are still actively coming at us.”

“I know,” Lauren said. “But I’ll talk to some people. I’ll make sure that those I trust stay clear.” She leaned over and touched Mindy’s hand. “And I swear to you, I wouldn’t have done a thing to endanger your baby or you. Woman to woman, alright? I wouldn’t do that.”

“Thank you,” Mindy said. Lauren squeezed her hand and left the room.

“Well,” Joanna said, still with that awful expression on her face. “Isn’t this just dandy?”

Bed rest was fun for about a couple of days. Lounging in bed, getting to read what she wanted or watch whatever she wanted without fighting someone for a remote, or just napping whenever she got tired; all of that was pretty cool.

But around day three, it started getting pretty boring. Mindy had watched all the movies she’d missed out on because of pulling double shifts at the diner. She’d read two books, napped more times than she could count, and was really horny. Her hormones did not know that she was on full pelvic rest, as Joanna had called it, and that she was not allowed to play, have sex, have an orgasm, or anything at all until the baby was born. Her hormones knew that she’d been having some of the best sex of her life for a week straight, and then she’d been cut off cold turkey. And even if she’d wanted to cheat on the rules, there was no way Jack was going to let her.

Joanna had taught Jack how to take Mindy’s vitals and check on the baby’s heartbeat. Joanna drove by every other day to check on Mindy as well and take some measurements that were more complex and harder to check without a medical background.

The weeks passed with no further pain or bleeding, or any other signs of trouble. Joanna began to look more optimistic when she came by, instead of looking like she was about to walk into a funeral. So that was pleasant.

Still, Joanna refused to allow her up out of bed for more than fifteen minutes at a time, and Jack was there to make sure that Mindy followed every single rule that Joanna laid down. When he needed to go out on club business, he had someone else from the club keeping an eye on her. Mindy had gained something of a reputation as a cold bitch who was not to be messed with, somehow, but people were terrified of Jack, just as much as they loved him. It was painfully clear that absolutely no one was going to cross him and let her have an extra long shower. Rat bastards.

Lauren didn’t come to the clubhouse, but Jack talked to her on an almost daily basis. They were cross-referencing the scant information each of them had been able to gather on Grim’s murder, and they were looking to find some commonality that they’d each missed separately, but when put together with the other person’s piece, would help them construct a whole that made sense.

The Chain Gang was attacked, more than once. Patched folk would be out on the roads and come across a bunch of spikes laid down, taking out their tires. They’d go to a bar and get into fistfights with men they knew were Wardens, even though they weren’t wearing their leathers. Over and over, they were picked at, prodded, and often humiliated. Jack told the Gang, over and over, not to get involved, not to engage, that he was working on it—but people were listening less and less. There was tension rising in the clubhouse. Mindy did her best to shut it out, trying to stay focused on herself and the baby, but as soon as she’d started thinking of the Gang as her family, it was impossible to shake that image. They were her friends, her family, the people she believed in. The people who believed in her. They were protecting her and the baby. They were doing their best.

“Here’s the problem,” Jack said, one morning when she was napped out and he hadn’t slept. He was lying on his back, next to her, with her head pillowed on her shoulder. It had been about three months since the agonizing day that had sent her to the ER. Her belly was so big now that she couldn’t really curl in on his shoulder anymore, but it was much better than nothing. “When I took you back from the Wardens, at least a couple of guys got shot. In all these skirmishes, we’re not the only ones getting wounded. But there’s been no real attempt at retribution. No real push to even the score. That’s just not right. That’s now how things are done. And people are getting antsy. It’s a great way to put people off, you know? To just make sure that they never quite settle; never quite get a chance to understand what’s coming next. In the movies, it always makes them complacent, but in real life, it just makes them more afraid, edgier. I’ve got to figure out how to get people to let off some steam, or when the attack does come, it’ll tear us apart.”

Mindy thought about asking what happened if an attack never came, but based on the sound of Jack’s voice, she was pretty sure it would be a mistake. He wasn’t in a place to hear about maybe it would all work out eventually. And that was fair. She wasn’t sure she would be if she were in his shoes either. “You don’t think Lauren can hold them together? The Wardens, I mean?”

He shook his head slowly; she heard his hair rasping against the pillow. “If it were another club, maybe. As it is? No, I’m afraid she can’t. I’d like to believe in her—and I swear to God this isn’t going to be a thing about her being a woman—but she’s never really been in the life. Grim tried to groom her, but even when he was the leader of the Gang, she wasn’t ever really part of the life. Like she knows how to ride a bike, of course, and she can do her own repairs. I know she and Joanna go out riding sometimes, but it’s not in her the way it is with some of us. She’s happy doing her work, and she doesn’t need the road under her wheels. She’ll live her whole life in this town, and that’s all right with her.

“And you?” Mindy asked. “Will you live your whole life in this town?”

His answer mattered a hell of a lot more to her now than it would have seven months ago. She’d already given up so much; was she giving it all up for a man who would get itchy feet two years down the road? Sooner?

He was quiet for a long time; she appreciated that he was thinking carefully before he answered her. “This is the longest I’ve ever been in any place, and I like that. You’re the first person I’ve ever been able to imagine having by my side, way into the future, and I like that too. I can’t promise I’ll never want to go walkabout ever again, but I’m pretty damn sure that if that were the case, I’d want you there with me, in whatever way you wanted to be there. Is that enough?”

She snuggled in just a little tighter. “That’s pretty damn perfect.”

Jack and Mindy were quiet for a while, and she found herself turning the conversation in her mind over and over; what had been discussed at the hospital. “So, you think it was Wester, who killed Grim.”

He nodded. “It makes sense, but it’s nothing more than a theory. The brothers following him, from what Lauren’s told me about them, they’re going to need proof, hard proof, before they’re willing to do anything. Honestly, if he doesn’t own it himself, I don’t know that anything will be enough. Not a single goddamn thing.”

There was something in the tone of his voice that made Mindy go very still.

“And what happens then?” she asked. He was quiet some more. “Jack? What happens if you can’t find enough to convince them to stop following Wester?”

He sighed, his free hand coming up to scrub at his face. “Then the war goes on, for a long time. For forever, I don’t know. Until everyone’s dead or both clubs are wiped out, or until one of us gives up and leaves town—goes to set up somewhere else. I don’t know. But I’m… Mindy, I won’t leave this town while there’s a single patched member of the Chain Gang fighting. They’re my family. I won’t leave them behind.”

Her stomach turned at his words, but she made herself nod into his shoulder. As much as she disliked what he was saying, the words made plenty of sense. More sense than she entirely liked. “I understand. Just be as careful as you can be, okay?”

Jack nodded. “I promise. I’m not looking to get killed. I want to be with you and see this baby grow up, and make a better life for my patched family and my new family. But I just gotta be honest. You understand?”

“That I do.”

He ran his hand over her stomach, grinning when he felt the sharp kick of the baby’s foot. They’d talked for a little while about finding out the baby’s sex but had decided that they didn’t want to know yet. Let something be a surprise.

“Did you ever think this would be your life?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

“Nope,” he replied. It was something of a script they’d developed over the past few weeks, and it felt so safe and good. “You?”

“Never.” She snuggled in a little closer, and his arms tightened around her. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

“I feel just the same.”

They snuggled for a bit longer, and her hip started to ache. Nothing surprising there; her hips always ached these days, stretching to accommodate the baby. When she slung her leg over Jack’s, she heard the low groan and felt him harden against her inner thigh.

“Oh my,” she said and pressed her leg down. He hissed in response, gripping her knee to give himself a little more pressure as he pressed up against her. “You seem very uncomfortable right now.”

He grumbled for a moment without actually saying anything. It had been hard to miss how he’d been taking a lot of solo showers, and more than once she’d come back from the bathroom to see him guiltily clicking away from something on his computer. She’d suggested that she could help him out in other ways than actual intercourse, but he’d kept waving his hands at her. “Don’t worry about it,” he kept saying. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine. He was so hard that he had to be hurting, and she’d seen how distracted and frustrated he’d been. Clearly, it wasn’t all from a lack of orgasms, but it couldn’t possibly be helping. She dragged her thigh over his erection again, more deliberately this time.

He let out another groan, but he shook his head.

“We can’t,” he said, his voice tight. Oh God, he was so hungry for it; for fucking her as hard as they both liked. It made her body tense and tease, and she had to remind herself of all the reasons she couldn’t do what she most wanted to. But hey, she’d been trying to explain to him for weeks now that there were more options than just intercourse. No time like the present to show him exactly what she meant.

“I can’t,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. Let me help you.”

He didn’t immediately protest, so she sat up, working his belt buckle and tugging his zipper down. She got him stripped, and his cock sprang free, thick and massive and so goddamn pretty. She absolutely loved staring at him, but this was going to be even better.

She started with her hand, stroking him slowly from root to tip. She loved the feel of him in her hand, rock hard and coated with velvet. He made happy little sounds as she stroked, slow and firm, then faster with a looser grip. He hissed at the movement of her hand, whenever she brushed the underside of his head or stroked over his slit. God, he was leaking within a few strokes; he was eager and interested, wasn’t he? He groaned as she tightened her grip and looked for the right, regular rhythm to make him heave under her hand.

He pushed his eyes open and looked directly at her. “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay with this?” There was something almost frantic in his gaze, as if he was using every ounce of his self-control to stay with her, stay engaged at that moment, in the possibility that she might lose interest or decide she needed to stop.

So, she smiled as she stroked him harder.

“I’m so sure,” she said, and then she leaned over, taking him into her mouth in one long, hard thrust. He cried out, his hands coming to her hair as his hips arched up to meet her mouth.

“Fuuck,” he whispered, drawing out the vowel until his voice nearly broke. His hands were loose in her hair, but it felt like he was deliberately keeping them soft, like what he wanted was to grip her tight and use her mouth until she broke. It was gorgeous and sexy, and at the same time, she wanted him to fuck her just like that. If he couldn’t put her up against the headboard and screw her until her cunt ached with it, then she wanted him to use her mouth just like that. Hard and fast and unforgiving.

She reached up and caught his hand, squeezing until he tightened his grip. He looked at her one more time, then groaned as he gave in to what they both wanted. He held her in place, and he thrust up into her mouth, hard enough to touch the back of her throat and make her swallow. Every time she thought it’d be too much, he pulled back just enough before he slammed into her again. She braced her hands on the bed, on either side of his hips, and gave him what he wanted, fucking her mouth like he couldn’t get enough. She felt him tightening as his release neared, and in the moments before he came he pulled back, yanking her closer as he jacked hard with his hand. When he spurted, he splashed all over her throat and the tops of her breasts, groaning at the sight of it. She loved the look in his eyes, the wanton abandon, the eagerness. The way his soft, white cum looked splashed all over her tanned skin.

He sagged back onto the bed, a thin sheen of sweat visible over his entire body, and groaned. She reached for a T-shirt that had been flung off the bed at some point and cleaned up her chest, smiling to herself that he’d stained the top edge of her tank top. She would carry that reminder for a while, and that felt good.

He tugged her back into his arms and kissed her forehead. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice weary.

“I know,” she said. “But I wanted to.”

“That’s good.” He was fading fast, his arms going loose around her. “That’s nice.”

“I love you, Jack.” She wasn’t entirely sure where the words came from, but she was glad they came out.

His eyes flashed open, but for just a moment. He snuggled her tighter into him as they drifted closed again. His hand traced the swell of her belly as he smiled. “I love you back.”

Time passed. The Wardens kept their distance from the clubhouse, but everywhere else they caught the Chain Gang, they were relentless. More and more of the patched were coming back to the clubhouse with knife and gunshot wounds. Minor, so far, nothing that the club medics couldn’t handle, but it was only a matter of time until someone died. And then there would be a full-on war. There’d be cops involved because everything would get turned upside down, and be completely brutal and terrifying. And Mindy was terrified that she, Jack, and her child would be caught in the crossfire.

So, when Bodhi suggested openly inviting Lauren to the clubhouse, the next time Joanna came to check in on Mindy, Jack didn’t seem to chew it over for long before he nodded his agreement. Worry curled through Mindy’s belly; he’d been so deeply opposed to the rank and file Gang knowing about the tentative peace that he and Lauren had forged; he had to feel desperate to agree to the idea. But she was just his bride, she thought; it wasn’t her place to comment or critique. At least, not about this. She didn’t know much of anything about the club, after all; she’d just barely started getting to know people when she ended up confined to her bed for absolute months.

“Yeah,” Jack said, and glanced at Mindy as he spoke. “Yeah, I think it’s time. Maybe past time. This has to get out into the open.”

Bodhi looked like he’d just bitten into something that tasted like horse manure, but he nodded. “I’ll spread the word and make the arrangements. Make sure she doesn’t bring anyone she doesn’t implicitly trust.”

Jack started to snap, then visibly bit his tongue and dialed back his temper. “I know, Bodhi. I promise we’re going to do this square.”

Bodhi’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Alright, boss,” he said. He stepped away from the room that Jack had converted into something of an office, nodding at Mindy as he went. She was allowed to sit up now, for half an hour at a time, as long as she didn’t have any pain, and her blood pressure didn’t start to climb. She’d made it eight months, after all; Joanna kept saying that this was great. At this point, if the baby came early, it wouldn’t be great, but the odds of survival were really good. And even thinking that made Mindy’s hands shake, so she pushed the thought away as often as she could. Of course, the baby would survive. Of course, it would.

She’d stopped calling it Bean after the past few weeks. It was so big now, actively kicking and twisting in her middle; it was so clearly not the size of a bean that it was just ludicrous to keep using the nickname. But without knowing the baby’s gender, or having had even a real conversation with Jack about a name, she didn’t know what to call it now, other than just ‘the baby.’ Which felt weirdly impersonal for someone with whom she was quite literally sharing a body.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mindy asked.

Jack shook his head. “Well, that’s not true,” he said. “Pray for us. Sound like a plan?”

She forced herself to swallow hard and share a shaky smile. “Will do, boss.”

Jack laughed, reaching over and pushing her down on the bed with incredible gentleness. “Don’t you start.” He stretched out next to her, burying his face in her breasts and making her sigh.

“So how does this work? Do you have to, like, go to the Wardens’ clubhouse and give her an escort here? Does she just turn up at an appointed time?”

He put one hand behind his head. “In a minute, when my heart stops racing, I’ll go call her. We’ll set up a time. She’ll ride here with her lieutenants and whoever else she trusts. To be formal, I’ll tell her how many people she can bring with her, and we’ll meet her at the edge of our territory, then ride the rest of the way in with her. And we’ll all sit down and see what we can hash out.”

Mindy sat up again, curling her legs under herself, mostly wanting to avoid the urge to start kissing Jack’s throat and ride him until they were both screaming. “And how is that different from what you guys have been doing the past month?”

He nodded, seeming pleased with her questions. “We’ve been talking privately; meeting under the radar. Here, no one knows but you and Bodhi. I’m not sure who she trusts enough to have shared information, but this will be an open meeting under a truce flag. If we’re right, and Wester is the one causing trouble and bringing all this fire down on our heads, then he’ll do one of two things. He’ll be forced to follow the truce, whether he likes it or not, and he’ll stop causing so much shit.”

Jack was silent for a while, which prompted Mindy to ask, “And what’s the other option?”

He shook his head. “The other option is that he and his followers will crash the meeting, try and kill us all and take over the entire territory.”

While Mindy wasn’t exactly surprised, the stark coldness with which Jack said this surprised and horrified her. It was like he didn’t really care what happened or what came next for him. She was fairly sure that wasn’t the case, he didn’t seem to have a death wish, but at the same time… how well did she really know him?

“This isn’t what I want,” he clarified. “I wish Lauren had been able to sort this out on her end. But she’s just not—this isn’t who she is cut out to be, and it’s not even who she wants to be. How could I possibly ask her to fight a war that she doesn’t want any part of?”

“You’re a good man, Jack Dawson,” Mindy heard herself say. “But I wish to God you weren’t right now.”

He reeled her in, pulling her down to kiss him.

“I know,” he said. “I kind of wish it, too.” He kissed her once more, then stood to go make the call that had, Mindy figured, a better than average chance of leaving her child fatherless.

Lauren agreed to come to the clubhouse three days after the call. It was the same time Joanna was supposed to come and check Mindy’s vitals and check for any further bleeding or leakage of amniotic fluid. Joanna came separately, arriving at the clubhouse about an hour before Lauren was scheduled to be there with her Wardens. Jack left the bedroom office to go and prepare for the meeting, and to give Mindy some privacy for the exam.

“How are you holding up under all this stress?” Joanna asked.

Mindy made herself shrug; she’d spent most of her life putting up a good front, why would now be any different? “I’ll be glad when it’s all over.”

“I ask because your blood pressure is elevated, and your heart rate is ridiculous, even though you’re lying down.” Joanna sighed. “I’d be so much happier if you’d just let me take you to the hospital. Even just mine, whatever it takes. I’m not comfortable with you being here while all this happens. The stress could do some horrible things to you and the baby. And then Jack wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

“Except he would worry,” Mindy replied. “He would worry that Wester and his cohort would come to the hospital and find me. And that no one would be there to protect me. And to calm himself down from that, he’d send some of the patched with me to play guard dog. And then there’d be fewer people here to protect the club if Wester attacks. So, no. I’m staying here. Maybe it’s not the safest thing for me, but it’s the safest thing for them, and I care about them.”

Joanna shook her head, but she didn’t look displeased or disgusted. She looked like she understood, at least a little bit.

“I don’t like this bike stuff,” she said, after a little while. “I don’t know what Lauren sees in it. I don’t think she even knows, most of the time, but I’m glad it makes you happy. I’m glad you’ve found a family here. Family matters more than anything, I think. And you need to make a family, wherever you are, if you want to stay sane while you raise this little one.”

“Thanks for watching out for me.”

“Thanks for letting me.”

Mindy had gotten to be good friends with the other woman after their weekly check-ins. It was refreshing. Calming even. Jack was fantastic, but he knew even less about babies than she did; having an expert on speed dial was worth more than maybe Joanna thought.

Joanna was still there when the Gang rode out to meet Lauren at the edge of their territory; she was still there when the rumble of bikes in the distance told Mindy that they were returning. Joanna had gotten increasingly more nervous as time passed; by the time the bikes pulled up and rumbled to a stop, she was twisting her hands into knots.

“You could go, you know. If this is too much for you. I’ll be okay.” Mindy smiled at the other woman, trying to put a pleasant expression on her face.

“I can’t leave any more than you can,” Joanna said, and Mindy nodded. How could she argue with that? She swung her legs over the side of the bed and took a moment to let her head stabilize before she tried to stand.

“Whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going,” Joanna snapped, with her doctor voice—or, technically, nurse practitioner voice, but who was counting—on full display. “You lay that butt back down, lady.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Mindy said. “I need to go out there and be with him. It’s important. I’ll stay sitting, I promise; I don’t want to be on my feet any longer than I have to either. But he needs me there to look strong. If I’m not there, they’ll wonder why. I need to be.”

“Goddamnit,” Joanna said. “If you weren’t pregnant, I’d sedate you.”

“But I am pregnant, so you can’t.” Mindy stuck her tongue out at Joanna, who laughed.

“Now I’m definitely staying,” she said. “Have to keep an eye on my patient.”

Mindy stood, steadying herself on her feet. She felt good, better than she had in weeks, but barely walking for days at a time would do a number on anybody’s sense of how to walk.

Bodhi had said he’d take care of everything, and as she made her way down the hallway in her maternity shirt and elastic waist jeans, feeling more like an uncomfortable sea mammal than she’d ever thought she would, she was so grateful he’d gotten everything set up. All she had to do was sink into the comfortable chair he’d pulled out, put her feet up on the ottoman, and relax. He’d put a table nearby with snacks and water. Ostensibly it was for everyone in the area, and there were more chairs placed around, but it was still a considerate thing to do. She’d heard that some of the other girls were joking about how they should get knocked up too, get some of that relaxing treatment. There was a point in time where Mindy thought she might have made that joke as well.

Now, with swollen ankles and clogged sinuses and the boredom of bed rest, she would give anything in the world to be done with this whole process. As long as the baby was safe.

Jack strode through the front door of the clubhouse, and at least one knot in Mindy’s back eased. He’d gotten back safely; that was the first step. The next would be getting through this meeting; the last would be seeing the hostility actually dial back. Those were her three key wishes. She was sure they would come through because, without them, she didn’t know how to make things okay.

The rest of the Gang honor guard came in the door, followed by the Wardens who had come with Lauren, and then finally Lauren herself. The woman wore a very different expression than she had in the hospital when Mindy had seen her. There, she’d been half smiling, almost sardonic. Now she was tight and cold, an expression on her face that Mindy couldn’t help but read as fear. No wonder the Wardens weren’t following her; if she’d picked up one thing from Jack in the past few weeks, it was that you can’t ever let them see you shake. Fear was for other people, or maybe for later, in your room, alone, in the arms of your wife. Never, ever, where the club could see you. This was Lauren’s opportunity to make a show of strength, in a relatively safe environment. She was completely terrified.

She glanced at Joanna and saw that the other woman had the same read. Joanna looked like she wanted nothing more than to go to her lover and wrap her up in a hug. That would have made Lauren look even weaker, however, and so Joanna held back. Mindy wanted to take her hand and squeeze it, say she understood, but it wouldn’t have helped anyone, and it probably would have made Joanna feel worse, so she held back too.

As soon as Lauren walked into the clubhouse and Mindy saw her face, she felt sure that it was just a matter of time until the Wardens, led by Wester, attacked. But even then, she didn’t anticipate that it would happen so fast. Jack had pulled the conference tables out into the main room so that the peace talks could be open to anyone who had chosen to come along. He’d barely even gotten to the table before there was a huge booming sound outside of the clubhouse. Some of the men yelped, some of the women screamed, but everyone reacted in fear. Absolutely everyone. Jack recovered quickly, however, and bolted for the door. Mindy tried to rise to her feet and was stopped by Joanna’s firm hand on her shoulder. Bodhi followed Jack, and Lauren hesitated for a long moment before going after them.

That was when Joanna’s grip released, as she went to follow her lover; Mindy went after Joanna, barely slowing down at all. She felt a sharp twinge in her belly, but that had been more common since she’d been getting bigger; standing up could be painful. Round ligament pain, Joanna had said. Mindy put it out of her mind and kept moving.

She wasn’t sure what she thought she’d be running into. Guns? Fire? Someone’s hand around her throat? It didn’t matter. Maybe it made her a bad mother, but she had no hesitation; Jack was outside, and she absolutely had to be with him, no matter the cost. She couldn’t even think of turning and running away. It made no sense; there’d never before been a situation where she’d been willing to put her life on the line in this way. She’d always understood that she was fighting for herself, just herself. But she also believed, with her whole heart, that walking away from Jack would kill her just as dead as any bullet. So, she rushed out there, skidding to a stop as soon as she could, and would be able to see what was happening.

Some of the Wardens had come out of the door after Lauren and arrayed themselves around her. There was a cluster of Chain Gang patched around Jack as well. And facing them was the man Mindy remembered so clearly from the diner, and from the most frightening night of her life. Wester. He had his arms crossed over his big chest, and a gun was clearly visible in a waistband holster. Was it the gun that had shot Cook? Jack had done his best to dig up information for her, but he hadn’t been able to track anything down. He hadn’t said so, but they were both terrified that the man had been dragged out into the desert and left for the animals. It would make sense, after all, as much as she hated to say it. If he hadn’t died on the spot, why leave a witness?

Cook had tried to sell her out to save his own skin, but she didn’t want to think of him as dead. She just wanted to be safe. She wanted all of them to be safe. For one, long moment, she wished that Jack had never pulled her free from Wester that night in the diner. She could have put up with his mauling, it wouldn’t have been the first time it happened, and it definitely wasn’t the last. Jack grabbing her hand and her running out into the night with him, it hadn’t helped anything; it just made things worse. She should have stayed away from him, known from the way that the other waitresses talked that Jackdaw, Mr. Big, was nothing but trouble. She should have kept herself safe like she had all the years before.

But then she pushed away all of those thoughts. What was done was done, and she had thrown her lot in with Jack. There was no escaping it now. She took a stance just as strong as those around her. The only one who looked tired and already beaten was Lauren.

“Nice to see you, Wester,” Jack said, his tone making it very clear that seeing the other man was anything other than nice. “I’m surprised you chose to come out here with your goons, armed to the teeth, given that your president is here to talk peace between our groups.”

Wester spat on the ground, the moisture aimed to land just shy of Lauren’s too-shiny boots.

“She ain’t our president,” he said. “You killed our president, and another one ain’t been chosen.”

Mindy could almost feel Jack waiting for Lauren to answer, but she didn’t seem to have the words she needed. Or any words at all. Her feet were planted, and her arms were crossed, but somehow there wasn’t any real commitment to the pose. She was just… present. As if that was all she could manage.

“Wester, you keep insisting that I killed Grim, but you don’t have any evidence. No more than I have that you killed him. For all we know, the old bastard tripped and shot himself in the head. After all, no one seems to have been there to see it happen. And the Gang here is tired of having Warden blood on our hands.” Jack cracked a mirthless smile. “After all, blood and brains are awful hard to get out of leather. As you know.”

Lauren filled with fire at all of that; perhaps Jack had known that she would. She braced up a little bit, and Jack glanced at her, seeming almost surprised that she had finally found some motion. “Wester, I know you don’t respect me. I don’t care. I’m the elected president here, and if you’re not going to fall in line, then we’ll run you out of town.”

Mindy managed not to groan; most of the assembled patched members looked like they were about to start giggling into their hands. In the first place, Lauren sounded like a bad western. In the second, she was maybe 150 pounds soaking wet; she wasn’t running anybody anywhere unless she had some amazing hand to hand fighting skills. Maybe she’d been a field medic in the military or something. But other than that… no, there was no way. And if there was anything Mindy had learned about big, vicious men, it was that you never made a threat you couldn’t back up with every ounce of your body. If you gave them an inch, they’d take a mile, as the old saying went. And Lauren had just handed Wester a country mile.

He threw back his head and laughed. Jack tried to hide his wince but didn’t quite manage it.

“Wow,” Wester said, his voice like gravel scraped over rock. “For absolutely no time there was I scared of you.” He took a menacing step towards Lauren; to her credit, the woman didn’t give ground, but there was also absolutely no way that she was going to win any kind of confrontation.

She knew it was going to happen in the moments before it did. She knew it would, and she used everything in her heart and soul to try and make it stop. It didn’t stop, though, and she wasn’t actually surprised. Jack stepped between them, protecting Lauren with his body, just like he’d protected Mindy once. Just like he kept protecting those who were weaker than him. It seemed to be just who he was and how he knew to be. She loved it about him, except for right now. Right now, she hated it all the way through herself. But she managed not to scream his name, or fling herself at him, or do any of the things that would make him look even weaker in front of Wester. Protecting one woman was more than enough.

She swayed on her feet, her belly aching. She didn’t remember the last time she’d stood for even this long. Joanna grabbed her arm and helped support her weight. Mindy found herself wishing for a chair, anything to sit down on. Someone brought something, and she let herself collapse, all thoughts of showing weakness gone. There was a pain in her belly, a dull ache that wasn’t fading like it should. She forced her face to be calm and steady. She would be alright. She had to be alright. Whatever was about to happen, Jack needed her to be there, watching, silent, supporting him. If she disappeared, he would be distracted, and if he were distracted, a man like Wester wouldn’t even pause before he killed. She could see it in his eyes, in the way that he shook his head, looking down at Jack.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you?” Wester asked. “Can’t stop yourself from stepping in where you don’t belong.”

“You think you’re good enough to be their leader?” Jack bristled, but his voice was low and soft. Mindy had to strain to hear him. “You think you’ve got what it takes? Fight me. You think they’ll follow you if you fight a woman and win? Man, come on. You fight me, that’s a real victory. You hear me?”

Wester looked down at the six-foot plus frame of the man the Chain Gang called Jackdaw and rumbled a laugh. “Come on, shithead. Let’s dance.” He threw a punch before he said another word, or gave any kind of notice. Jack’s first move seemed awkward and ungainly until Mindy realized what was happening. He was pushing himself out of the way of Wester’s punch, but more importantly, he was pushing Lauren back with him, getting her out of the way. Then, the fight began.

Wester was big, throwing solid punches that Mindy thought could probably kill a man, rocking his head inside his brain so hard that he’d die of the internal bleeding, or breaking his nose up into his brain and killing him that way. She wasn’t sure she’d ever thought of Jack as particularly nimble; he was tall and broad, but compared to Wester, he looked like a boy playing with sticks in the backyard. He dodged and dove, ducking punches and landing his own blows against Wester’s solid form, but none of them seemed to make much of a difference. Without the ability to make much of an impact on the bigger man, it was only a matter of time.

Jack didn’t dodge fast enough, and Wester caught him in the face. Jack jerked, hard, and then fell to the ground, blood gushing from his nose and split lip. Mindy heard herself scream, and wasn’t sure how much of the noise was because of Jack’s bleeding face, and how much was from the rising tide of bright red pain from her own belly. Something was wrong, something was seriously wrong, but she couldn’t tell someone or ask for help any more than she could have sprouted wings and burst into flight.

Wester laughed, standing over Jack’s groaning body like every bad movie villain ever. He lifted his huge, steel-toed boot, ready to drop it onto Jack’s head—and then he twitched hard, once, twice, and a third time. Maroon flowers bloomed on his gray shirt, underneath his leather vest. His hands clutched at the flowers, his mouth twisting in an O of pain as he toppled, down to his knees and then backward. Mindy could see him heaving in one breath after another as the blood drained from him, turning the sandy dirt beneath him into a toxic kind of mud.

Lauren lowered the gun in her hands, still smoking, and took a few steps forward. The Wardens who had come with Wester stepped back, their eyes wide as they looked at their leader. Apparently, she had bigger stones than any one of them, Mindy thought, because every single one of them gave up instead of even trying to meet her eyes.

“Now hear this,” Lauren said, and Mindy heard the firm voice she remembered from the hospital, from the overheard conversations with Jack. Something had changed inside that woman, and in a way that made Mindy find a little bit of hope. “The Wardens and the Chain Gang are at peace. Councils will meet to divide up the territory within Providence and come to an understanding about boundaries and other details. But there will be no more fighting.” She cocked the gun again, and then aimed down, putting a bullet into Wester’s head without a pause. Just the way Grim had been killed, Mindy thought to herself. Only he’d still been on his knees. “We’re done with this, with spilling each other’s blood. It ends here. Are there any questions?”

There was silence all around. Jack was working hard to pick himself up, and the tide of blood from his nose seemed to be slowing.

Lauren spun in a slow circle. “If you don’t think you can handle cleaning up this club and running things the right way, you can be out of Providence by dawn. Or you can kneel down in the dust here, and we’ll settle this like men. I don’t much care which option any of you choose, but this is done. My father was wrong about a lot of things, and from here on in, we’re doing things differently.”

No one ran. No one knelt to get a bullet to the brain. And Lauren looked entirely different. She looked strong, confident, powerful. She looked at Mindy and Joanna and flashed them a little grin. Jack looked at them and smiled, lighter than Mindy had ever seen him.

And then she felt that same, terrifying gush down her thighs. She looked down and thought, My God that is an awful lot of red, and then things went very dark.

If her entire middle hadn’t hurt so goddamn much, Mindy would have curled into the tightest ball she could manage and sobbed her heart out. But the IV pain meds she’d been given during the emergency C-section were wearing off, and her entire abdomen burned every time she tried to adjust herself in bed or move at all. They’d given her some pain medication to take, but it hadn’t kicked in yet, and she felt like she was going to die. Everything was terrible.

Her baby was small and fragile, and even though he was doing “well, for a preemie,” that qualifier made her sick. She was absolutely sure she’d done something wrong; if she’d been better, done things better, gone to more appointments, she was sure she would have made it through all this.

She didn’t remember the ambulance ride or much of the admission. She knew vaguely that Lauren had called ahead, explained what was happening, and there had been an operating theater open as soon as they arrived. Mindy remembered the mask going over her face, and then there had been nothing until she woke up. She hadn’t been allowed to hold her baby yet. Jack wasn’t there. She was alone and terrified, and she wanted to go to the NICU to see him, but no one was there to take her, and she couldn’t turn over in bed, much less hike her butt over to wherever the hell the NICU was. So, there was nothing to do but try to keep as still as possible while she cried.

She didn’t know how long it was before the door to her room opened. She looked up hopefully, but while she was happy to see a familiar face, Jack’s was not the face she’d anticipated seeing. Lauren stood in the doorway, a quiet look of sorrow on her face.

Mindy braced herself emotionally and then asked the most terrifying question she could imagine. “Are you here to tell me my son died?”

Lauren’s eyes flew open. “What? God no. Fuck, no, absolutely not. Honey, I’m so sorry.” She hurried across the room and took Mindy’s hand in hers. “As far as I know, the baby’s fine. They didn’t want to tell me anything, but I lied and said I was your sister, so keep that up if anyone asks, okay? Everyone’s real surprised that I have a sister they’d never heard of, but they’re going to let it go as long as you don’t argue.”

“Where’s Jack,” Mindy asked, pushing past the other questions. They didn’t matter right now; she needed to know the most important thing.

“He’s on his way,” Lauren said. “Showing up at the hospital covered in blood and with a clearly broken nose is not a good way to present yourself for your wife’s birth. I ordered him to get cleaned up and said I’d be here with you. After what he did for me back there—it’s the least I can do.”

“You killed your father,” Mindy said. She was blurry from the pain meds and blurry from the pain and blurry from the sorrow. Someone had told her about how much she’d bled in the ambulance on the way here, and how she’d continued to bleed while they performed the C-section. They had to give her blood during the surgery, and there was talk of more later, she’d heard. She wouldn’t have dared to ask Lauren that question any other time, but especially not now, not after she’d shot a man like she had. Granted that she did it to save Jack’s life because Wester would have killed him in the next few seconds, but still.

Lauren went very quiet. “Can I trust you, Mindy?”

Mindy nodded, keeping just as quiet as Lauren was.

“He was a bad man. A very, very bad man. I thought it was the drugs and the guns, but it was more than that. He was hurting kids. Selling women. And that… that wasn’t something I could stomach. I went to him and told him it had to stop. He said that I was a—a stupid cunt, that I’d never understand anything. He said if I didn’t keep my mouth shut, he’d kill me, or sell me, or just—” Lauren shook her head. “Yeah. Yeah, I did it.”

“Then why…?”

“Why spend all that time letting everyone think it was Jack? Play the game of the weak little woman who can’t manage anything on her own?” Lauren shrugged, her eyes just a little bit colder than they’d been before. “Because my father wasn’t always a bad man, and when he was a good one, he built something beautiful. And I wanted a chance to rebuild it. But to do that, I had to flush out the ones who had supported him wholeheartedly. I couldn’t go through the gang and ask each one of them; they would’ve lied and told me whatever they thought I wanted to hear. I had to know.”

“Did you have to put Jack’s life in danger to do it?” There was a bitterness flaring in Mindy’s voice, and she did her best to choke it back; she wasn’t sure it worked as well as she’d hoped.

“Honestly? Yes. I’m sorry for that, but it was what had to be done. If you think he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing, you’re kidding yourself. The club always comes first. Joanna knows that. If you want to be happy as his wife, you’ll know that too.”

The coldness had spread from Lauren’s eyes to her face. Mindy wanted to argue with her and insist that Jack was different; Jack wouldn’t have put them at risk—but was that really, entirely true? Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t. With the clubs at peace, hopefully, she would never need to see that theory tested. The point was that he hadn’t failed her yet, and it was important to her to believe that he wouldn’t in the future. If that faith was misplaced? Well, she’d have to worry about it then. But she’d had enough of guessing when people were going to betray her. Living like she was going to be abandoned at any moment hadn’t gotten her anywhere good. So, she had to go somewhere. Do something.

Lauren was quiet for a moment, then said, in a much more subdued voice, “I found out about your friend Cook.”

Mindy braced for the news that she was sure was going to be terrible.

“They did leave him for dead out in the desert, but he was found by some hikers who radioed for help. They got him to one of the big hospitals in the city, and he was in really rough shape for a long time, but one of my people finally got through to someone who could help us, and it’s looking like he’s going to be okay.

Something deep inside of Mindy had been twisted for so long, and she felt it let go in a sudden, guts-deep release.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“The first thing he told my guy, once he knew why he was there, was that he was sorry that he hurt you. There’s a whole backstory about why it happened, and I’ll spare you the details, but he… was regretful. I don’t know if that makes a difference to you or not.”

Mindy rolled it over in her mind for a little bit and then shrugged. “I don’t care why he did it. Maybe someday I’ll feel differently, but right now, I just… No. To hell with him.”

Lauren nodded. “I’m certainly not going to argue for forgiveness in this kind of situation.” She reached out, hesitated, and then took Mindy’s hand between hers. “Now, on to important matters. I know how once the baby’s out, people kind of forget that Mom’s a person, too. Has anyone been by to take you to see your baby?”

Mindy’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head hard, her throat too tight to speak. She had a bleary memory of holding him for just a moment in the OR, but her arms had been weak and not really hers. So someone had to help her, and then he needed to go into a bassinet and get rushed off to the NICU, and she had to get stitched up and brought to a room of her own, and her arms just felt empty and wrong. She barely remembered them telling her that the baby was a boy.

“Well, We’re going to fix that now,” Lauren said. She disappeared out of the room, an intensity in her step that told Mindy she was very angry.

It took about ten minutes, and then Lauren returned with a wheelchair, chasing a nurse who was holding a paper cup of pain medication. Once Mindy had swallowed her pills like a good girl, Lauren helped her slide into the chair. She’d gotten her catheter out—thank God—and was all de-IV’d, so it was a simple matter of making sure her robe covered up anything the hospital gown didn’t, and Lauren was wheeling her through the hospital like a pro.

The NICU was at the other end of the wing from the maternity ward. Mindy found herself experiencing a strange mix of apprehension, regret, and excitement as Lauren wheeled her along. Jack was supposed to be here with her, to meet his son. He should have been in the OR with her, instead of her being alone. Of course, from the way the nurses described the surgery proceeding, he probably wouldn’t have been allowed in. But still. It would have been something. He should be here now. They hadn’t even decided on a name for the boy. What in the name of everything was going to happen next?

At the door to the NICU, everyone was smiling and happy, but there was an odd quality to it. Of course, these nurses worked with very tiny, very sick, little people, and it must be a difficult job. They said that Lauren couldn’t come into the room, and after a quick argument, a friendly looking nurse with deep, dark brown skin and hair done back in twists stepped in.

“I’ll take her,” the woman said. “I’ll look after her like she was my own sister. Alright?”

Lauren nodded, and Mindy thought there might be tears in her eyes. Before the nurse could wheel her away, Mindy reached out and took Lauren’s hand. “Wait, before—tell me. What was Grim’s name? I mean, before he was Grim?”

Lauren’s head tilted to the side just a little before a grin broke out on her face.

“Michael,” she said.

“Okay,” Mindy said.

The nurse wheeled her through the doors, then helped her put on the special yellow gowns and booties that would keep not just her baby, but all the other babies in the room safe from infections. She was struck by all the little babies in the room. In the OR, in that brief moment when she’d held her son, he’d looked so small, but now, compared to some of the other preemies in their isolettes, he looked so big. Not that she’d ever spent much time around babies, or had a real solid idea of what size a newborn ought to be.

“Can I… can I hold him?” She glanced up at the nurse, who gave her a kind smile.

“Yes,” she replied. “He’s doing well, nice and stable since he got here. Let me help you.” The woman reached down into the isolette and carefully lifted the baby. In the nurse’s arms, he suddenly looked quite small again, just a wee little thing being held by an adult. She lowered him carefully into Mindy’s arms, and that felt right. Oh, God, she’d never known how right that could feel. She held the little boy to her heart and stared down at him, feeling herself fall in love with his sweet little mouth and dimpled chin and sleepy eyes. He had Jack’s hair, dirty blond, but she could see a bit of curl to it, like hers. He was theirs. Their little baby boy.

“We don’t have a name written down yet,” the nurse said. “Have you picked something out?”

“I’m not positive yet,” Mindy said. “I have to run it by—my husband. But I was thinking of Michael.”

The nurse smiled. “It’s a good name.”

“I think so.”

“Here, hold on tight.” The nurse wheeled her over to a glass window. On the other side of it, Lauren waited. When she saw the baby, she grinned, waving frantically, as if she expected the tiny newborn to pick up his hand and waved back. Since that was beyond his skill set, Mindy helped by wiggling his tiny fist back and forth. And then, just as her arms started to get tired, and her eyes started to droop, and she thought maybe it was a good idea to get back to her room and get back into bed, she saw Jack race up to the window.

He stopped himself from planting both of his hands against it and staring in, but she got the idea that it was certainly something in his mind. He did place one palm on the glass, watching her with wide eyes and a jaw that had dropped open. She smiled back, and even if it was gas, like people always said, the baby’s little mouth opened in a grin, which morphed into a big yawn.

Their little family had gotten a different start than was typical, but they were definitely a family. That much was sure.

Mindy sat on a park bench and watched her one-year-old son totter after the bigger kids, laughing happily as he went. He was too small for most of the playground equipment, but that didn’t stop him from happily trying to climb, swing, and jump just like the other kids around him. And laugh; that child could laugh until the world smiled.

The roar of a motorcycle pulling up to the park made Mindy smile as she sipped from her water bottle. She didn’t even need to look around anymore; with the peace between the Wardens and the Chain Gang solidified, there wasn’t another biker in town who would be pulling up to the playground for anything other than to play with their kid.

Michael saw Jack before Mindy even turned to say hello to him. That was fine with her; getting to see Jack’s face light up when Michael saw him, yelled “Daddy!” and ran as fast as his chubby legs would carry him across the playground was special every single time it happened. For all of Jack’s worries about how he’d never had a father, and would he be able to do this well, he’d adjusted just fine once the baby was actually in his arms. He took on his share of parenting duties, without complaining or making out that he was some kind of hero, changed dirty diapers without complaining about the smell (more than was fair), and sometimes even took the baby so she could get a little more sleep.

Mindy had thought about returning to work, but for now, she was happy taking care of Michael. Maybe when he started preschool next year, it might make more sense. The diner had sat empty since Cook decided not to return to town, and she’d thought about opening a little coffee shop over there. Nothing too fancy, a little sit down place with coffee, tea, cakes, and pies. Maybe some sandwiches. It’d still work out well for the crowd that came in off the highway and might be something the locals would enjoy, too. She’d mentioned the idea to Jack, who’d grinned. Joking, he pointed out that the club was always looking for more legitimate business opportunities. Jerk.

No. This was going to be something Mindy did on her own. Something she could be proud of. Like she was proud of her son and proud of her new house.

It was a smallish house, out on the outskirts of Providence, but reasonably close to the clubhouse. There was a guest room, a room for Michael, a master suite for her and Jack, a little kitchen that gave her just enough space to move around, and an actual dining room… She loved it. She’d spent her free time, what little there was of it over the last year, making it her own. Theirs. For her new little family.

Sometimes it made her nervous, living in a place where her name was on a leash and where her mail didn’t arrive having been forwarded twice. She was just… home. Sometimes it made her want to fly away, but then she looked at Jack and at Michael, and even though the urge to wander was there, she didn’t have the least idea where she’d want to go. Not unless she could bring them too.

Jack was in the process of grooming Bodhi to take over his role as President of the Chain Gang. Lauren didn’t want the job; she liked being the boss of the Wardens, and she had worked hard to make sure they respected her. She’d started making changes, too, pushing them towards a more inclusive method of determining if someone was worthy of being patched. That was, she busted up the rule that only white men could be patched into the Wardens. It was slow progress; people just flat-out didn’t look at a club that didn’t have many women or many people who were not white, but changes were happening, and Joanna was looking to “stick the course.”

Mindy and Jack had talked a lot about his role in the Chain Gang. He was clear, and she supported this, that he didn’t want to walk away from the club entirely. He wasn’t even sure he really could. But he also didn’t want to continue to be the boss of things. He said that, with a baby at home, and her on his arm, he didn’t need that external family in quite the same way. He wanted them, but they weren’t his focus.

She understood, and she told him so.

After Michael had been thoroughly bounced and kissed, Jack turned back to her.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said.

“Hey, handsome,” she replied, squinting up at the sun.

“I only have a minute, I’m actually on my way to a meeting, but I wanted to stop by and tell you both I love you. I’ll see you at home? I might be late.”

“I’ll see you then,” Mindy said and watched her handsome husband ride away.

***

At home, Mindy had just gotten Michael into bed when she heard the front door open and close. She glanced at the time; this was very different from the late Jack had suggested. It was barely nap time.

She walked towards the front door to find out what was going on, but before she got a single word out, he grabbed her wrist, spinning her gently, and planting her up against the wall.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered in her ear, his words a caress that tightened her nipples and twisted her clit. She heard him unzipping, and then felt her skirt pool up around her hips. He spread her feet out with his foot, and she groaned, wet and eager without any further request. They’d become absolute masters of hot and heavy quickies over the past year, eager and excited and delicious. He was already hard, and when he pressed up into her, he met no real resistance. She groaned, using her forearm to stifle the sound, as he thrust up into her. He was moving quick, fast and wanting, and she did her best to meet his strokes with her own hips. He must have been close already; his hand came around to find her clit and finger her, hard, driving her towards an explosive orgasm even as she ground down onto him.

But before she could, he pulled away, leaving her empty and aching. He took her by the hand and led her to the couch, their second favorite location. He sat down on the couch, pushing his jeans down out of the way so neither one of them would get pinched, and then tugged her back onto his lap. She slid down onto him easily, piercing her cunt with his cock, and rocked into him gently. The ruined orgasm was on the horizon, so ready to leap back into her cunt and drive her over the edge, but as she started to move, he put a finger over her lips to catch her attention.

“Wait for me?” His voice was so soft, so eager, so gentle, and she couldn’t do anything other than nod. She drove down onto him, hard and harder, pushing away the surging pleasure while he arched underneath her, his hands full of her breasts and his breathing growing hard and rapid. Just when she was thought she’d lose control entirely, his eyes flashed open.

“Come with me,” he whispered, and she did, shattered by his command in a way she always thought only happened in movies, right up until they started playing this chastity game. The pleasure rammed through her, coming in roiling waves that moved with her thrusts. She could feel her cunt spasming around him, feel the surge of his pleasure filling her, again and again, until they collapsed together, sweaty and panting.

After a little while, she rolled off of him but stayed cuddled into his arm, her legs draped over his lap. He held her closer, leaning down and kissing the top of her head.

“We do pretty well together,” he said after a minute.

She threaded her fingers through his. “I think we’re doing just fine.”

“I’m glad you married me.”

“I’m glad, too.”

THE END

Read on for your FREE bonus book – RECKLESS

By Claire St. Rose

I LIVED MY LIFE INSIDE THE LINES… UNTIL HE CAME ALONG AND WRECKED IT.

Strict. Careful. Safe.

That’s how I lived my life.

But then Micah came crashing in…

And showed me how to be a bad girl for him.

I was raised to obey authority, not to question it.

So when Micah said he wanted to make me his…

I didn’t know how to say no.

Not that I wanted to.

He was six and a half feet of muscle, tats, and a bad attitude.

And God, he drove me crazy.

I’d never met anyone quite like him before.

Never encountered a man who could make me feel so many different things.

Passion, anger, panty-melting desire…

He knew how to press every button.

But everything in this world has consequences.

And if I want to be with the bad boy, I’ll have to pay the price:

With everything I’ve ever loved.

"Lose the headscarf!" Callie ordered.

Zoya rolled her eyes and examined herself in the mirror hanging over her dresser. "Not happening," she said in a lilting mezzo-alto voice, her Iranian accent noticeable. Eyes the color of a Persian sunset, golden and smoky, stared out from a flawless, dusky-brown face, and her lush pink lips curved in a half-smile. Dark eyebrows winged over heavy-lidded, almond-shaped eyes with thick, black lashes, and her cobalt hijab fell in folds around her oval-shaped face, hiding her rippling, glossy, chestnut hair.

Her roommate, Callie Audrey, tossed platinum blond dreadlocks that were streaked with purple and blue over her tattooed shoulder and struck a vogue pose in the mirror behind Zoya. Hands on her narrow hips, Callie thrust her meager bust forward, backing away with giggles at the sight of herself. She playfully canted her head from the left to the right, her studded nose wrinkling in speculation, as she stared at her striking Middle Eastern friend. At length, she pointed a finger coated in black nail polish at Zoya and said, "Eh, I guess you're right. It adds character. Makes a statement, you know? Like, fuck yeah! I'm Muslim. Deal with it!"

"Well, something like that. Minus the f-word, of course," Zoya replied with a grin.

"Right, right. So, come on, already, girlfriend! I'm ready to hit the club, dance with a few hot guys. That thesis is kicking my ass, and a few Jägerbombs are just what the doctor ordered. Hey, I heard Velvet Bombay is playing at The Punchline. Wanna go? Ohmigod, I've had a crush on their front man for, like, half a decade."

"Ugh! Don't even mention the thesis right now. You know I lost three pages the other night. Forgot to save as I typed, stupid technology. Give me your keys."

Zoya held out her hand, and Callie dropped the keys to her Porsche convertible into her palm, both girls chuckling in amusement. The last time they had gone out together, Callie had gotten plastered and misplaced them, and they had to take a cab back to their apartment, only to discover Callie had dropped them in her bra. New rule was that Zoya would drive them to and from the fun.

Callie got ready to leave but paused at the door with a stricken look. "Wait—did you call your mom so she doesn't freak out like last time if you don't answer your phone?"

"Relax. I've got it covered," said Zoya. "I told her I'd be at the library for a few hours and my phone will be on silent. Take it from me—I complained so much about term papers that she wants me to be in the library."

"You're so bad! I mean, you're really so good that it's cute when you try to be bad!"

"Oh, shut up! I’ll have you know there's more to me than meets the eye." Zoya showed off chic black designer balloon pants that ruched at her thighs and draped to her ankles over stylish sandals. She wore a daring, form-fitting cami beneath an oversized, gray cashmere cardigan. The clothes suited her slender frame.

"Very sexy! I'm noticing," said Callie in a sing-song voice.

They strutted out of Apartment 212 and hit the elevator bay to take the short ride down to the ground floor. Then, they were out the front doors of the lobby and into the early spring night where the sidewalks in their downtown neighborhood were alive with pedestrians seeking a good time just like them. Zoya and Callie stayed within a block of the university where they attended graduate school. Their apartment complex was conveniently located in the heart of all the action, but tonight Callie was planning on showing Zoya a new hotspot. The purple Porsche chirped as Zoya disarmed the alarm and unlocked the doors.

They climbed in and Callie pulled down her visor to use the mirror to check her makeup, pleased with the cherry cola lipstick. She blotted her lips and looked to Zoya with a dimpled smile. "Normally we hang out at college clubs, right?"

In the back of her mind, Zoya was thinking her conservative Muslim parents would be horrified to know that's where she usually hung out, but she nodded in answer to Callie's question, wondering what her best friend was about to spring on her now. "So, what type of club is The Punchline?"

"Take the interstate. We're headed a little further out tonight. It's easy to find, I promise."

"Don't ignore me," Zoya said with a grin. "What kind of club is it?"

Callie sighed and groaned, giggling. "If I tell you, you're not gonna want to go. Let's let it be a surprise."

"Callie!"

"Listen, just give me a chance to show you a change of scenery. Let's make a deal. If you hang out at the club for a half hour and you find you don't like it, we can leave."

"You say that, but in reality that's not going to happen."

"Have I ever let you down before?"

Zoya snorted and kept her eyes on the road, shaking her head with a smile. Wherever they were going, anytime Callie got an idea, it was hard to steer her away from it. Zoya decided to tag along for the ride, if for no other reason than to make sure her rebellious, party-loving roommate didn't get into too much trouble. By the time the sleek purple car pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of The Punchline, Zoya was definitely having second thoughts about following Callie inside, but it was too late to turn back.

"Ta-dah! It's a biker bar!" Callie hooted. She punched open her door and hopped out with a gleeful shout that begged for attention. All eyes in the parking lot slid in their direction. Zoya scrunched down lower in the driver's seat.

"I've watched TV shows about clubs like this. They always involve fist fights and gunslingers. Are you sure you want to go in there?" she asked nervously.

"Just half an hour! But, you'll love it, Zoya. I know you will. I mean, look at this place! It's got all the gritty spunk missing from the watered down college clubs. You have to simply"—Callie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, extending her colorfully inked arms out at her sides—"expand your mind."

Zoya reluctantly opened her car door and got out, closing and locking the car behind them. She glanced around the lot, surveying their surroundings. They had taken a fairly straightforward route to get there, but the club was tucked away on a lonely lane that looked miles away from anywhere civil.

The building looked dilapidated, but it was clearly an affectation. There was no way it could be as old as it looked. The whole place was lit up with bright neon lights. Unpainted siding, faded and gray, fronted the medium sized bar. There were few windows, and those present were tinted opaque black. In bold red letters, painted onto the aluminum roof that slanted over the front of the building, were the words The Punchline .

In front of the bar, there were rows upon rows of motorcycles that took up most of the parking lot—plus, souped up cars, the sort of vehicles that graced magazines. For Zoya, the entire tableau was reminiscent of something from a movie set.

"Wait for me," Zoya called after Callie. She pulled her cardigan closer and hurried up. They strolled past a banana yellow 442 Oldsmobile, gleaming beneath the street lamp, shiny enough to see their reflections in the paint. "Have you ever been here before?" Zoya hissed.

"Once or twice a while back," Callie replied. There were lurkers and folks hanging around by the entrance to the bar the girls had to push through. Callie fit right in. With her black leather pants and white t-shirt showing off her skinny arms covered with colorful tattoos, not to mention her colorful dreadlocks, she looked like she belonged in a place like this. Zoya, on the other hand, couldn't have stood out more.

She would've preferred to leave, but the pounding music loud enough to be heard outside lured her. She was a first generation American, born to Iranian parents who had tried to foster a love of their native culture within their progeny, but Zoya had really grown up on American grunge rock, and the band that was rocking out inside was calling her name. The squeal of electric guitars and pounding drums, screamed lyrics, and excitement had her peering over Callie's shoulder for a peek inside.

"I told you they were performing." Callie threw up rock star hands and swayed her hips, strutting on inside with Zoya close on her heels. The inside of the club wasn't what Zoya had expected. Beneath her sandals were hardwood floors. The ceiling was plastered with eye-popping posters, and blue smoke hovered like a gauzy cloud. The club was packed and the noise was thunderous.

A makeshift stage was at the back of the establishment where the long-haired members of Velvet Bombay jumped around with flashy guitars and microphones. A mosh pit had congregated near the stage, but from where the girls were standing, they could see tables where those unwilling to stand around could sit, and Zoya made a beeline for an empty chair. It was Callie who rushed right into the mass of dancers to get closer to the show.

"Callie?" Zoya looked around in alarm when her friend vanished. She couldn't fathom how a girl could disappear as quickly as Callie seemed to do every time they went out together. "Crud!" she muttered. She felt like the odd-man out, being one of the only people sitting down. Her amber eyes darted left and right, taking in the sights and excitement. A mohawked bartender was manning a long, crowded bar. She pondered ordering a soda but changed her mind when she saw how many people she would have to wade through to get over there.

Crossing her arms on the table, Zoya watched her cellphone count down the half hour so she could find Callie and tell her she was ready to go. Things in the bar were looking a tad bit too wild for her. Unfortunately, the digital numbers on her smartphone seemed to transition slower than ever. Zoya closed her eyes, suppressing a groan. When she opened them, she noticed him.

He walked into the crowded club flanked by five or six people. She couldn't count his entourage because her eyes were riveted to his face. The shadow of a beard covered his cheeks and his cleft chin, and his mouth arrested her attention. His lips were set in a firm line, bottom lip fuller than the top. Gold rimmed, phthalocyanine blue hued shades rested on the bridge of his nose. Thick, dark brows knit together above the sunglasses as he turned his head and surveyed the interior of the smoky bar. Zoya felt the moisture on her tongue dry up, as her mouth fell open and her eyes widened at his sheer sexiness.

"Wow," she whispered to herself.

She watched him slowly lick his lips and flip back the tail of his leather jacket. Her burning eyes drifted down to his body, the wide shoulders, and the abs rippling beneath his ribbed white tank. Denim jeans hung from his hips. He wore a dark leather belt with a massive belt buckle that proclaimed KING in scripted letters. When he moved, it was the slow, methodical prowl of a predator on the hunt. Something in his stance commanded attention. It was obvious why the women nearest him stopped whatever they were doing to stare.

Zoya absently adjusted her hijab over her hair, finally tearing away her gaze. She cleared her throat and contemplated braving the throng for that soda after all. She was feeling parched. She had never seen a man that dripped such sex appeal, and she was a graduate student; she had seen plenty of good looking men on campus. Her light brown orbs skated back in the direction where the man had been standing, but apparently he had moved deeper into the bar and she could no longer find him. She whistled and rolled her eyes at her silly moment of weakness. She didn't need to be staring at a guy like that anyway.

"Argh! Please, tell me it's been a half hour," she muttered under her breath. She picked up her phone. She was staring at the screen when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. When she turned to the side to see who was approaching, it was none other than the show-stopper who had walked in moments before. If he had seemed like a world wonder from a distance, the man was an absolute universal marvel up close! Her heart skipped several beats.

"Is somebody else sitting here?" He had a voice rich as the height of summer, deep as a still, hot night. Her heart resumed pounding, faster than before. Zoya swallowed thickly, shaking her head. He grabbed the chair and almost turned away from her table, and Zoya exhaled a sigh of relief. He was apparently just looking for a spare seat. Why had she thought he would join her? What was getting into her? She hid a self-deprecating smile with the back of her hand, looking away.

Her eyes flickered back up and her smile froze when he seemed to second guess himself and turned back. "I've never seen you in here before," he said, making small talk. He plopped the chair down with its back to the table, and the stranger sat astride with his arms resting on the back of the chair. When he took off his shades, she could see that his eyes were the same indeterminable, see-through blue.

"Oh," Zoya blurted. She hadn't a clue what to say to him. Her voice halted at the back of her throat, and her muddled brain couldn't come up with a response. "Um..."

The man threw up a finger, and a server materialized out of nowhere wearing the characteristic The Punchline black vest that was opened to expose a heavily tattooed chest and a rotund gut. "What can I do for you, Blade?" asked Donnie, an old-timer around the biker bar.

"Whiskey. You know how I like it, and—what are you drinkin', sweetheart?" He moved the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other with his tongue, as he studied the foreigner sitting across from him.

"Um, soda is fine. Coke, if you have it?" Zoya looked down at her phone. What was she doing? What was she doing? Was she having a drink with him?

"Coke for the lady," he ordered.

Donnie Gruber nodded his bald head and pushed through the crowd back to the bar.

The stranger extended his hand to Zoya in a handshake that showed off blue and black ink curling up his wrist, the rest of the elaborate tattoo art hidden beneath his leather jacket. Her golden eyes shifted from his hand to his face. He waited patiently for the handshake.

Maybe she was shy, he surmised.

Micah "Blade" Whitfield was aware he was intimidating; that was part of his allure. He was tall and brawny, and with the right look, in the right place, he was downright menacing. Add to that the gun in his waistband and the knife handle peeking from the top of his boot, and he could see why he frightened her. Had the striking girl met him in his corner office at General Motors, she might've looked at the mechanical engineer a little bit differently, but that was part of his other life. As it was, he had met her here, in a biker bar that looked like the farthest place she wanted to be.

"Who'd you come here with?" He decided to strike up a conversation. Nothing tickled his fancy more than novelty. He had read somewhere that people with high IQs were naturally drawn to the different and unique. It was true. The woman with the cat eyes and the tremulous smile fit the bill perfectly. Micah lowered his head, looking up at her with dilated pupils that swamped his pale blue irises. She hadn't said a word. He had a strong urge to hear her voice, but he realized the metal music wasn't exactly conducive to conversation. Not to mention, she looked like the cat had her tongue.

Donnie slapped down a tumbler of whiskey with ice and a glass of fizzy Coca Cola, which Micah had him put on his tab. Then, he beckoned to the girl to grab her drink and follow him. He had a hunch she would balk at the idea. But, she surprised him.

Zoya closed shaky fingers around the cold glass of soda and ice and stood on unsteady feet. She scanned the crowd for Callie, knowing her friend was probably in the middle of the mosh pit making bruises and new best friends, and she grinned wryly, shaking her head. How had she gotten into this situation? Her cellphone, she tucked into the pocket of the loose, flowing pants, as she tentatively followed the brawny biker out of the club through double doors that led to a back porch. He seemed to know the place.

Strings of lights lit the porch, and there were a few picnic tables occupied by others seeking a little solitude, smoking cigarettes and drinking beers. The music could still be heard outside, though not quite as loud. Zoya found the stranger sitting on the edge of a picnic table. He had one foot on the bench and the other leg dangling over the edge, and he had his eyes on her like he didn't want to look away for fear she'd disappear. That was the sense she got. Like he was sure she wasn't real.

She fingered the hem of her hijab self-consciously. A small smile touched her lips and then turned into a full-fledged nervous laugh at how intently he was staring at her.

"What's your name?" he asked. His voice sent chills down her spine, and his smile sent butterflies flying around inside.

"Zoya," she answered shyly. "And, you?"

Her accent made his lips curl upwards. She wasn't like other women he had met before. He liked that. "People around here call me Blade," he replied. "But, my real name is Micah, Micah Whitfield."

"Nice to meet you, Micah." She took a sip from her straw and settled gingerly on the top of the table next to him. Her sandaled feet kicked back and forth over the edge. She studied the glass of bubbly soda, avoiding eye contact. Something about this man made her feel warm, and the heat didn't feel like the safe kind. She could hear her mother now, telling her how a Muslim girl was supposed to hold herself above contempt. Her cheeks flushed. She was doing the wrong thing. She couldn't stay out here alone with Micah. She didn't even know him.

"You know, I came here with a friend of mine—and, it just occurred to me—I really shouldn't be where she won't be able to find me, so if you'll excuse me."

She hopped down from the table. Micah hurriedly tossed back his whiskey. "Whoa! Hang on a second."

"Forgive me. It was nice to meet you, but it's...well, it's kind of inappropriate for me to be alone with you like this. I mean, in my culture, it's just not done."

"But, we're not alone," he pointed out with a grin. Throwing his arms wide, he gestured with his empty glass at the couple kissing at the edge of the porch and the group of friends playing drinking games at a picnic table nearby.

She blushed and smiled, saying, "You know what I mean."

He got down from the table and took a step toward her. "No, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, but I can respect your wishes. I just want to talk to you. Tell you what, would it make you more comfortable if I help you recruit your buddy? She can join us."

Zoya had encountered every sort of westernized male. She had encountered the arrogant chauvinists and the hyper-sexed Casanovas. She had even encountered some who were open-minded and understanding about their cultural differences. She had rarely met a guy whose first response to her desire not to be alone with him was, "Let's go find your friend so she can hang out, too."

Her eyebrows winged upwards over her eyes in surprise, and then they flew together over the bridge of her nose in consideration. Then, as if in answer to the sticky situation, the double doors of the bar swung open and a giggling, tipsy Callie suddenly stumbled out. She pointed at Zoya with a limp wrist. "There you are," she slurred. "I've been looking all over for you." The party animal wove through the tables to get to Zoya's side.

"See? I told you I shouldn't be where she wouldn't be able to find me," Zoya reiterated to Micah.

"Whew!" Callie said comically. She giggled and covered her mouth, her eyes roving over Micah from head to toe. "Where'd you find this fine hunk of handsomeness, Zoya? Hi...I'm Callie, by the way, her very single best friend and roommate."

Micah chuckled. "Callie. That's a pretty name. Hey, we were just talking about you. I was telling Zoya we should get you to come hang out with us. Pick your poison. I'm gonna go get refills. You up for another?"

"Make it a vodka, and we're friends for life."

"Consider it done," he said.

"Ooh, I like him." Callie pointed after him.

He sauntered off for more drinks, and Zoya grabbed Callie by the arm and dragged her to the picnic table in a huff. "What are you doing? I was trying to find an excuse to get back in the club, not stay out longer."

"Honey, why? Did you see him? If a guy like that wants to get you alone, you let him!" Zoya rolled her eyes and growled. "Alright, alright," said Callie. "I'm here now. Your precious morals and values are untampered with. Can I say something, though? I know you want to make dear ole mom and dad happy, and that's admirable. But, I really think at twenty-seven you should be considering your own happiness for a change."

"I cause my family enough headaches. This would give my father a stroke," Zoya deadpanned.

"How are they gonna know?" Callie whispered.

Zoya's eyes widened at the suggestion. "Shh!" He was coming back. She straightened away from Callie and schooled her face to register none of her emotions. She was excited by the prospect of trying something different, hanging with someone new, but she was appalled at herself for being excited. One thing about what Callie said was patently clear. She was twenty-seven years old. It was past time she started preparing herself for a suitable Muslim husband.

This bad boy couldn't be that. His dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze over his tanned face. He had taken off his leather jacket somewhere inside the bar. His arms and chest were covered in tattoos. He walked like he had the secret to sex in his pants, and he smiled like he wasn't telling. The very sight of him made Zoya tingle, and she wasn't supposed to do that. She wasn't supposed to be here.

"One vodka, one whiskey, and two new friends. What brought you ladies out tonight?" he asked.

Callie quickly supplied an answer. "Ugh! Dude, grad school is a bitch. I wouldn't survive if I didn't act a little irresponsibly once in a while. Right, Zoya?"

"Huh? Yeah...no, um, we just like to go out sometimes. Callie's favorite band played tonight."

"Velvet Bombay? I know those guys. Ernie Shaw went to college with me."

"You went to college?" Zoya couldn't hide her surprise. He looked like the sort of guy who quit high school at sixteen to hang around a mechanic shop and gawk at bikes. He chuckled at her response, and she blushed, realizing how she must've sounded. "I mean..."

"It's cool. I get that a lot. I tell people who wonder about me not to judge a book by its cover."

"Enigmatic! I like that," Callie cooed flirtatiously. "There's more to him than meets the eye." She lifted her brows at Zoya and nudged her in the side. Zoya crossed her arms and closed off her body language, glancing away. Her soda was going flat. Callie let out a laugh. "Don't mind her. She's usually much more fun. I think you make her nervous."

He reached across the table to touch Zoya's arm, and she pulled back. He smiled apologetically and dropped his hand to the picnic table. "Trust me I don't bite. I can prove it. Won't you come over here and sit next to me, tell me about yourself. You share your story, I share mine."

He issued the challenge, staring her in the eyes and daring her to turn it down. If what her friend was saying was correct, Zoya just needed to be eased out of her shell. He was intrigued by her, and he wanted to know more about her. Micah wasn't the type to pick up hot chicks at a bar. If a woman caught his attention, she was worthy of it.

Callie didn't make it easy for Zoya to say no. She scooted over, forcing Zoya off the edge of the bench. In a huff, Zoya reluctantly moved around the table to Micah's side, sitting down a distance away from him. In her culture, it was improper for them to touch. Sometimes it was frustrating trying to explain to Americans what they thought was prudish and uptight behavior, but Zoya understood the reason for her propriety. She wasn't overly religious; she considered herself deeply spiritual. Her body was a well-written book, waiting to be read carefully by the man who deserved to break the spine.

She smiled to herself as a Quran scripture came to mind, the one her mother most often quoted when speaking of love and romance. It roughly translated to: "I created you from one soul, and from the soul I created its mate...so that you may live in harmony and love."

"I'm fun," she said softly, wistfully. "I'm just more than a good time."

He arched a brow, pleased at her assessment of herself. "Where are you originally from?"

"My family immigrated to America from Shiraz in Iran thirty years ago. But, I was born here, so technically I guess you can say I'm from Arizona. I'm at the university trying to make my family proud, working on a degree program towards becoming a physician assistant. What did you go to college for?"

"If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it under wraps. Some of the guys around here think I'm dumber than a box of rocks, and that's fine by me. I like to be underestimated," he said with a laugh.

"You don't strike me as the kind of guy people would call dumb to your face," Callie contributed.

"Ha! True. Anyway, I have a degree in engineering.

"I'd like to say I'm still undecided," said Callie. "Unfortunately, a while back I made the terrible decision to stick with speech and language pathology. Now, someday, somebody's kids will be coming to me for hearing screenings. Yay me!"

"Tattoos and all," Zoya pointed out.

Micah flexed his biceps and showed off an impressive array of artwork. "I'm a big fan of body art, body modifications, piercings. Where'd you get your work done, Callie?"

"Let's save some for a conversation another day," she said, rising to her feet. Zoya looked up in surprise. Callie pinned her with a look. "What? I didn't come all the way out here to sit at a table and chat. Let's dance! The band sounds like they've broken set. The DJ here is supposed to be sick!"

"Sick?" Zoya mumbled.

Micah rapped the table with his knuckles and stood, too. "I can vouch for that. I don't dance, but I'll hang with you ladies inside."

Zoya had no choice but to follow. The dancefloor was less crowded when they reentered the bar, but the atmosphere was no less festive. A rowdy game of pool had struck up near the back. The stage lights were down, and the DJ was operating from a glass enclosed booth, spinning records at a moderate volume. Conversations buzzed.

Micah spotted the folks he had come to the bar with at their usual booth. One of his boys threw up his arms in question, and Micah waved dismissively. He'd be around to them when he got around to them. He looked back at the beautiful Iranian, thinking that he wanted to hold her hand, but he remembered she didn't care to be touched. Instead, he beckoned with a toss of his head for her to follow. Callie shimmied and wiggled out to the dancefloor, and Micah assumed a position on the wall nearby. He lounged back with his thumbs tucked in his belt loops to watch.

Zoya felt more comfortable when there was distance between them. With just Callie, she could pretend like nothing was out of the ordinary. She was familiar with Callie's corny dance moves. The girl writhed like a seizure patient. Zoya fought laughter. The DJ spotted her hijab from the booth, and he decided to add some Middle Eastern flare to the mix to Zoya's delight and surprise. As Iranian drum samples pulsed from the speakers, she put up her arms with a gleeful exclamation. The track looped a wailing soprano voice before seguing with the beat and an American crooner singing about exotic enticement.

Zoya's hips swayed in a characteristic Persian dance. Her shoulders shifted up and down and her hands flourished with mesmerizing sweeps of her arms. She caught the rhythm of the music, undulated down to the floor, and then shimmied back up. Her torso moved sinuously, her cardigan sliding down off her shoulders and whispering to the floor as the crowd sent up a cheer for more, and Callie helpfully snatched the sweater out of the way.

Zoya realized she was getting scads of attention and grinned in amusement. She twirled around in a circle and continued to work her hips. Her hands told a story. They said, "Look at my face. Follow my feet. See my femininity."

She very subtly rolled her stomach, hips shifting right to left. Micah's eyes followed every movement. There was an understated sexiness to the dance that teased at his masculine awareness. He had seen his share of skilled strippers and rump shakers, but what Zoya was doing with her body elevated seduction to an art form. His eyes begged for her to get less inhibited; yet, she held to the playfulness that had other men ogling her as closely as he was. He cleared his throat and shifted positions against the wall.

"Who is she?" Quinn asked. Micah looked to his burly black biker friend who had sidled up next to him while he was watching Zoya. "She keeps lookin' over here at you."

"I noticed," Micah said with a half-smile.

Quinn drew his fingers over his short and kinky, auburn-tipped afro and let out a whistle of appreciation at the hot chick working the dance floor. "She know you the leader of the roughest, toughest motorcycle club this side of the desert?"

"The Hangman’s Crows," Micah said with a sigh.

"Wholesome girl like that might wanna leave a wolf like you alone."

"You know me, Q. When I get a hankering, it ain't easy to call it quits."

"Yeah, I know. But, you're a good man, regardless of your bad boy act. You'll do the right thing. Leave her alone, bro. Come on. I got a bottle of somethin’ strong with your name on it."

Quinn's chuckle rumbled deep in his wide chest. He stretched, showing off dark black skin etched with pictures, muscles bulging in the black t-shirt that clung to his monstrous body like second nature. The loose fitting black jeans and Timberland boots gave him an edgy look, especially combined with his height and size. He looked like he could rip a man from limb to limb, and he could. All of The Hangman’s Crows were forces to be reckoned with.

Besides Quinn, there was Pinwheel, the crimson-haired French national with an eye for beautiful bikes. She rode a modified vintage Indian Chief the same shade as her hair. Chop was a genius college kid who knew Japanese bikes better than he knew anything, and his brother Anime was antsy to join the gang, too. But, at eighteen, Micah still considered Anime too young. Then, there was Dante, the Southern Boy Wonder. He was a cornbread-fed redneck as big as the state of Texas who could end a fight by just stepping up, weighing in at close to three-hundred pounds of pure muscle and bad mood.

The crew had enemies, rival biker clubs, but for the most part they stuck to themselves. Micah had found the quickest way to make a name was to not make noise. He stared after Quinn who ambled back to their booth. He looked over to Zoya who seemed like a misplaced light in the dimly lit biker bar. He was aware it was in her best interest for him to fade out of her life before he ever took a foothold. Chances were, he wouldn't fit into her world any more than she fit into his.

He sighed and forced one foot in front of the other as the song ended and she clung to Callie, the both of them laughing like they were having a blast. He walked to them, thinking he'd just say it was nice meeting them, drive safe, some shit like that. But, when he stepped in front of Zoya and she turned her glittering golden eyes on him, the words wouldn't leave his lips.

He found himself screwing up, saying, "I'd love to see you again."

"You, sir, have perfect timing," Callie slurred. She had gotten another few drinks into her. "Zoya was telling me we gotta go before I—before I—" Callie doubled over and threw up on the floor next to them. Zoya's face twisted in horror. She reached over and held back Callie's hair, gagging as her friend loudly retched.

Micah wrinkled his nose and got to a nearby table for napkins. "Try these."

"Thank you," Zoya murmured. "We have to go. She's had way too much to drink." She used the napkins to mop Callie's sweaty brow. Callie gratefully took the paper and cleaned her mouth. Zoya dragged Callie away from the vomit, and Micah followed. He couldn't fight a smile.

"Zoya," he said. "I have to see you again."

"Now isn't the best of times," she retorted. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a quick escape. She spotted a break and dashed toward it, but she couldn't shake her persistent suitor. Zoya shook her head and rolled her eyes skyward. "Look, my number is four-oh-five, six-thousand. If you can remember that, you can call. Now, help me carry her to the car before she pukes everywhere again!"

He easily hoisted the limp Callie up, effortlessly shouldering his way through the crowd to the door. Zoya followed in his wake. He got them outside into the fresh air, and she pointed to the Porsche. They both got Callie comfortably settled in the car, and her seatbelt buckled. Zoya dug the keys out of her pocket and climbed into the driver's seat. She was trying to make it clear that she had nothing left to say to him. He wasn't her type. Her mother would have a fit. Her father would disown her. She threw the car in reverse and started to back up.

He stepped away with a wave. "Four-oh-five, six-thousand," he called out to her.

She frowned but nodded. Then, she straightened up the car and maneuvered her way onto the road. The quicker they got back to their apartment, the better.

"That stuff will rot your brain," Musa Rao harped.

Zoya guiltily minimized the YouTube window on her notebook and switched back to the assignment she was working on for class, earbuds tucked in her ears. She could still hear the comedian quipping about life as an Iranian-American in the background. "It's funny, Baba. It helps me work."

"How can it help you work? It's a distraction," said Musa. His thinning hair was salt-and-pepper colored, a thick mustache settled over his fleshy mouth, and a beard covered his double chin. He was stocky and portly, evidence of his comfortable life as a successful chemist. He spent more time in his lab at work than even considering a gym. Musa rattled the newspaper he was reading and scowled at the small print, muttering in frustration about his ever-missing glasses.

"In the armrest, Baba."

"Ah, thank you!"

Taba bustled into the living room wearing an apron over her floral print dress. Speaking offhandedly, she mentioned, "I just got off the phone. Javid and his family are celebrating his doctoral next weekend, Musa."

"Oh?" he said with interest.

Despite her middle age, Taba's face was unlined, thanks to her careful attention to her looks. She was slender and shapely, even after giving birth to two fine, healthy children, but she was modest about her beauty, the sort of virtuous woman she wished Zoya would emulate. Taba hummed to herself as she dusted and made herself busy, eyes darting to her problem child. She didn't miss the lip gloss on Zoya's lips, the faint hint of blush. She tisked to herself. There was "progressive"—and then there was pushing things. At some point, she decided, she would have to have a stern talk with her daughter about what was becoming of a woman of her standing.

As if reading her mother's thoughts, Zoya slumped lower in the cushy armchair, turning up the volume on her iPad and getting engrossed in the questions from her anatomy class. She had heard them talking about Javid. She wanted to disappear, but where to? Her Saturdays were customarily spent at her family home. It was the least she could do to spend time with her folks, and it wasn't like she didn't enjoy them. They just...didn't understand her.

She knew what her parents were trying to do. Javid was only the latest in a long queue of potential suitors they paraded before for her. And, while Taba and Musa chose not to force the issue, Zoya could tell her mother was growing weary of her resistance. Unbidden, her thoughts flew to the man she had met at the biker bar, the man with the hidden tattoos and enough muscles to make a girl feel weak in the knees, just to get him to catch her when she fell. Maybe she was a hopeless romantic. A man like him wouldn't even be allowed to step foot past the threshold. He was too-too.

Javid was a nice enough guy with coke bottle glasses, a headful of wavy black hair, and a bulbous nose above what Zoya considered effeminate lips; he wasn't exactly unattractive. He was conservative and responsible. His family was established. There wasn't anything wrong with him, aside from the fact he was her mother's pick.

"Did you hear that, Zoya?" her father spoke louder.

Zoya swallowed a sound of frustration, plastering a smile on her face. "Is that so? I take it we have an invitation. I'll have to check my schedule." It was the closest she could bring herself to say—besides outright disrespecting her parents.

"Don't sass," Musa growled gruffly.

"I'm not," she said innocently, eyebrows raised. She exhaled heavily. "I'm sure I'll be available. If I have any projects due for classes, I'll just...get them done earlier in the week. Does that work?"

"You worry too much about making a living." Miad breezed into their parent's living room wearing a carefree smile, and Zoya instantly brightened at the sight of her handsome big brother. He was six years her senior, and his early years had been in their native country. He was more like his Iranian parents than his Iranian-American sister. Still, Miad was the one who had helped her fight her battles in the past. When assimilating into American public schools had proved difficult, Miad was there to keep the bullies from making her feel like too much of an outsider, even if he did take the brunt of the bullying.

His skin was faintly olive tinted, and his accent was heavier than hers. His hair was thick and full, cut to accentuate the hard planes of his face and falling around his high forehead in loose waves. Like a Persian sheikh, Miad carried an air of capability she had seen women swoon over, but he was a bit of a play boy. He was a sharp dresser. It was hard to tell by looking at him that he was no more than a cashier in a fashion boutique run by their cousin, Asada. Judging by the charcoal shirt and black tie, he looked more like a successful businessman.

Unfortunately, that was his problem, in her opinion. He looked like something he wasn't. He was intelligent, but wily; he was handsome, but vain. Sometimes she wished he'd work a little harder at reaching his full potential.

Miad settled on the couch and tossed his foot across his knee, leaning back to survey Zoya with insightful brown eyes. He pointed an elegant hand in her direction and said, "You have this distinctly American way of thinking about yourself, as if, as a woman, you have something to prove. But, the truth is, your virtue should speak for itself. A good woman doesn't need to broadcast her finest attributes. She doesn't need a thousand degrees to be valued. Your job is to be a dutiful wife and a mother. What man wants a woman who aspires to take his position, eh?"

"I know my place," Zoya murmured, bristling at being called out like that.

Zoya's mother's facial expression didn't change. She simply padded to the hall closet and yanked out the vacuum cleaner. She marched back into the living room and plugged it in, running the whirring, clamorous vacuum back and forth in front of her husband's feet. She went over the spot twice until he harrumphed and put down the newspaper. "Yes, Taba?" he asked expectantly.

"Oh, was I bothering you? I'm sorry, my husband. I just thought perhaps you could reinforce what our son is trying to tell our daughter." She knew he wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. Musa could tune out a train crash, much less a small squabble between his kids. She put her hand on her narrow hip and glanced pointedly from Zoya to Musa.

"Your brother's right," he deigned to contribute.

Taba sighed. "Listen, Zoya, we're merely trying to look after your best interests. You don't want to end up like your maiden aunt, do you? Having goals and successes are admirable, but what good is a successful career if you have no one to come home to? I want grandchildren! And, while I have you here, Miad, that goes for you, too!"

Miad rose to his feet with a charming smile, kissing his mother on the cheek with a resounding smack. "Maman, what woman can take your place in my heart? You wound me. I only have eyes for you."

She swatted at his chest and shooed him away, grinning and blushing at his nice words. It was at this unfortunate moment that Zoya's phone decided to ring, and Zoya absently glanced at the device resting on the coffee table, not recognizing the number. Then, her eyes widened in alarm as she realized it could only be one person. Very few people had her number, and all of those who did were saved to her phone’s contacts. Her gaze darted to her family members. There wasn't any way she could pretend it wasn't ringing.

Zoya reluctantly picked up the phone and answered. "Hello?"

"Zoya?" Her heart raced at the sound of Micah's voice. Her face flushed. Sweat sprang from nowhere to bead above her upper lip.

"I'm sorry. You have the wrong number." She quickly hung up the phone and prayed he didn't call right back. Miad stared at her suspiciously, and she flashed him a shaky smile. "Well!" she said with too much cheer. "I didn't realize it was so late in the evening. I better get home."

"What's the rush? You missed going to the mosque with us yesterday. I thought you were going to stay for dinner," Miad complained. "I worry about you, Zoya. I worry you're growing too secular."

Zoya grimaced. She had missed worship. She had been stuck grading papers as a T.A., despite the fact that the professor usually let her off work when she had to go to mosque. She just hadn't pushed the issue, but she felt guilty with Miad bringing it up. She shrugged, not knowing what to say to defend herself. There was no excuse. She was growing lax. Blame it on too much American television. She wanted to crow, "So, sue me!" but she was positive that would get her kicked out of the house. Instead, she meekly mumbled she could stay a little longer.

However, she put her phone on vibrate and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. Following her maman into the dining room, she helped set the table so they could eat. She could hear Miad and her father in the kitchen talking stocks. The older Rao child was the apple of their parents' eyes. She wished, not for the first time, that she had it within herself to be more like the person they wanted her to be, but it was difficult to conform to their expectations when Zoya felt there was a vibrant, brilliant woman locked inside herself waiting to be free.

Again, her thoughts turned to Micah. In a perfect world, she wouldn't be scared to get to know him. She wondered what she would say if he called again...whether she would have the courage to finally shake her wings a little, even if she had to stay tucked inside her cocoon a little longer. She wondered if a man like Micah would have the patience to wait until she was ready to look skyward.

***

At close to six in the evening, Zoya drove her hybrid to her apartment complex, exhausted by the effort it took to hang around her folks for hours. She pushed her purse up her shoulder and hopped out of the lime green car and ran up the stairs into her building. She stopped at the mailbox to check their mail and ambled to the elevator perusing the stack. Singling out the bills from the junk, she tucked the whole bundle into her purse and sighed, looking up at the ceiling of the elevator. It dinged on the second floor, and she strolled out.

She opened the maroon door that led into her living room where the cozy space felt like a sanctuary. Callie was curled up on the buttercream micro suede couch reading a book with the television playing quietly in the background, and she looked up at Zoya with a smile. Zoya closed the front door and locked it, ambling over to the couch to sit next to her best friend. She dropped the mail on the coffee table and took a deep breath.

"So...he called," she announced.

Callie's ears instantly perked up. "What did you say to him?"

"That he had the wrong number."

"You didn't!"

"Hey, when a guy like that calls in the middle of a conversation about piety and modesty with your very conservative parents, you tell him he has the wrong number." Zoya shrugged, face set in a frown. She put her elbow on the back of the couch and ran her hand through her hair, pulling off her hijab. She sighed and dropped her head back on the couch.

Callie hummed in interest. "Somebody's jonesing."

"Cut it out," Zoya giggled. "I just want to get to know him, that's all. I mean, is that a crime?"

"Apparently in some cultures."

Zoya stuck out her tongue. "Don't make fun of me."

Callie rose from the couch and poured up two glasses of red wine, bringing one to her roommate. When Zoya tried to decline, she shook her head and shoved the wineglass into her hand anyway. Some things called for wine. Zoya took a satisfying sip and closed her eyes as the full-flavored red lingered on her palate. She slowly swallowed and opened her eyes to see Callie staring at her intently. The silver stud in Callie's nose glinted in the light, and her violet colored eyes held mischief.

She encouragingly squeezed Zoya's hand that was resting on the cushion of the couch. "What you're going to do," she said, "is call him back and let him know you couldn't talk earlier, but you can now."

"What if he's pissed off because I hung up on him earlier? Callie, put yourself in my shoes."

"Frankly, I can't."

Zoya smacked her lips and pulled out her cellphone, scrolling through the call list for the unknown number. She hit redial and put it to her ear, hoping the phone would go to voicemail and save her the embarrassment of having to explain herself, but he answered on the third ring. She nearly spit out the wine she was holding in her mouth. Zoya swallowed abruptly and looked to Callie with worried eyes.

Callie grabbed the phone. "Hi, Micah?"

"Yeah, who is this?"

"It's Callie, from the other night at the biker bar," she replied. "Remember me?"

"How could I forget? To what do I owe the pleasure of getting a call from Zoya's friend?"

"The fact that she's sitting over here right now looking like a deer in the headlights at the prospect of talking to you. I've given her wine. I've set the mood. The lights are low. The only thing missing is some smooth R&B, and if you hang on for a second, I can get that going, too."

"Callie!" Zoya whined. Micah laughed heartily on the other end of the phone. She could hear him. She colored at the sound.

Callie grinned and continued. "So, I'm gonna hand this thing back to her, and hopefully she gets up the nerve to at least say hello." She grabbed Zoya's hand and closed it around the smartphone, smiling at her stricken expression. Zoya grumbled but put the phone to her ear, as Callie sprung from the couch and cued up the clock radio. In no time, the room was filled with a seductive beat and a soprano voice singing a silky ballad, more to Callie's tastes than Zoya's, but she knew what her friend was trying to do.

"Hello," she said with a sigh.

"I thought I recognized your voice earlier when you told me I had the wrong number." She could hear the grin in his speech. Zoya smiled involuntarily. "I told you I don't bite. Did I call at a bad time?"

"You could say that."

"Out with a boyfriend?" he asked lightly.

She giggled softly, settling back on the couch and putting her feet up. Callie grabbed the book she'd been reading and tiptoed out of the room, throwing two thumbs up before she disappeared into her bedroom. Zoya threw a throw pillow after her. "No, I was at my parents' house," she replied.

"Ah," he said understandingly. "Well, you've made my night. I'm happy you called back. I was just in the middle of drafting a design for work, but I needed a break. So, what's up? Had a good day? I've been thinking about you."

"I've been...thinking about you, too."

"Uh huh? Enough to consider going out with me next weekend?"

Zoya groaned. "Um, next weekend is a really bad time. I've got something planned with my family."

"I'm flexible," he supplied.

"Maybe sometime this week?" she asked. She chewed her bottom lip, wondering if she was making a bad decision. She knew if she went out with him, she would be stringing him along. There wasn't a chance they could be anything more than friends, and it was patently clear he was interested in more than a casual friendship. At the same time, she wanted to see him. She wanted the opportunity to really talk with him and get to know him. She was curious about how a guy with a mechanical engineering degree ended up in a biker bar.

He paused on the other end of the phone. She held it closer to her ear, and she could hear him breathing. Zoya closed her eyes and pictured his face. The thought of him sent shivers through her. She had a bad case. "You know what? This week isn't so good for me either. I've got a lot of work to do for school. I'm—"

"Chickening out," he said with a chuckle.

"No!" she protested.

"Yeah, you are, but it's fine. There's no rush. Just put me on your mind and get back to me when you're ready to make time for me."

"Wait!" she found herself saying. She couldn't let him hang up the phone like that, not with the ball in her court. She'd never call him back. She had to capitalize on the instant shot of bravado that buoyed her to say her next words. "Wednesday night," she blurted.

He sounded surprised when he said, "Okay...I'll pick you up at eight. Want to text me your address or should I wait until later, just to give you time to change your mind?"

She considered. "I guess it's no problem if I send it to you tonight. Long as you promise you won't turn out to be some sort of weird stalker or something." She giggled nervously. It was a possibility.

"I promise I'm not a stalker. I'm not dangerous to you at all, actually. I couldn't hurt a woman like you if I tried, and I wouldn't try. I like you, Zoya." The words sounded unrehearsed and sent a flurry of activity in the region of her heart. She took a deep, steadying breath and nodded—though he couldn't see her. He was good...real good.

"Until Wednesday night then."

"Until then."

She hung up the phone. When she looked up, Callie was lounging, arms crossed, against the entrance to the living room with a knowing grin. "Well?" she asked.

"I have a date!"

"You have an excuse for us to go shopping! Yay!"

Zoya burst out laughing and got up from the couch. "I've also got more anatomy homework. Oh, I can't believe I let you talk me into calling him back."

"That's what friends are for."

Zoya pushed past her to her room so she could get ready for bed. She tried to ignore her fluttering heart, but she couldn't. She hadn't felt this excited in. Ever.

She counted homework as a loss Wednesday night, unable to focus on a damned thing. However, the hands on the clock continued to speed closer to eight. Zoya started getting ready hours before her date. She had a deep red sweater dress she paired with black leggings and knee length boots, coupled with a long mauve scarf in conjunction with her black hijab. Her plush lips were lightly touched with color, and her eyes were heavily accented.

Callie squealed with delight when she saw her. "Knock him dead," she stated.

Zoya tossed back a gulp of wine before her frayed nerves forced her to bow out. She watched the clock with hawk eyes. "What if he stands me up?"

"Girlfriend, trust me when I tell you the man will be here ahead of time. He's hot for you. I know these things."

"Don't say hot."

"He's hawt for you," Callie reiterated with more emphasis.

Zoya cellphone rang, and she pounced on it. "I'm downstairs." As usual, she felt dizzy at the sound of his voice.

"I'll be right there," she responded.

Callie pushed Zoya's clutch into her hands and ushered her to the door. "Remember to call me if anything happens that makes you uncomfortable. I'll be home all night wrestling with this stupid take-home quiz, but I'm available to fly to the rescue if you need me to. I have a feeling you're not going to need me to."

"If he farts, barfs, or tries to feel me up, I have you on speed dial."

Zoya rushed out the door and down the elevator to the front lobby where Micah was waiting for her. She almost didn't recognize him, the transformation was that stark. In place of denim and leather, he wore khaki corduroy pants cinched at the hips with a skinny white leather belt, and a coral-colored buttoned shirt was open at the chest to reveal a hint of his tattoos. His dark brown hair was parted and swooped to the right. The translucent blue shades were the only thing from his alter ego still in place on his proud nose. He stood with one hand in his pocket. The other hand held keys.

His smile was a ray of sunshine in the night when he saw her coming. With pale blue eyes, he scanned her from hijab to black high heeled boots, whistling low and long at the sight of her. The way she walked drew his attention to her hips. The red dress hugged her curves and tugged at his libido. He understood there were cultural differences between them that required him to be on his best behavior, and he had nothing but respect for that, but it was going to be harder than pulling teeth to act like he didn't notice she was a bombshell.

"Heaven, help me," he muttered to himself.

She sauntered up to him and clasped her hands in front of herself, holding a black clutch. Her brown face was radiant. She was prettier than he remembered.

"Ready?" she asked. He heard the tremor in her voice and knew she was skittish as could be, but he didn't want to make her nervous. He wanted to prove to Zoya he was capable of showing her a good time without compromising her.

He broached the subject before they headed outside and she saw his mode of transportation and decided to bolt. "Listen," he said, "I got the feeling when we first met that you're not much into physical contact. Did I read you right?"

"It's traditionally considered indecent for conservative Muslims to act so familiarly, I guess you would call it, with members of the opposite sex that are not related," she explained. "I hope I didn't offend you."

"No, no, not at all."

They walked through the lobby doors, and she was presented with the sight of his motorcycle. The beautiful black bike had a fat tail, a sleek front, and small white-walled tires. She didn't know motorcycles, but it looked impressive, and when she glanced at her date, he looked proud of his ride. She also realized what he had been getting at when he mentioned physical contact.

"Thing is, if you want to ride with me, you're going to have to hang on tight," he said. He rubbed his hands together like he couldn't wait to rip down the highway on the back of the Victory Cross Roads 8-Ball. "Alternatively, we can take your car, if you want."

He knew she didn't have a clue, but the pricey bike was top of the line, and the modifications he had made to the engine accommodated the somewhat bulky frame, making it built for speed and control. He was willing to fold his tall frame into a car, but he preferred his chrome steed. He grabbed his leather jacket folded on the leather seat and looked at Zoya expectantly. "Ever rode one of these things?"

"No," she admitted. She took a cautious step toward the bike, her curiosity getting the best of her. It was eye-catching. She could picture him with a ride like this. His grin spread across his face as he gestured to the back of the bike for her to have a seat. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"I've never had an accident."

"There's always a first time," she quipped.

"I will handle you with care. Unless you want the real motorcycle experience," he taunted. "Then, I'll fly you to the moon and back. I'll show you what it's like to walk on the wild side without even getting your shoes dirty."

"That sounds like an invitation I should decline," she mused.

She threw her leg across and tried it out. Zoya nodded. It wasn't too bad.

"That's the spirit," he encouraged. When he handed her a helmet, she put it on her head and it sat up like a top hat. "I think I'm doing it wrong." She giggled. He chuckled and helped her put it on, buckling the helmet underneath her chin and making sure it was properly adjusted before putting on one, himself.

Micah excitedly hopped on the bike in front of her, savoring the feel of her slender thighs tightening around his hips. She scooted her pelvis back from the base of his spine, and he suppressed a sigh of regret. Her body heat was magnetizing. He clutched the handlebars and held his elbows away from himself, glancing over his shoulder, and she ever so slowly slid her arms around his waist. Lap dances hadn't felt more enticing than the feel of her light grasp. She captivated him with her inhibitions.

Micah shook his head and took a deep breath. There was a built-in communicator that allowed him to talk with her during the ride. He started the engine, and the muffler made a soothing growl that drew the attention of passers-by. With a grin, he spoke into the helmet. "Keep your arms around my waist. Don't let go."

"Where are we going?" she thought to ask.

"It's a surprise. Do you trust me?"

"I have to, I think," she replied.

She heard his laughter, as the engine got louder and he hit the accelerator and pushed away from the curb. The tires gripped the pavement, but her stomach flip-flopped as the bike canted to the right and eased into the flow of traffic. He gunned it. The engine roared louder. She didn't know what she expected, but he delivered far more than she was prepared to receive. The wind tearing at her clothes was a surprise. The speed was jaw dropping. Zoya shrieked as he whipped around a car ahead of them and pushed the motorcycle faster.

"You're in great hands, Zoya. I won't let anything happen to you," he promised.

"You're going so fast!"

"It's the only way to ride. Lean forward, relax, and let me show you what I can do."

The words sounded oddly erotic. Zoya shoved away the images that came to mind. The bike hummed between her legs like a monster, and she squeezed her knees around him. Her arms tightened, and she drew closer, resting her head on his broad back. The world beyond her vizor became a light show of blurred lines. Streets she had traveled for years took on a whole new life, and she wondered if this was what he had meant when he had said he'd show her how to walk on the wild side.

At first, panic threatened, as she imagined all the things that could go wrong, but he kept the wheels of the bike between the lines of the road. He maneuvered around cars. He zipped, swerved, and made her want to shout. She was shocked to discover she was having the time of her life. She laughed loudly. "This is amazing!"

"Look up."

She eased her head back and gazed up at the blue-black sky and the white moon. He was taking her there. Her body was a taut string thrumming to the vibrations. It was beautiful. The feeling was unbelievable. She felt the bike begin to decelerate, and she held him closer. He leaned forward, the bike taking his lead. He leaned to the side, and the bike hugged the curve, easing into a parking lot in front of an upscale restaurant about thirty minutes away from her house. She had seen the place a thousand times and never paid it any attention. On her grad school budget, the menu was on the pricy side.

When he killed the engine and dropped his booted feet to the pavement to steady the bike so she could disembark, Zoya lingered behind him, not quite willing to let the feeling of flying pass.

"We're here, princess," he stated the obvious. Micah was glad his helmet hid his face because he was smiling from ear to ear at the feel of her soft body pressed to his own. He figured he should've planned better. There had to be plenty great restaurants a thousand miles away. But, he was on a mission, and he couldn't get beside himself.

He pulled off his helmet, and she followed his lead. "You saw me at my roughest," he replied. "I want you to get a taste of my more refined side. Brought your appetite with you?"

His choice of words sent her imagination in the wrong direction yet again. Zoya ducked her head and eased off the back of the motorcycle, biting her bottom lip.

He confidently ambled to the door and held it for her, leading her to the front desk. "Reservation for Whitfield."

They were taken to a table tucked away in a corner in front of a massive tinted window that overlooked a glassy lake reflecting the lights of the city. It was enchanting, and the ambience in the place set the right tone. Satiny violins whispered from hidden speakers. Zoya glanced around the rose-colored room at the fabric covered walls and the glossy tiled floor. Their table was hardwood, and their dining chairs were comfortable. It was the little touches that wowed, like the gilded candelabra in the center of the table with orange flames flickering from red candles.

The menu offered haute French cuisine. She wasn't familiar with some of the entrées, but Micah politely guided her on what to try, and when the sommelier brought the wine list, he ordered a vintage that paired well with her foie gras. His French was impeccable. She looked at him with surprise. The man was a walking mystery.

Once they were alone, she peered at him with questions in her light brown eyes. He leaned forward, eager to answer them because he had some questions of his own. Zoya licked her lips, and his gaze followed her tongue. He felt a clutch of desire tighten in his loins. She asked, "What makes you tick?"

"Hmm," he answered in consideration. "That's a tough one. How about we start with something easier?"

"I look at you and see a guy who looked right at home in a biker bar. Yet, here you are in a classy restaurant looking as much at ease, probably more so than me. The dichotomy is mind-boggling."

"Am I so different? I mean, look at you. Some people may see you and formulate who they think you are by what you wear and how you carry yourself. But, are you so one dimensional that they get you right every time?"

"You have a point."

"I know." He rested his elbow on the table and drummed with his fingertips. His eyes never left hers. She inhaled slowly, and her eyelids fluttered. Like a desert breeze, she tugged at him with invisible hands. He was a very private individual, but she made him want to share his secrets.

"To an extent, I am what I appear," she tried to explain. "I am a good Muslim girl from a protective, loving family, and I try to abide by their expectations. I think I'm hard working and ambitious, to the bane of my older brother. But, I'm also considerate, and I do my best not to shame them. I'm—"

"Telling me who your family wants you to be. I'm more interested in who you are. What music you like, what movies you like, the minutiae of what you do in your free time, the mundane details that add up to Zoya."

"I thought we were talking about you," she paused, smiling. Their drinks arrived. He studied her over the rim of his wineglass as he took a sip. She felt herself coloring at his scrutiny. The tables had turned fast.

He replied casually, "I was raised by a single mother. I grew up in a trailer. I'm the end result of a raw deal I leveraged to my advantage. We were poor, and that made me determined to not remain that way, so I worked my ass off, but it also made me grow up with a chip on my shoulder. I got in a lot of fights and got kicked out of a couple of schools. I tried drugs and alcohol, the normal shit that teenagers sample, because I wanted an escape. There wasn't any nirvana in that stuff for me."

"I was a model student. I excelled at my studies. I've never been in a fight in my life—although my big brother fought for me more times than I can count. I never even thought about trying drugs, and I don't drink excessively. Moderation in all things."

He smiled. "You sound like you had it easy."

"I've been bullied, poked fun at, and downright abused in this country. People see me now and they think terrorist, an extremist. If you call that easy, you're crazy."

"My apologies, I didn't mean to devalue your experiences," he said lightly.

"You're a white male in a white male dominated world," she pushed a little. "Not that I have anything against you. It's just easy for a man like you to ignore what it's like to not be the majority."

He pushed up his sleeve and flashed his tattoos. "It all depends on which aspect people see first. Few things in life are as simple as they seem. For instance, when you're poor, you're considered inferior. When you're different, you're considered a threat. I've been both. I don't want to compare battle stripes, but—suffice it to say—I'm not oblivious to what it's like to be labeled. But, we aren't our scars, and we aren't defined by what other people call us. I see you, and I see a beautiful girl with eyes like an unfamiliar song I want to learn the words to."

"What if there aren't any words?" she asked. Her hooded eyes were seductive, even though she didn't intend them to be. The waiter appeared with their food, which broke the mood. Zoya snatched her gaze away and gave her attention to the meal placed before her. "This looks delicious."

"I was thinking the same thing." She looked up, and his eyes were still on her.

She cleared her throat. "You were telling me about your childhood."

"There isn't much to tell," he replied. "At some point in a courtroom for some random juvenile offense, I realized that I was following a well-traveled path to a hell I wasn't interested in visiting. I was locked away in a group home for six months and had to do community service, but when I got out, I had a whole new perspective on what it meant to have street cred. I looked at the neighborhood guys who seemed to be the hardest, most respected gangsters, and they didn't hold the same kind of weight around town as the doctors and the lawyers."

"Scared straight," she interjected. He nodded, smiling. It was easy to smile with her. Talking to her was easy. He didn't see judgment in her eyes at the mention of being raised by a single mom or his earlier criminal behavior. He had dated some chicks who looked at his past like a mark against him.

"I got my GED. I dedicated myself to getting into college, and once there, I made it my business to get a degree. I've always been kind of great with cars and shit, so mechanical engineering came second nature, but I never really thought I'd get as far as I have. During my junior year of college, I got a scholarship from GM."

"So, what do you for a living?"

"I'm a draftsman. I design products to enhance engine performance."

"That sounds complicated. What I want to do is work as a physician assistant, preferably in a major hospital. I have another year, and my goal will be realized."

"And, your family isn't happy about that? You mentioned something about your brother not liking your ambition."

She shrugged, digging into her food. "Miad feels a woman's place is in the home. He's old-fashioned. He thinks a man is supposed to take care of me. I know I'm intelligent enough and strong enough to make my own way in this world. When it comes to relationships, I don't want to feel like I have to shrink my dynamism so my partner can feel like the bigger person. I guess I'm more influenced by this culture than my family prefers that I be. It's just that...well, I'm not trying to supersede anybody. But, what's wrong with being equals?"

"I see your strength."

"You see me quivering like a mouse. Stop it," she said softly.

He put his hand over hers across the table, and she didn't pull back. Zoya looked up into his eyes. They were sheer blue as the sky. "If it makes you feel better, you make my pulse race, too."

"Why is that?" Zoya asked. He chuckled and glanced away, eyes returning with renewed force.

She leaned back in her chair, finally tucking her hands under her arms, knowing distance was her only salvation. The way the light touched his skin washed his face in golden highlights and navy shadows, and the image was branded into her consciousness. She would see him, even if her eyes went blind. His hand upon hers had burned her fingers. She was sure there were blisters where their skin had touched. This was arousal, she surmised. She would've thought she was old enough to recognize it by now, but she had never felt a desire so hot it scalded.

"Because...you're nothing like what I'm used to, and I have no idea what to make of you. A part of me knows I should speed away in the opposite direction, but my mind can't move away."

"The timeless dilemma. The Forbidden Fruit."

"Is it the same for you?"

"My family would never accept you. Why don't I care?"

"Don't say things like that. I almost wish you would steer clear of me. I'm not exactly in a position to give you the right advice about a guy like me. To be blunt...for all you see, there are things you don't."

"Don't worry. I'm wiser than my foolish words," she said with a half-smile. "So, you're telling me I'm better off abiding by the rules."

"I wish you wouldn't though."

"Say what you mean."

"I'm trying," he admitted.

They lapsed into a loaded silence, eyes saying too much. Eating occupied the need for conversation. She saw the warning and the invitation. He saw the need for her to make an honest mistake. She would put faith in him that he maybe didn't deserve, Micah realized. He was equally aware she might be able to make him do what others couldn't. Change.

They ordered a dessert, which they shared. Zoya adjusted her hijab around her face. She knew it was late, and she couldn't stay out all night, and she pulled out her phone to check the time. She hadn't even thought to call Callie. Her roommate would be worried. "Oh, it's almost eleven."

"Is that my cue to get you home?" Micah asked with a grin. He called for the check and paid the bill, grabbing his jacket. He reached for Zoya, but he didn't touch her. He guided her out of the restaurant into the chilly night, and Micah dropped his leather jacket around her shoulders for warmth. When she stepped under his arm and let it rest around her shoulders, he didn't say a word, but simply reveled in the feel of her. They walked together to the motorcycle.

"Have I sufficiently scared you off?" he asked impulsively.

"You've given me a lot to consider," she replied.

She settled on the bike behind him, arms easily resting around his waist, and when he took off, she clutched him tighter. He sped the short distance to her apartment. He had to get her home. If he didn't, he couldn't be held accountable for what he might do.

She stood on the steps to her apartment, watching him ride away and struggling to push down the excitement that still lingered long after he disappeared into the night. What was wrong with her? She suppressed a soulful groan. He had all but told her he was bad news, but she couldn't resist continuing the story to see what would happen next.

Callie had waited up for her, and as soon as Zoya walked into the apartment, she was assailed with questions about how the date went and what he was like. She barely had the words to describe everything. Zoya sat at the kitchen counter with Callie going over everything in detail and watching her friend's face carefully to see what Callie thought about the whole situation.

"The problem is," said Zoya, "this weekend I'm going with my parents to meet a man they hope will pique my interest. They're ready for me to settle down. I know what's expected of me, Callie, but..."

Callie chipped at the polish on her nails with chewed off nails, contemplating. "What they don't know won't hurt them, right?"

"I can't hide something as big as this. If they find out, they'll never trust me again."

Callie reached out and grabbed her arm. "Zoya, you're an adult!"

"I'm trying to tell you what it's like in my family, Callie. I know I'm an adult, but I still have responsibilities, duties. I can't just walk around like none of that matters. Why won't you listen to me?"

"I'm doing the best I can, honey, but I'm having a hard time reconciling the girl I know with the person you're trying to turn yourself into. Every challenge you've encountered since I met you, you've conquered. You're not some shrinking violet who can be manipulated, and you're letting yourself be backed into a corner by hardline traditionalists who expect you to conform to their standards with no allowance for what you really want to do with your life! Zoya, you have a right to pave your own way."

"I'm scared I'll mess things up." Zoya's voice was small, as she admitted the fear that lingered in the back of her mind every time she thought about rebelling against her parents' wishes. She wasn't so arrogant that she imagined she'd never need their help in the future. These were things that had to be considered.

"You will mess up. We all mess up. Your folks have messed up before. Look, I know you think you have them all figured out, but they're humans, too. The bottom line is, you don't know what you'll do if you keep waiting around for someone else to make all your decisions for you."

"He basically told me he couldn't be trusted."

Callie snorted. "At least he's honest."

Zoya giggled. "I gotta get some sleep," she said finally. "Whose idea was it to have a late night date in the middle of a class week?"

"Yours," Callie reminded her.

Zoya got up from the counter and made her way to the bathroom, and she drew a bath so she could contemplate her night in private. She sank into the tub, and the bubbles rose to her chest. She slowly washed her face, sweeping the towel over her glistening skin. She washed away the day, while her mind was lingering on the night. Micah was more than attractive; he was interesting. She wondered if it was the forbidden quality that stamped their relationship with taboo that appealed to her most.

It was intense to know he was just as interested in her as she was in him, and he respected her. That was different. That was important, but what should she do with him? Callie's suggestion was that Zoya keep the relationship a secret from her family. As much as Zoya had protested, she knew she could do it. What she did at grad school was her business. They rarely even asked much about it.

On the other hand, the subterfuge would place a wedge between them that hadn't existed before. Zoya had always played by the rules, but she had never wanted to break them so badly before.

Zoya smoothed the towel down her torso to her delicate mons. As the terry cloth skated over her labia, her eyes drifted shut, and she sank deeper into the water. Her head rested on the back of the ivory tub, her shiny hair floated on the surface of the water. She had never touched herself so intimately, but her hand moved of its own accord between her legs. She thought of the man who inspired her lust. "Micah," she murmured heatedly. His face flashed behind her closed eye. She squeezed them tighter shut.

What was he doing to her?

A gentle moan hummed in her chest, and her naked body trembled in the still water. Her fingertips slipped past the towel to touch herself. The pad of her index finger stroked her clitoris. Her hips shifted forward, legs drifting open wider. Her womanhood clenched, and she bit her bottom lip, hissing in a breath as her finger slipped close to her entrance. She was a virgin. She had never been penetrated. The questing digit was enough to bring her crashing back to reality.

Bath water sloshed to the floor as Zoya sat up straight with a gasp like she had been holding her breath, and she quickly washed her hands. She swiftly finished bathing. It was a mistake. It was a mistake to let herself get too involved with Micah. She hurried out of the tub and got dressed. She couldn't look at herself in the mirror, and she didn't want to think about what she had almost done. But, as she climbed into the bed and pulled her comforter up over her shoulders, her mind raced, against conscious effort, back to thoughts of the bad boy biker who inflamed her desires more than any man ever had.

She wanted him so badly, it hurt. It had to be a sin.

***

"Have you met my daughter, Zoya?" Musa beamed with pride.

Taba, resplendent in a scarlet Iranian folk costume, the red silk painted with gold designs, held out her ringed finger to Zoya who was wearing fair rose. The wealthy merchant, Javid's father, stared openly in approval. Zoya knew she looked the picture of the proper Muslim girl. She was appropriately modest and demure. She kept her eyes downcast. She wouldn't speak unless spoken to, and she wouldn't voice her opinions unless asked. She knew what was desired of her. He gestured for his son, and Javid came reluctantly to his side, probably already having met every single woman at the party—young, old, beautiful, and ugly. Getting paired was tiresome work.

"You must meet my oldest son," Ahmad introduced.

Javid eyes glittered with interest, as he finally looked at her. Zoya smiled tightly, eyes cautiously lifting to dart around the crowded room. The Muhamad house was filled with family and friends celebrating the momentous occasion of Javid's graduation from medical school, and she was honored to be a guest, but she was past ready to go home. Dinner had been served; musicians serenaded; and a belly dancer moved around the room. How long could the party last? She had assignments to catch up on.

"So, you're studying to be a physician assistant?" Javid asked. "Do you find it demanding coursework?"

"It can be," Zoya allowed. She nervously glanced at the man her parents were gunning for her to begin a courtship with, and she just couldn't find anything appealing about him. Javid's ears were larger than she recalled from the last time she had seen him, and to make matters worse, he had a faint odor of garlic and onions from the savory meal they had eaten. She fought not to gag.

Putting a safe distance between him and her nose, she looked back down at the floor. He remarked, "You must have many men begging to see you. Your beauty draws the eye of every man here." There was a possessive catch to his voice. Zoya managed not to roll her eyes. She smiled instead.

"You are overly kind," she replied.

Javid launched into a boring conversation about his residency, which she followed with some difficulty. The way her attention skittered off at every distraction didn't bode well. She tried to appear attentive, but Zoya was sure she was failing. Javid didn't seem to notice. He brought her refreshments, sweet cakes and spicy punch, and he rambled on about wanting to be a neurologist, but she had visions of bikers flying down the highway of her thoughts.

"And, my first choice for a bride didn't suit. I think American culture ruins good women. Their self-importance becomes inflated. Of course, I expect a woman to be possessed of intelligence, but not so vulgarly secular. So..."

Zoya's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I understand," she murmured, not hearing a word he was saying.

"A woman like you, for instance, your brilliant mind must be turned to pleasing your respectable parents. I've heard nothing but virtuous things about you, Zoya. Wise is the woman whose name is above reproach. You're almost done with graduate school, if I've heard correctly?"

"That must be so," she uttered. Her gaze found Miad at the open bar yet again. She frowned. It was about the fourth or fifth time she had caught him there. She wondered if her parents were paying any attention to him. Likely, her mother was somewhere watching her, making sure Zoya crossed her T's and dotted her I's. She sighed involuntarily. Catching herself, she covered it with a dramatic yawn. "I'm sorry, Javid," she excused herself.

He chuckled. "Yes, I know education taxes you. If you were my wife, you wouldn't have to worry about your financial well-being. I am on course to be a successful neurologist. Did I tell you that?"

"I'm sure," she muttered. She spied Miad slink from the main room where the gathering was centered. He looked unsteady on his feet. "I, uh—excuse me a moment. I need to go check on my brother. Will you hold my drink?"

She left Javid's side without a backwards glance. She discreetly moved across the room and slipped into the corridor where she had seen Miad disappear. She hissed his name. "Where are you?" she whispered.

"Whaaa?" His slurred speech was all the evidence she needed to hear. He was sloppy drunk.

Zoya huffed and moved deeper into the shadowy hallway where she found Miad sprawled face down on the floor, his nice suit rumpled and stained. He reeked of liquor. She couldn't believe he would act so irresponsibly in a place like this. "Come on." Zoya grunted with effort, as she laboriously dragged her brother to a kneeling position, so he could struggle to his feet. He stood up, albeit on wobbly legs.

She guided him step by step to the front door and out into the night. Why was it she was always on clean-up duty? Zoya persisted to his Camaro. She dug into Miad's pocket for the keys and opened the car, shoving him into the passenger seat. She had traveled to the social event with her parents. She didn't have her hybrid. When she was sure he wouldn't climb back out in a drunken stupor because he was passed out, she rushed quietly back into the house to find her mother.

Taba was mid-laugh in a conversation with some of her peers when she saw Zoya hurrying towards her, and her smile left her face. She excused herself from the gathering of women talking about their oafish husbands and ungrateful children, and she met Zoya halfway. "I thought you were supposed to be talking to Javid," she admonished.

"I was, Maman, but Miad grew ill. I think it was the shellfish. Didn't it taste off to you?"

"What? No, of course not. Where is your brother?"

"I have him in the car. I'm just going to drive him to his house and make sure he gets inside and gets something to settle his stomach. You needn't worry, Maman. I left Javid with a great impression."

Taba looked like she wanted to say more, but she thought better of it. At least Zoya had given the young man a chance, which was more than Taba could say about others she had tried to persuade her daughter to see. She waved her hands in a shooing motion. Zoya's smile lit her face, and she kissed her mother's cheeks, hurrying away so that she could get Miad home. She rushed to the white Camaro and got in the driver's seat, adjusting it to her height. She put on her seatbelt and pushed the start button. The car purred to life, and she thanked her lucky stars Miad had gotten drunk, but she also worried about him.

Was it just her imagination or was her normally conservative brother drinking more and more lately? She remembered he had come to the house last week with a flask on his hip. Deep in thought, she drove across the city to the street where his townhome was located. She cast glances in his direction, but he didn't rouse. His soft snore filled the car. Zoya grumbled as she killed the engine and tried to figure out how to get his limp body out of the passenger's seat and into the house.

"Miad," she said his name. She shook his shoulder. He made a sound of dissent. "Miad, wake up! You're home."

"Unh?" he groaned.

She sighed in exasperation and shoved him harder. With annoyance, she said louder, "Miad, this is irresponsible of you!"

He shifted from a position slumped with his head against the window to his head pressed against the headrest. His shoved his fists to his eyes and knuckled them clear. He yawned, a sour smell erupting. "Home?" he said groggily, scratching his stomach. His tie was loosened and his shirt had come free of being neatly tucked in his pants. He shoved open the door of the car and stumbled out, moving by habit to his front door. He fumbled in his pockets for keys Zoya was still holding.

She frowned and took his keys to the door to let him in, running back out to the car to close and lock the doors and set the alarm. She made sure he was at least stretched out on his couch before dropping the keys on the coffee table and tiptoeing out. Hopefully, at some point, he would come to his senses enough to slide the deadbolt.

Zoya skipped down Miad's front steps and moved to the side of the sidewalk to hail a taxi, realizing for the first time how late it was and how deserted the streets were. Her amber eyes darted from left to right. Not a taxi visible. She saw a suspicious looking character walk by on the other side of the street, and she clung to her purse. She waved her hand again. A taxi passed, but it kept going.

"This is ridiculous," Zoya muttered. She ran back up the stairs and let herself into Miad's house. She thought about calling her parents, but she didn't want to make them leave the party. She just didn't trust lingering on the side of the road, waiting for a cab on the dark, questionable street. Instead, she pulled out her phone, and her thumb hovered over a number she had shied away from calling.

Feeling like she had few other options, (although she technically could've called Callie, who was likely lounging around their apartment without much to do), Zoya impulsively hit the call button for Micah. She stood with her back against Miad's front door, her eyes never leaving her sleeping brother's face. When Micah answered, she kept her voice hushed.

"Micah?" she whispered.

"Hey, you." He sounded pleased to hear from her.

"I'm in what you would call a bit of a bind."

"Oh, yeah? Anything I can help you with?"

She heard the sound of music playing in the background, people laughing. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No...no, never mind."

"Hey," Micah halted her before she could hang up the phone. "What's up? You okay?"

Zoya opened her eyes, as she heard a rustle from the couch, but it was only Miad turning over in sleep. "I could use a ride?" Her voice lifted at the end of her statement in question. Only if he wasn't too busy, she thought.

The music faded to a distant buzz, and she got a mental picture Micah was leaving wherever he was. She heard the distinct sound of boots crunching over gravel. "Where are you?" he asked.

She murmured Miad's address.

Micah climbed on his bike and fired up the engine. "Stay there. I'm twenty minutes out."

"Don't knock!" she hurriedly added. "I'll hear your bike. Just park outside."

He sounded concerned when he said, "Okay."

Micah hung up the phone and stared at it for a second before pushing it into his pocket. Pinwheel dashed up to him and put her crimson nailed hand on his arm. "Babe! Where are you running off to? We got business to take care of tonight."

Micah grimaced. "Q-ball knows how to handle everything. Tell the fellas I'll meet you guys back at HQ. I've got some business of my own to tend to." He kicked up the kickstand and gunned the engine, shifting into drive and tearing away from the parking lot, leaving a trail of dust. He hated to leave in a hurry, but Zoya had sounded urgent over the phone.

Micah avoided speed traps and took a shortcut where he could race full throttle to the address she had given him, familiar enough with the city to find the place on his first pass. He slowed his bike some and coasted past townhome after townhome, wondering which one was the right one. Suddenly, a door flew open to his right, and he braked. He swooped the bike up to the side of the road, blocked from getting directly next to the sidewalk by a parked Camaro. He dropped his feet to the ground and flipped back his vizor.

She looked amazing. The rose-hued, loose-fitting garment gave her normally modern style an exotic tweak. He smiled at her as she eased up her flowing robes and maneuvered herself onto the bike behind him. Micah handed a helmet over his shoulder, which she remembered how to put on correctly. As soon as the helmet was in place, he had questions.

"This is my brother's place," she replied before he could ask. "So, you have to get away from here. Hurry. If he hears the motorcycle, he might wake up."

Micah nodded and kicked off, accelerating down the empty street to turn around at the corner and make his way back to the freeway. "Where to?" he asked.

"My place. Where else? Did I steal you away from anything?"

"Nothing that couldn't wait. I was thinking I'd never hear from you again. Thought maybe you had gotten hip and realized I was the wrong bad decision to cut your teeth on." He chuckled. Zoya clasped her hands together against his abdomen, resting her head against his back in answer.

She smiled. He felt the bulge of the apple of her cheek between his shoulder blades. Micah shut his mouth before he talked himself out of a good thing. He broke the speed limit to get her home.

Once they were outside her apartment, he felt his anxiety level diminish a little. The call in the middle of the night had made him worry. His helmet rested atop his head. Hers was buckled to the back of the bike, and she stood close to him, staring boldly into his eyes. "You're good, now? Need anything else?"

"No, I'm sorry. I was out at a gathering with my family, and my brother got uncharacteristically wasted; so, I drove him home to save him some embarrassment. I just had a hard time flagging down a taxi, and I didn't feel safe out there by myself." Zoya looked down at her hands.

"I'm glad you called," he said. "Call me whenever you need me. Call me when you don't need me. Call me."

His smile was infectious. She blushed and backed away from him. "Well, thank you," said Zoya. She waved goodbye and ran to the steps of her apartment building. When she looked back over her shoulder, he was speeding away. She sighed in pleasure at the unexpected episode that had allowed them to see each other, and she pushed open the door and went inside. There was no way around it, she mused. She liked him.

Miles away, Micah gritted his teeth as he rushed onward to the location where he was supposed to be for a very important business transaction with the rest of The Hangman’s Crows. He was glad that he had been able to wrap up things with Zoya in time to get back. He had left in a rush from the biker bar, and he trusted, as he'd told Pinwheel, that Q-ball could handle things. However, it was better if the leader of the gang was present. When money, like the amount involved, changed hands, Micah liked to be the one making the drop.

As he cruised away, he shook his head. He could tell Zoya wasn't about to let him ride out of her life any more than he wanted to ride of it, but was that wise? There were things the motorcycle club ringleader was into that could shatter her innocent world. It was up to Micah, however, to make sure that no matter what happened between them, she didn't suffer the consequences for his alternative lifestyle.

Zoya cradled the cellphone, speaking softly deep into the night for the third night in a row. Not even early classes could keep her from talking to Micah. It was amazing how she had gone from trying to avoid him to surrendering to her desire to communicate with him. Zoya struggled to fit him into her busy schedule, and he made room for her, despite his demanding job and what he called his hobby bike club. She giggled and glanced at the clock again.

"Well, time isn't on my side," she murmured sleepily.

"Did you get that homework done, at least? I'd hate to keep you from something that important."

"I happen to be a master multitasker," she replied, giggling. "I finished that hours ago. If I don't get some sleep, though, I won't make it to my first class."

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Mmm, I have to go to worship service tomorrow. Friday is a sacred day for Muslims." She reluctantly added, "Plus, my mother set up a dinner date for me with a friend of the family."

"Should I be jealous?" he asked jokingly. She didn't answer. He whistled. "Alright, then. Can I see you Saturday morning? Weather's supposed to be nice out. I want to take you on a ride."

Saturday morning, Zoya got up early and got dressed for Micah, who arrived exactly on time. Callie waved her out of the apartment with a playful warning to "be good," and Zoya shushed the voice in the back of her head that whispered she was already breaking the rules.

He took her an hour's ride out of the city, letting her get the feel of the bike. Gone was the well-dressed businessman. When he took her out, he was the biker of her fantasies, and she was falling in love with traveling by motorcycle. There was nothing like it. The couple pulled off on what looked like a forgotten stretch of road flanked on each side by flat, dusty desert as far as the eyes could see. The dome of the sky was a rich, saturated blue. Zoya shaded her face and peered at the hazy mountains in the distance, white sun beaming down hotly. She was thankful for her protective headwear.

The bike was parked on the side of the road, and Micah ambled over to her with the keys. "Want to learn how to ride this thing?"

"What? You're joking, right?"

"Nope." His eyes danced mischievously, and he smiled, daring her to do it. Zoya reached for the keys, against her better judgment. He pumped his fist in the air and led her back to the bike, showing her what to touch and how to operate the thing. For good measure, Micah hopped on behind her to help her out, but he let her stay in control.

At first, she burst forward in leaps and sputters; she was too heavy-handed and too tentative with the accelerator. With his calm voice giving her instructions, however, Zoya gradually grew more comfortable at the helm. She managed to drive a few passes a mile up and down the black road. Laughing and breathless with pride at what she had accomplished, she finally tried to park the bike. In her haste, the wheel squealed and slid forward, causing her to yelp in surprise. Micah chuckled and reached around her to steer, easily bringing the vehicle to a stop.

"Wasn't bad, was it?" he asked.

"Did you see me? I drove this thing! I'm bad ass!"

"Ha!"

Zoya covered her mouth at swearing. Micah helped her off the bike, and she easily took his hand. "I loved it," she admitted. "I see why you like it. What do you do with your bike club?"

He wrinkled his nose and avoided giving a straightforward answer. "The usual shit. Ride bikes. Get more tattoos. You know what I want to know about, though? This guy I need to be jealous of." He made the statement in a casual tone of voice, but his thumb caressed her palm as he spoke, and he looked Zoya intently in the eyes. Micah wasn't the jealous sort. He abhorred men like that. But, in this case, he damned sure wouldn't be happy if she was seeing somebody else.

"How best to explain? My mother and father expect a traditional Muslim marriage. Appearances have to be kept up."

"Appearances, huh...you're not really interested in this guy, are you?" He heard himself, and Micah bit his inner cheek to keep from sounding like a jackass. "What am I saying? You're an adult. I'm sorry. That was completely out of line of me."

Zoya hiccupped in laughter, squeezing his hand. "For the record, I would rather kiss a slimy toad than marry Javid. You have to understand...I'm only seeing him to keep them happy...so I can have the space and freedom to sneak around with you. What a misleading word...sneak. Here we are in the open for the world and Allah to see. If this is wrong of us—well, I just don't see how it can be wrong."

She thought about the conversation the next day while she dozed and whiled away her free day from work, school, and worship. The evening before, Micah had driven her home and hadn't tried anything improper. In many ways, he was the model suitor. He had an excellent career. He adhered to her boundaries. The only problem was he wasn't the sort of man her parents would choose for her. As she turned over in bed and drifted back to sleep, she couldn't help but think that wasn't a good enough reason not to be with him.

Around noon, Callie slipped into her bedroom and sprawled out on the bed next to Zoya. They jointly gazed at the ceiling, each in thought, with Callie's slender fingers loosely gripping Zoya's. Her rainbow tipped dreadlocks fanned out around her pale face next to Zoya's dark brown waves. Her multihued tattoos stood out in stark contrast against her milky arm, her milky arm next to Zoya's dusky skin in contrast, too. They were very different women from very different backgrounds, but they were best friends. So, Zoya puzzled, what was so wrong about her fledgling relationship with Micah? Wasn't it similar?

"You like him a lot, don't you?" Callie seemed to read her mind. Zoya turned her head away. Callie wasn't in the mood to tell her the usual, to tell her she needed to make her own choices in life. She held silent and simply made her presence felt. Whatever Zoya decided, her friend would be there for her.

***

Zoya sat in her parents' living room. Her feet were up on the lip of the chair, face rested on her knees. She secretly had been seeing Micah for almost a month, and the weekly visits home were beginning to feel more and more like a burden. She closed her eyes and pictured speeding around winding curves with her arms wrapped around him. She squeezed her legs together, imagining she was gripping his firm, muscular thighs with hers. A smile flitted across her face. The sunlight slanted through the blinds and gave her a dreamy, sepia-toned appearance.

Miad paused at the threshold to the living room, studying his little sister intently. She sighed lushly, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping open slowly, and her golden irises stilled when she caught him staring. "What?" Zoya frowned at being scrutinized.

Miad took a seat on the edge of the sofa. "Why did you miss family dinner last weekend?" He had a suspicion he couldn't put his finger on, knowing she was up to something.

"I told Maman. I had to help the professor grade some papers and file some things. Why is it such a big deal?"

"That was the second time this month." Musa called Miad's name, and Zoya looked in the direction of her father's voice with relief. Miad's mouth set in a firm line, and his jaw hardened. "This isn't over. We'll discuss this later."

He went off in search of their father, and Zoya stared down at the carpet, wondering why her brother was suddenly interested in what she was doing. She blew out a breath in exasperation. Surreptitiously checking her phone, she answered a text from Micah asking if she wanted red or white wine for their picnic later that night. She typed back, "Red." She was smiling when she looked back up. The smile froze, however, as she paid closer attention to the gradually increasing volume of the conversation between her parents and Miad.

"...again, Miad! Not again!" Taba sounded disappointed.

Musa raised his voice. "Be honest with me, Miad. What did you do with the check? That's all we want to know. Produce the check, and we can settle this."

"I told you," Miad shouted. "I took the check to the bank! Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe there was a computer glitch. I don't know! All I know is I took it to the bank. What-what are you accusing me of, Baba? You think I'd steal from you? You think I'd stoop to that level."

Musa cut him off. "Listen to yourself! Have you been drinking?"

"Baba!"

Zoya strained to hear as her mother's voice came back softer, "....gambling?"

"Maman!" Miad sounded angry and wounded.

"Answer her," Musa commanded.

"No! I'm not gambling again. Heaven help me! You can't make one mistake in this fucking family. I haven't gambled since—"

"Drinking?" Taba asked in a tremulous voice.

"I don't have to stay here for this. You call me when they find that check so I can tell you I told you so!" Miad stomped through the living room to the front door, Musa in pursuit. Miad forced the door open, though Musa tried to keep it shut with a large, heavy hand pressed against it. The older Rao male grunted in pain as the door pushed his wrist back uncomfortably, and he released it.

"Miad," Taba pleaded. The door slammed behind him. Taba and Musa shared a look.

"Is everything alright?" Zoya asked fearfully. She had never seen her brother so angry, and never in all her life had she seen him be so disrespectful to their parents.

Musa flapped a hand in her direction. "This doesn't concern you. Taba, call the bank again."

"They're closed, Musa."

"Then, leave a message!" His voice boomed. Musa never yelled at his wife. Zoya stood in alarm and put herself between the two.

"Baba! Maman?"

Musa flushed and growled, pushing past both women and marching back to his office. Zoya stared after him and then turned to her mother with confused eyes. "What happened? Maman, what did Miad do?"

"No, it doesn't concern you." Taba stood firm—although she was obviously shaken by Musa's behavior toward her. She pulled out of Zoya's grasp and fluttered away to the kitchen to find something to do with herself. Dinner was cooked, but there had to be something, some busy work. It didn't look like anyone was in the mood to eat.

Zoya stood in the middle of the yellow and blue tiled kitchen, watching her mother wipe and re-wipe the counters while muttering to herself in their native language. Zoya crossed her arms, wishing someone would just tell her something, but neither of them spoke to her. At length, she finally decided to leave. She had a date with Micah anyway.

He took her back to the desert by nightfall. With the canopy of the stars above them, the landscape was transformed. He let her ride the bike by moonlight and showed off a few well-timed stunts to her amusement, and when the hour got almost too late for them to be out any longer, Zoya slipped into his arms like she belonged there. She presented her face, and the moonlight recast her as silver and alabaster. She was like a statue of a goddess, in Micah's eyes, enchanting and irresistible. Her lips were softly parted, eyes softly closed. Micah gazed down at her, wanting to crush her closer and take her right then and there, but he didn't. He didn't dare. He let her close the gap and chastely buss her lips to his.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For?" Her head rested against his upper chest. Micah refrained from putting his arms around her. It was almost like foreplay. Letting Zoya control when and how their bodies should make contact had him wound tighter than a spring.

"For being a conundrum. For being out of the ordinary." She wrapped her arms around him and lightly pressed her upper body to his.

"You're that to me," he said with a smile. "It's getting chilly. Let's get you home. You have that thesis to work on in the morning."

"Ugh! When will it all be over?"

"When you walk across that stage and get your master's. But, after that there's work, so...when you retire?"

Zoya giggled and hopped on the bike behind her boyfriend. Even thinking the word make her feel tremulous with wonder. He delivered her home safely, and she ran inside before she got the nerve to take their innocent kiss from earlier in the night a step further.

When Zoya made it inside her apartment, she felt like she had passed yet another milestone and broken yet another rule. A twinge of anxiety gave her pause. It was an innocent kiss, but a kiss. After the pointed question from Miad, however, she knew she had to be more careful. No more skipping family get-togethers, no more missing mosque. She sank back into her pillows with a yawn, resolving to remove all doubt from Miad's mind. It was the only way she would be able to continue to see Micah.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I can be," Zoya spoke into the helmet. They were on their way to Micah's house for the first time in their three month relationship. The plan was to spend the weekend together, and things were in place that not even her nosey mother would suspect where she was going. It had taken time to get to the point where she felt comfortable enough with Micah to go somewhere as intimate as his home, but now that they were headed there, she couldn't wait to press ahead before she changed her mind.

Zoya had done everything else right. She had made it to every Saturday dinner. She had only skipped a few services at mosque. Her courtship with Javid was well underway. Meanwhile, Miad was spiraling deeper into a nosedive, and there wasn't anything she could do to save him from himself. It was disheartening that her parents paid more attention to seeing her married than seeing to her older brother.

He was drinking. Heavily. He was gambling, she was certain. Money kept coming up missing. He had gotten fired from Asada's boutique. He had been evicted from his townhome and was living in their parents' basement. Yet, he still had the audacity to give her the third degree anytime he got her alone.

Zoya sighed and said, "I needed this. Spring break couldn't come soon enough."

Micah gripped the handlebars, palms sweaty. She had no idea, but he was just as nervous as she was. The prospect of having her to himself for three days made him question his sanity. Was it possible he could stick to her rigid boundaries the whole time? He accelerated, eating up the miles from her place to his.

As a mechanical engineer, Micah's salary afforded him a modest ranch house at the edge of the city. The motorcycle cruised to a halt in front of the split level home, and Zoya gazed up, impressed by the place. It was sided in white paneling, covered with a shingled roof, and dotted with windows bracketed by black shutters. The house sat on several acres of land, landscaped to bring out the hidden beauty of the desert. He rolled the bike into his two-car garage where his 1969 Pontiac GMO was also parked, and he nervously took her in through the garage door that led to his kitchen. Chrome and red appliances shined cleanly—nice, sharp lines.

"Tour?" he asked.

"I'd rather let it unwrap itself, you know? See things as we go," Zoya decided. She grinned boldly. She was here. She was in his house and alone with him. "Are you excited?"

He sighed, laughing. "Excited? Try scared shitless."

"How'd you put it? I don't bite."

His lips curled upwards, and he cocked his head to the side. "What if I want you to?"

Zoya's eyebrows lifted, and she chose to ignore his statement. "I brought along some movies and some card games. Which will it be?"

"I'm a sucker for a woman with a good conversation. I happen to know you're skilled in that arena. Care for coffee? Wine? I can turn on the fireplace in the living room to give it that cozy feel. It's warm enough in here, but the flames are pretty."

"Coffee," she chose.

When the aromatic beans were percolating, he took her to his spacious living room where a giant flat screen dominated the wall above the fireplace. He powered on the flames. He had a typical black leather couch and a gray shag rug. He dashed back into the kitchen to fix two steaming mugs and brought them back, finding Zoya had made herself comfortable curled up in his favorite chair. Her oversized cardigan was draped over her entire body, feet tucked under her buttocks. She looked small and vulnerable.

Micah had a crushing sense of protectiveness when he looked at her. He realized she wasn't in any danger with him. He'd rather compromise himself than try to coerce her to do something she wasn't ready to do. He took a seat on the couch and stared. Her modest hijab hid her hair. Her loose-fitting clothes cloaked her figure. Yet, she was the reason he had sleepless nights, trying not to torture himself with dreams of plunging into her body. Other women advertised everything, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had never seen anything wrong with that in the past, and he still didn't. However, Zoya's modesty held its own allure. There was something about just not knowing .

Zoya eyed him over the brim of her mug, a smile teasing at her lips. His hair was tousled and his face had a five o'clock shadow. He lounged on the couch like a panther in repose, ready to leap if he had to. She decided it might be prudent to alert him to the fact her brother was more and more determined to catch her doing something wrong.

She told him about Miad's questions and suspicions and what lengths she had gone to just to keep him mollified. Micah listened intently. He didn't have any siblings, but enough of the guys in his circle had kid sisters for him to understand Miad's overzealousness perfectly.

"He's trying to protect you," he stated plainly.

"I wish he would work harder on taking care of himself. He's plagued me for months now, and he's no closer to finding out about you than he was before. I try to be careful. Callie wouldn't tell a soul, and I don't talk to anybody else. The only way he'd know anything is if he saw with his own eyes. He's just being paranoid."

"He's being vigilante."

"He's being a nuisance."

"Hey, it's kept you in line so far," he said with a grin.

Zoya paused and shot him a dirty look, laughing out loud. "For your information, I keep myself in line. Thank you very much."

Micah chuckled and set aside his coffee mug. "What about that Javid guy?"

"He'll be popping the question any day now."

"And?" He didn't want to sound possessive, but it was hard not to. He gazed into her mesmerizing eyes. She flicked her tongue along her lips and grinned, hesitating to respond merely to toy with him. Micah smirked and rolled his eyes. Zoya giggled.

"And, that will be the end of that. I'll politely explain how I've suddenly changed my mind about our courtship. He'll disappear into the annals of history like all the other men my parents have tried to get me to settle down with."

"I need to ask you something important, and I don't want you to be coy with me. I need an honest response."

"Why so serious? What is it?" She leaned forward on her chair, letting him know he had her full attention.

"Where do you see our relationship going?"

A still silence descended, heavy with the weight of the question. She didn't know how to answer that. If she was honest, she would have to say that she didn't see them going anywhere. Eventually, her little dating games with men like Javid would have to end. She would have to pick someone, and that someone couldn't be a man like Micah. If she was even more sincere, she would say that she saw them forging ahead together and seeing what life threw at them next. There was no way of knowing.

"I care about you, Micah. A lot."

"That isn't an answer."

She swallowed and shook her head, and her eyes met his. "It's the only answer I can give you that has no caveats and no escape clauses. I think you knew what this was when you entered into it."

He held his comment. It was true. He couldn't deny that she had always made it clear that what her family expected of her would ultimately be the route she took. He had things in his own life holding him back from being able to fully commit, but he had wondered. It was worth asking.

"For what it's worth, there's no one else in my life but you. You never have to wonder if I'm dividing my time between you and another woman because I'm not. And, I care about you too, Zoya. The same way. Just so you know...Anyway, let me show you to your room. I can get your bags out of the satchel on my bike and help you get settled in. It's fairly late."

Zoya pouted. "I thought we were about to engage in witty banter and engaging conversation."

His laughter rumbled up from within, and he launched himself from the sofa to lead her up the stairs to his guest room. "We have three days for that. Three days we totally, completely need to fill from sunup to sundown with only witty banter and engaging conversation."

Saturday morning dawned bright and early at Micah's. Zoya was awakened by the happy humming of her boyfriend taking a shower in the other room, the one directly next to hers...his bedroom. She flushed as dreams from the night before flashed to mind. Her scandalous mind was throwing everything at her in her weakest hour. She suppressed a squeal of excitement. She was waking up in his guest room in his house. She couldn't believe herself.

Zoya kicked off her covers and forced her body to get out of the super comfy bed before she got too attached. She'd have to ask him where he got his mattress. Her stomach grumbled for breakfast, and she pulled a terry cloth robe over her silk pajama pants. Her pedicured feet slipped into house slippers, and Zoya padded softly down the stairs to see what she could find in his kitchen.

By the time Micah made it out of the shower and followed his nose, he found her cooking fluffy buttermilk pancakes and scrambled eggs. He had thoughtfully purchased turkey bacon the day before. Thin strips sent a hickory smoke and maple sweet smell into the air. He inhaled sharply, wondering what he had done to get such treatment.

"Oh, don't spoil me," he groaned in pleasure. He leaned over the countertop and grinned, watching her work.

"I consider it common courtesy. Your hospitality deserves payment in kind, in my opinion."

"They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"I've heard otherwise," she replied, biting her bottom lip and smiling.

Micah spun away from the countertop and grabbed plates from the kitchen cabinet, avoiding her innuendo. She sizzled, and it had nothing to do with what was on the stove. There was something different about Zoya. Micah wondered if it was his influence or her simply coming into herself. If she was just being herself, he liked it. Very much.

He pulled cutlery from a kitchen drawer and pulled napkins out of the napkin holder. He set the small dining table that stood in front of the French doors to the backyard, and he took his seat, waiting patiently for her to bring his meal. He had plenty of things planned for their day, which he couldn't wait to get started. They had made an agreement. Zoya didn't want to be seen out and about in public with him too much. Micah realized, after his discussion with her the night before, she was trying to keep from being caught by her protective older brother.

That left him with his house and his things as the only stuff to keep her entertained. Thus, Micah had planned to kick the day off teaching her how to play pool in his billiards room. When she sat down to eat with him, they fell into easy conversation. Then, he washed the dishes, despite her protests. He took her to the pool room where they played like teenagers, making bold calls and blustery insults. She was giggling so hard her sides were hurting. It was around noon, and Micah still wasn't done with her.

"You ever shot a gun before?" he asked.

Her eyes widened. He took her to his backyard where he had set up targets. The weapon he handed her was nothing more than an airsoft rifle, but Zoya didn't have to know that. At first, Micah shouted instructions from the sidelines, but eventually Zoya asked him to show her personally, and she allowed him to cup his arms around her shoulders to show her how to aim and fire correctly. All of which proved to be more detrimental to his libido.

"Hot as snake balls out here," he remarked after the second hour of target practice. "Let's get inside under the air conditioner. Woman, I swear, I haven't had this much action in decades."

"Is that good or bad?" she asked.

He pulled off his cowboy hat and slapped it over her hijab, grinning at her with a darker tan. In the cool interior of the house, they sprawled out on the living room couch to watch television together, and Micah didn't say anything when Zoya shifted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He just dropped his hand over her arm, safely out of danger of accidentally stroking her breast, and kept his eyes pointed forward. She fell asleep in his arms. It was crazy. In a different world, or maybe with a different sort of woman, he wouldn't have thought twice of propositioning her. As it was, Micah respected Zoya too much to debase her like that.

His eyes drifted shut, as he wondered if—over the course of knowing her—it wasn't just Zoya who was changing.

***

There wasn't anywhere she could go to escape the heat. Zoya tossed and turned in her bed, knowing it wasn't the temperature of the house that was making it hard for her to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. He was right next door, so close she could almost believe she could smell him. After the day they had spent together, she couldn't ask for a more interesting and fun time. Well, she could...and that was the problem.

Zoya sat up with a sigh. She glanced at the clock. It was only nine. They stayed up much later than that most nights talking on the phone. She eased out of the bed and tiptoed out into the hall in case he was already sleeping. Pressing her ear to his door, she listened for snores, but she didn't hear any, and she knocked tentatively.

"Yeah," came Micah's laconic response.

Zoya took a deep breath and turned the knob. The door swung open to reveal Micah's room. Thick beige carpet covered the floor, and the walls were painted light brown. He sat on top of his bed in a t-shirt and lounge pants, reading glasses sitting on the tip of his nose. Micah looked up expectantly. "Did you need something?" he asked, putting the glasses aside.

She moved deeper into the room, smiling sheepishly. "Company," she answered.

He chuckled and set aside his e-reader, beckoning to Zoya who casually climbed into his bed like it wasn't the first time in her entire life she had climbed into the bed of a male who wasn't a family member. He hid a smile at her dauntlessness. She was turning out to be quite a surprise.

It wasn't intended. Zoya's hijab slid backwards enough for a lock of hair to escape. She gasped and apologized. Micah barely shook his head. "Don't hide," he found himself saying.

"I'm not hiding, I'm—"

"You don't have to show me. Just don't feel like you have to hide. Not from me." Micah's gaze was riveted to hers. Zoya paused. She almost looked like she would bolt from the room, but she didn't. She stayed. She stared him in the eyes. She felt her heart, a Persian drum, pounding in her chest; her hands sweated; and her pulse quickened. There were rules. She had already broken so many, and suddenly all of them seemed pointless in the face of what she felt for the handsome American who was entirely different from any other man she had ever known.

Zoya flipped the hijab over her head, exposing for the first time her lustrous hair, the silky strands floating free on the ephemeral gust of desire. Micah lifted his hands and hesitated, fingers hovering a short distance from touching. She stared into his eyes, knowing she was supposed to say no, but Zoya nodded, and he fondled her hair reverently. The tresses flowed over his palm. He pushed his fingers through and grabbed her angular face, and her head lolled back so the hair swished against her bare shoulder blades. The spaghetti strap of her camisole slipped from her shoulder as if to incite further flames.

His fiery gaze followed the light down the curve of her slender neck to the shadow at the hollow of her throat as Zoya gulped, gasping to breathe. She dropped her head to stare at him. His thumb smoothed over her cheek to her mouth. Her innocent lips caught the digit and drew him inside. He sucked in a breath; she sucked the tip of his thumb. Her tongue swirled along the whirls and patterns of his fingerprint, and he gnawed at his bottom lip, a man ravaged by self-restraint.

His eyes dropped lower to the dip of her shirt, her breasts straining against the fabric. Her unbound nipples protruded, hard nubs beneath the cotton. Her flesh was the color of honey. He licked his lips, wanting to taste her skin. He was a starving man, and she was a land of nourishment. When Zoya nervously pushed the straps further down her arms, pulled her hands through, pushed it down her slim torso, he pulled away, not trusting himself to stay in control.

With her breasts bare, the heat in the room seemed to go up instead of coming down, and boundaries were being crossed that couldn't be reclaimed. There was a war going on in her head between what was seemingly right and what her spirit understood came naturally, and her womanhood was winning out.

Between her legs flowed a fountain that couldn't be contained. The wetness made her petals slick, and her thighs clench. Seated on the edge of the bed, her legs shifted against one another restlessly, and she averted her gaze from the limpid blue eyes that tried hard not to persuade her to transgress. She knew Micah was holding back and that under normal circumstances his virility would've demanded he take instead of ask, but he was patient with her.

She wished she could be as patient with herself. With every fiber of her being, she was bursting at the seams for release. Her hands flew to his wide shoulders, dragging him to her mouth, as if she knew no other direction to take him. When he kissed her, her exhale carried prayers. His tongue was a scripture, coating her tongue with holiness. There was something exquisitely divine in the kiss. He sucked at her sweetness, sipping at her spit. His tongue arced along her pearly white teeth, rubbed the roof of her mouth. She pushed against him without anywhere else to go but deeper into the feeling. His arms encircled her trembling body, bringing her effortlessly down to the down comforter of his bed, and Micah shook his head.

Reason—cursed reason—obliged him to provide her with an escape, even as his mouth refused to tear away from hers. He whispered feverishly against her lips, "Are you certain? Are you certain?"

"Yes," came her plaintive cry.

She tore at his shirt. Her nails raked down his abs. He hissed at the pain that reminded him he was incredibly alive and lucky to be there. Micah yanked the t-shirt over his head and pressed his body atop Zoya's, groans filling his throat. Her hands pushed down his muscular back, and his body felt like hot silk beneath her palms. Her spirit cried mercy. Her womanhood called him by his name. She needed, she craved, and there wasn't anything to stand between them now. Here, in this place, the only thing that mattered was how they felt about each other.

Zoya knew he cared for her. It was written in the way his brows knit in confusion every time he looked at her, like she was a wonder of the world. It was in how diligently he had stood by her in the face of the obstacles they faced to be together. She understood that what she was offering to him was a confession of her own unrelenting affection. It was a sacrifice she couldn't take back, and she had to be sure. He had asked her if she was certain. A thousand times, yes , screamed her being.

Her curves, the dips and hollows, were places he wanted to explore, and his fingers glided across her naked chest, palming the globes of her breasts and making Zoya cry out in pleasure at the rough texture of his touch. Her highly sensitized nipples hardened more beneath his fingertips. He squeezed. He kneaded the fleshy hills. His palms slid down to her ribcage, and he reached down between her legs. Again, she whimpered affirmations.

His fingers came away covered in her nectar, and Micah was lost. He couldn't stop. His mouth careened to her chin, bounced off the curve of her jaw and skated to her neck. He sucked at her jugular, and her pulse leapt beneath his tongue, and he bit into the softness. His nostrils filled with her jasmine perfume. His eyes squinched tighter shut. His hands moved to hers and shoved them above her head, and she stretched fluidly, her torso elongating like a river of perfection.

His kisses drifted lower and lower until he found the valley at her chest, and his nose flowed up to the peak. His tongue curled around her nipple.

Zoya's back shot up from the bed, spine arched. The pleasure was like a gunshot. Her gasp of shock seemed to echo in the quiet room. Hands weak, she clutched at his dark hair with the curls springing from between her fingers, and she pulled. His mouth lifted but lowered again to the other side. Her legs came around his hips with wonder, her feet locked around him at the heels, and her pelvis brushed his with promise. Her heels slid down the back of his legs, hampered by their pants. His hips were a tide, rolling in and receding, each nudge pushing her closer to ecstasy. A thousand times, yes!

His knee drew up sharply against the V between her thighs, and Micah rose up to unzip his jeans. His belt was snatched from the loops of his pants to be tossed aside like something unnecessary. He pushed the jeans down his hips, down his thighs. He rose to his feet and dropped them to the floor. Zoya stared at him with eyes that had never seen a naked man, but she liked what she was seeing.

His tanned skinned covered a toned, buff physique. The muscles in his thighs bunched beneath his boxer briefs, but the area that drew the most attention was the imprint of his erection. Her fingers grabbed the waistband of her yoga pants and slowly, slowly eased them down her legs. She didn't stand. She stayed reclined and kicked the pants free of her bare feet, red toenail polish flashing rebelliously. He grabbed the sole of her foot and brought the delicate body part to his lips. His tongue flashed out and licked along the arch, and Zoya trembled.

His mouth moved down her inner calf, down to her inner knee. The kisses were light as feathers and tickled, but the ticklish feeling receded to abject pleasure. When he got to her inner thigh, she was ablaze. When his head dipped to her gateway to paradise, she opened for him. She closed her eyes. Her mouth flew wide. Her face registered alarm. His tongue darted out and traced her inner and outer labia, slipping into the crevices to make her womanhood sing. He pushed his tongue deeper and tasted what he had been craving.

Micah groaned hungrily and closed his mouth over her clit; her thighs spread wide and rested on his shoulders. His hands slipped beneath her buttocks. He dragged her flush against his mouth. His tongue swept up and down, licking as much of her as he could reach. She fell apart, crying senselessly in a language he couldn't translate but understood perfectly.

Her fingers tugged at his hair. He sucked her clitoris. His nose dove to her entrance, and he stroked her with the tip. He buried his tongue inside the hole. He knew what he was doing, knew what it take to distract her nervous thoughts from whatever pain she expected so that she would only experience the pleasure.

Micah brought his velvety pink weapon back to her most sensitive pearl and focused his attention to a swift flicker of the tip of his tongue, varying the pressure and persistence. She writhed. Her head tossed from side to side, and all that glorious brown hair flew in a frenzy about her beautiful face. Her stomach quivered so hard he put a hand just beneath her navel to hold her still. Her legs opened wider. Her hips jutted forward. She boldly rubbed her gratified womanhood in and out of his mouth until she couldn't stop what happened next. Her river transformed into a silky waterfall that splashed his lips and chin with the evidence of her climax.

Harder and harder, the pleasure tightened in her pelvis. It exploded from her core and washed her body in rainbow shades of ecstasy. Cries in a voice that sounded too ravaged by excitement to be hers filled the room, but it was her. It was Zoya crying out his name. It was her drawing her thighs together around his head until he pushed up from in between and brought his steely erection to her pleased anatomy. She felt him probe but was too swamped by pleasure to do anything but receive him, and when Micah thrust hard and true into her tight virginal passage, her body swallowed him whole as if he belonged there.

Zoya slumped back on the bed with sweat rolling down her face. Her dazed eyes opened sightlessly to stare at the ceiling as she felt the pleasure begin to build again. She didn't know how much more her body could take of the unfamiliar rush. Her shallow breaths panted past partially open lips. Her tongue darted out to wet them, and she closed her arms around Micah's shoulders as Micah began to slowly stroke in and out.

There was only the slightest bit of discomfort as her body accommodated him. By the time he dragged out for the third time and pushed back inside, she was wet with readiness. Her legs encircled his hips yet again. Her hips rose and fell, understanding more of the dance than her mind did, and she followed the instinctive movements. Where they connected at the hips sent up sparks from the fire. The thrill made her eyelids flutter, as she moaned and gasped his name again as the tempo increased.

There was only so much holding back that Micah could do. When her vagina tightened around him like a silken fist, he grunted and eased out of her hold. He held himself in shaking hands and tapped his thick member against her swollen clit. He bowed his head and tamped down on his excitement. He had waited so long. He had wanted so long.

He rushed back inside of her with a growl of enjoyment, plunging into her wetness eagerly. His hips rocked back and forth, knees braced against the mattress, knuckles holding his weight aloft. She clung to him. He found himself slipping lower and lower into her embrace. He planted his forehead to the side of her neck and curved his spine to dip deeper into her sacrifice. The way she said his name made him whole.

The climax struck. She lifted off the bed again, buoyed by ecstasy. Her embrace tightened, and her inner grip massaged his shaft so expertly that Micah's erection jerked inside of her, and he yanked out as his orgasm expelled his milky seed upon her taut stomach. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tried to pull him back down. He gasped, a chuckle rumbling from his heaving chest. He gently eased her hands away, settling on the bed beside her and kissing her fingers. "Hang on," he murmured breathlessly.

She mewled in pleasure. Her thighs came back together, and her inner flower seemed to shiver with delight as the orgasm extended. She groaned, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Micah kissed her shoulder and held her to his chest, as she struggled to come back down. The feel of her losing control for him sent his heart racing. He kissed her eyelids and her nose. As she gradually stopped trembling, he tenderly kissed her lips.

Then, he pushed himself up from the comfortable bed and ducked into his bathroom for a warm washcloth to wipe away the evidence of what they had done. In his brief absence, Zoya had the time to think about what she had done. She thought she would feel guilty, but she didn't. She felt...complete.

"Let me get this straight," said Callie. "When you say you broke all the rules, do you mean you broke all the rules?"

Zoya stared at her feet. "All of them," she said in a small, timid voice. But, the smile on her face was loud as an exclamation point.

"Oh my freakin' god!" Callie shouted in amazement. "Jesus H. Corpus Christi, what did he do to you? He gave you wings. He's some type of kickass sorcerer dude wielding his magic wand!"

"Okay, stop it," Zoya said with a laugh.

Callie walked around her best friend, trying to spot the changes. She could see them now that she was looking, little differences. Zoya had a glow about herself that hadn't quite been there before her weekend away with the biker, like she had gotten a good schooling on what it meant to be a woman, and Callie was blown away. She waved her hands in front of her face and shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "So, what about your mom and dad?"

Zoya turned away, twisting her fingers nervously. "I have no idea. I have to tell them. I have to get up the nerve some kind of way and let them know I can't be with a man like Javid. I mean, I care about Micah, Callie. I really, really care about him."

"Yeah, no shit." Callie giggled. "Sounds like the perfect speech to start rehearsing. It's Monday. Think you can have it all together by Saturday when you go over to their house for dinner?"

"Please, don't rush me, friend. I'm a walking bundle of nerves right now. I can't even focus. I can barely believe it happened. But, it did. More than once. Kind of all weekend."

"TMI," Callie pumped the brakes.

Zoya blushed and continued, "The hardest hurdle to cross is probably going to be my brother, but I think if I can make him understand that my heart tells me this is right, then he might be able to accept it."

Callie scrunched up her nose doubtfully. From everything she knew about Zoya's family, she was sure the love-struck girl was probably underestimating the repercussions of her actions, but she was proud of Zoya for taking initiative. What could they do? Ex-communicate her? "Take it one person at a time. You tell your mom while you're helping her get dinner together. If she doesn't pull out a steak knife and chop you into pieces, it might be safe to move on to your dad. I don't know. You got any Kevlar?" she joked.

Zoya went into her bedroom to relive every second of her weekend alone with Micah, feeling like a new creature, like someone ethereal and barely there. Her body was present, but her mind was wherever he was. Was this love? She scoffed at the notion. At best, it was an infatuation fueled by mutual attraction.

Micah had dropped her off at her apartment Monday morning on his way to work, their weekend having extended by one more night as they explored the pleasures of physical intimacy. She was too old for fairytales and wise enough to know it took more than sharing a bed to make a life together. But, Zoya was also aware that although the commitments made during their fateful weekend together might be temporal, they were sincere. She cared about him, and he cared about her. She didn't regret what had happened. She told herself she was ready to face the consequences.

For the rest of the week, she did as Callie had instructed. She practiced the speech she would give her Maman about why she felt it was important that she pursue a relationship with Micah instead of settle with a man she had no affections for, like Javid. By Wednesday night when her boyfriend picked her up for their customary midweek date, she was bubbling with excitement to tell him her plans.

"You're really going to do it?" he asked. The biker had made one of his rare transformations from rough and rugged to polished and professional. They strolled around in an art gallery where a friend of his had a showing. She gazed up at the massive graffiti art that covered the wall from ceiling to floor.

"Yeah," she said finally. "I'm really going to do it. I want you to meet my family. Be prepared for them to be cold as ice until they get it through their heads that I'm serious about you, but eventually I think you'll come to understand them."

He nodded in pleasure. She slipped her warm fingers into his, and Micah pulled her closer for the first time without her permission. The things that had happened between them made him comfortable enough. She fit in the crook of his arm like she belonged there. "I'm willing to try," he said.

They enjoyed a wine tasting after the art show, and it was past ten o'clock when they walked out the doors of the gallery. They continued to hold hands as they ambled at a leisurely pace around the corner to where his motorcycle was parked. It was such a warm and romantic night, Zoya wasn't ready to leave. Micah moved to climb aboard the bike, and she tugged on his hand to pull him back. She smiled at him coyly, receiving his smile in return.

She stepped under the streetlight into his open arms. They were so engrossed in one another neither of them noticed the group of men walking past. Micah's lips met hers in a heated kiss that said he couldn't wait to get her alone. She moaned in instant arousal. His hands slipped to the base of her spine. She wasn't one for public displays of affection, but he was so tempting. It was just a kiss.

"Shameless." The word was flung at her in Iranian. Zoya stilled. She recognized the voice. She didn't dare turn around.

"Zoya?" Micah said her name quizzically, wondering what was wrong, why she had stopped.

At the sound of her name, the group of men was halted by the man walking in the center. "Zoya?" Miad said, his voice trembling with fury.

She took off running. She didn't stop until the voices shouting after her were drowned out by the squeal of the tires of the taxi she dashed out in front of, barely missing her. She clambered inside and shouted directions in both Iranian and English, flustered by what had happened. Her brother had seen her! Her brother!

She bit her nails in a panic. Her thoughts raced, wondering what she could say or do to get herself out of trouble. She had left Micah! Had they fought? What had happened? Why hadn't she stayed to stick up for herself? A keening sound erupted from her lips. Hot tears flowed over her cheeks, and she was shaking so hard her teeth started to chatter.

When her cellphone rang, Zoya jumped at the sound. She quickly pulled it out of her purse and stared at the number. It was Micah. She answered the phone weakly, "Micah?"

"What happened? Darling, where are you? Who was that? Are you okay? I'm headed to your apartment."

"No!" she shouted. "No, don't go to my apartment, whatever you do. That was my brother, Micah. He'll kill you if he sees you again."

"You can't ask me not to come to you, Zoya. Don't ask me not to do that. I have to see you and make sure everything is okay."

"I'm in a taxi, and I'm headed home. I know my brother will make his way there, and he'll probably be drunk, and I know he'll be livid. Believe me, I can handle him better than anyone when he's like that, but I can't allow the situation to become inflamed by your presence. Please, Micah!" Her voice cracked.

He could tell she was crying. She didn't want him going to her apartment. His bristled with rage. He knew Miad was her brother, but he couldn't fathom leaving Zoya to face him alone. If she said it was the best thing, however, he had no choice but to listen to her. Micah cursed loudly and angrily, gripping the handlebars of his bike as he whipped the sleek projectile around in an illegal U-turn.

"Fine," he caved. "Zoya, call me. Call me as soon as he leaves. Don't let the night end without me hearing your voice."

"I will. I'm home. Ride safely."

She hung up the phone and shoved the money for her fare into the taxi driver's hands, climbing out of the car. Her hijab had fallen off in her flight. She ducked her head and hurried into the building. She knew he was coming. She had to prepare.

The maroon door creaked open, and Zoya entered the living room. She took several steadying breaths, and she sat on the edge of the couch. She waited for the pounding knocks that thundered at her door within the half hour. Even though she was ready for it, the sound gave her a start anyway. Callie groggily padded out of her room as Zoya was opening the door.

"Who is that—"

"You slut!" Miad's hand connected with the side of Zoya's face in a blow so hard it whipped her head to the side. She screamed in pain and horror, flung to the floor by the force. Zoya looked up at her brother in alarm. Callie was on his back clawing at his face like a madwoman.

"Callie! Callie!" she shouted.

Zoya had to take control of the situation. She couldn't have this happening. Not here. Not like this. She threw herself to her feet and quickly shut the door so their neighbors wouldn't witness the scene. Then, she pried Callie off of her older brother. "I'm okay," she sobbed. She pulled her friend into a tight hug. "I'm okay. Please, go to your room. I'll take care of this."

"He hurt you." Callie growled, trying to tear out of Zoya's grip to attack him again.

"She deserved it," Miad stated defiantly. "Out with him? A man like him? Acting like a common harlot? Not my little sister, Zoya."

Zoya pushed Callie out of the living room. It took all her strength. Callie only gave up when she was sure Miad wouldn't put his hands on Zoya in anger again. He looked like a broken man, staring at Zoya with accusatory eyes that glistened. His face was set in a scowl that showed all his disappointment. Zoya felt like she could die. She couldn't believe he had seen her. She knew it was breaking her brother's heart.

"Miad," she pleaded. She went to him, throwing her arms around him. He stood stiff as a board and wouldn't accept her affection. "My brother, I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Who is he?" he asked her hoarsely.

"His name is Micah. He's my...he was my boyfriend."

"No, Zoya," he said sternly. He took her by the shoulders in a firm grip and shook her once, trying to shake some sense into her. "He is a temptation sent to lead you into wickedness, and I will not stand by and let such a thing happen to you. I won't let you end up like me! You're the good seed. You be the good daughter! Now, you tell me. Tell me has he..."

She shook her head fiercely, lying for Micah's sake, for her sake. "No," she forced her lips to say.

Miad clutched her to his chest with a vocal cry of relief. "Praise," he murmured. "You're a good girl. You're a wise and virtuous girl. I knew you couldn't have forsaken your upbringing, Zoya."

"No, Brother." The second lie was easier to tell.

"Promise me you will never see him again. I won't tell Maman. Baba never has to know. It would crush them, you understand? Let them know you are wise and virtuous and hear nothing of your near corruption. Do you promise me?"

His hands cupped her face, and he stared her fiercely in the eyes, compelling her to give him the right answer. Though the tears flew over her cheeks, Zoya found the strength to nod. It was the last of her strength. She slumped weakly in Miad's arms and burst out crying in hard, gut wrenching sobs that brought Callie back into the living room to pull her away.

"What did you say to her?" Callie asked in a threatening voice.

"You," he pointed a sharp finger in the blonde woman's face. "If you are truly her friend, you will help her to live an exemplary life instead of being a negative influence. What do you want to see, huh? You want to see her cast to the side after she's been used up by the wrong sort of man?"

"I want to see her make her own decisions!" Zoya pushed away from them both and ran to her room, trying to escape what was happening.

She didn't hear Miad's answer in response. She threw herself in her bed where she remained until her brother was finally out of her home, and when she was sure he was long gone, she called Micah. "I need to see you. Tonight."

They had sex in the bed where she had given him her virginity, a fitting goodbye—though Micah was unaware she was bidding him adieu. By the morning, she slipped out of the house before he awakened and walked the mile up the lane to the main road where she called a taxi to take her home. It was over. She couldn't have him. It wasn't allowed.

Orange dust kicked up by the breeze hung in a haze over the desert landscape. A ribbon of asphalt disappeared on the mountainous horizon, a saturated blue sky above. There were forty or fifty people milling around tents in a makeshift city beside the lonely stretch of highway known as Lucy’s Long Shot. Lucy was short for Lucifer on account of how hot the area tended to get—no matter the time of year. It was the middle of summer. It was hell. And, it was fitting that the Hangman’s Crows Motorcycle Club was present for one of the biggest bike racing events of the year. There was a lot at stake.

The heat sucked the oxygen out of the air and leeched the breath out of the lungs. Sweat trickled down his grizzled face and disappeared in the collar of his black leather jacket. Micah “Blade” Whitfield paid the discomfort no mind. He kicked at a clod of dirt and watched the dry chunk explode in a shower of dust, landing on his black boots like talcum powder. He popped his thick knuckles and surveyed the grounds.

“You got what you need?” Pinwheel asked him, her French accent thick with intent. She made a show of checking his helmet and securing it.

Micah chuckled and brushed her off. “Kiddin’ me, doll? I was born for this shit.”

She whipped her fire red hair out of her face and smiled flirtatiously at the leader of the gang. Her blue eyes danced mischievously, and she kissed him on the cheek for luck, leaving a crimson smudge of lipstick that stood out like the vivid tattoos on her pale skin. Micah grinned wryly, as he watched her twitch off to the tent in her itty bitty jean shorts, providing a distraction to the competition.

His team was assembled. Quinn and Chop were going over the bike, making sure the mechanics were sound, while Dante kept an eye on the rowdy crowd of bikers roaming the hilly terrain that was dotted with scrub and cacti. Aside from the wild onlookers and riders, the sable desert looked lifeless.

The city had sprung up overnight—for one day only—with the shifty swiftness of roamers and gypsies, and it would disappear before the sun rose again. The summer Saturday promised to be a good time. There was excitement and anxiety in the air, as thick as the sweltering heat. Music vied with the roar of engines, talking voices, laughter, arguments, and fights. Liquor was plenty, as were all the other less than legal vices.

To those inexperienced with the population, the tattooed and pierced men and women walking around probably looked like common criminals or circus freak—with the careless exuberance of the young and the jaded eyes of the timeless. Some were there for a show. Others were there to get in on the action. The experienced, like Dante, actually knew how to spot the real threats. Buxom broads in various degrees of undress sauntered alongside burly bikers in leather. Lifelong connections were probably being made, alongside lifelong rivalries.

“Watch out for Scarface McGill. I’ve heard about him. He races dirty,” he muttered to Micah, pulling him aside. “We’ve got fifty-thousand on the line. If you can pull this off, we’ll be rich, baby.” The race was about passing time, and time was money. The Hangman’s Crows primary method of padding their bank accounts was by winning races like these. The head-to-head matches were out of the way, but now it was time for the big one.

“He’s already rich. Y’all need to let a hungrier mother fucker ride this one.” Chop swiped his arm across his youthful, honey-hued face and left a smudge of oil in its wake. He stood up next to the bike and wiped his hands with a black bandana. At five feet four inches tall, he was wiry and small, but he was fast, especially on a bike. He wanted to take on the main event, but Blade wouldn’t let him. The crew felt it was too dangerous. At twenty-two, Chop didn’t have as much experience. He squinted his diamond-shaped eyes and smirked. “You sure you don’t want me to take your place, Blade?”

Micah nodded, his focus on winning. The competition was stiff, and, besides Scarface McGill, he knew Dorin Bourne from Asphalt Angels would definitely give him a run for his money. Not to mention, at any given point, the law might come down on them, but at least they’d be prepared. There wasn’t a cherry top in the county that could keep up with their bikes. It wasn’t a race for a kid still cutting teeth. Hell, he wasn’t entirely sure he, himself, was ready for it. With the odds of shit getting dirty for the grand prize, Micah preferred to put himself at risk, rather than his men.

“I’m ready,” he muttered. The only thing clouding his thoughts was the situation with Zoya, and even that had to be put on the backburner. He hopped on the back of his Victory Cross Roads 8-Ball. Looking like a squat black wasp, the body of the bike was rounded, fat at the back and skinny at the front. The sleek, black paint looked wet, and the shiny black leather seat contoured to his body. It wasn’t a racer by origin, but the bike had been modified.

Being a mechanical engineer had its perks. With an engine tweaked for speed and the framework rebuilt with the lightest material available, the bike could eat up miles easily. Micah was aware his relatively new motorcycle club had a reputation—as some of the best on the road—to protect. Chop had taken a few head-to-heads, and Dante had pulled second in his own bout. Pinwheel had blazed flames in the all-women’s heat. Q was out with a busted knee. If Micah won the grand, they were golden.

He gunned the engine of his bike, and the sound out-roared his angst. He was longing for a woman he couldn’t have and worried about bringing home the prize money, but he didn’t have any doubts about the road. The road was his.

He wheeled out to the start line, took up his position next to Scarface, who smirked at him smugly before flipping down the visor of his helmet. Micah smiled, his expression hidden. He gripped the handlebars and let his body relax, getting tunnel vision as he stared down the road. At the pop of the gun to signal the start, the engines of all five bikes that were in the race sent up a cacophony of growls, tires squealing as they shot forward.

The landscape transformed to a blur, but with his adrenaline in high gear, Micah could see everything—from the vulture circling overhead to the expressions of the manic onlookers screaming encouragement to the riders. He ripped a mile down the asphalt, leaving the jeering crowd behind. It was between him and his opponents, and Micah inhaled the exhaust from the bikes, as he nosed ahead victoriously. The road was a straight shot, but there were pitfalls to avoid, like the damaged asphalt and oil slicks from prior races.

There was no way that many bikes could stay side by side on the narrow strip, and that added danger as well as charm to the race. As predicted, Scarface McGill jarred a guy on his opposite side, sending bike and rider swerving off the road in a dusty tumble. Micah frowned fiercely, forcing his bike to go faster, out of Scarface’s range.

The wind ripped at his body, and the heat was partially eliminated, but not entirely. He felt like he was driving through the bowels of hell. It was terrifying, but electrifying, to move so fast that the world seemed to move in slow motion around him. Each throb of his heart pumped like a piston in his chest with spikes of excitement racing through his veins faster than the speed of living.

Micah felt himself get into the flow of the race, and he didn’t have to think about his next move. He was neck and neck with Dorin, the chick from Asphalt Angels. They were tied for first. The finish line shimmered ahead of them in a heat haze.

Micah knew he could do it. He just had to push forward.

Suddenly, from behind him came a familiar war whoop and the sound of Scarface’s Yamaha. There was something like premonition that came with years of riding and racing, and Micah could almost sense what his nemesis would do next. Micah rapidly downshifted and pumped his brakes, forcing Scarface to bypass him. The bald biker whipped his head around to see Micah just as quickly accelerate and zip around him, the planned clash gone awry.

Scarface jerked his wheel to the right to try to jam into the Micah, but it was too late. Dorin, in her attempt to see what was going on just behind her, had slowed. Micah took the hit from Scarface, but it succeeded in pushing him over the finish line. As the bike slid across the hot asphalt at a forty-five degree angle, Micah’s pulse sprinted with dread, knowing his left leg was about to be mincemeat.

He wrestled the bike with precision and skill he hadn’t known he possessed, coasting until the angle widened and he was able to maneuver the bike back upright. It was only then that he realized that the crowd was yelling triumphantly, yelling for him.

***

“There are worse things than being single,” said Quinn with a lecherous grin. “You could be shackled to a wife you can’t stand. Come on, man. Perk up. We’re celebrating!”

Pinwheel handed Micah a beer, French swear words floating off her tongue like a ribbon of silk. “Besides, you’ve always got me, lover boy. That girl was taking up too much of your time and energy anyway.”

“To races won and more to come.” Dante, the Southern Wonder, sat down at the table with a satisfied grunt, muscling the others on the bench out of the way. He held up his beer, and the crew clinked glasses. They had just made it back in town from the desert race, and they were in high spirits. Money in each of their pockets meant the night was sure to become a drunken good time.

But, Micah wasn’t enjoying himself. He was putting on a show. He knew his best friends were right. He should be celebrating; yet, he didn’t feel particularly celebratory. He felt like he was missing out. Like he wasn’t where he needed to be. He toasted with the others and sank into his thoughts as he sipped the brew.

“You want to talk about it?” Q asked. The table had cleared out, and it was just the two of them. Micah shrugged.

“Really not much to talk about. We had a thing going. I thought it was good. I guess I wasn’t. It’s about her folks, you know. Culture clash.”

“It’s like that sometimes,” Q admitted. “I told you early on leave her alone. This might be a case of the universe stepping in where common sense didn’t.”

“How do you figure?” Micah bristled.

Quinn shrugged and smacked his lips after taking a long gulp of warm beer. He patted Micah on the back, knowing he could be candid with the guy who had grown up in the same trailer park as him, both of them raised by single moms, both of them making it out and making something of themselves one way or another. Quinn crossed his arms and studied his longtime bud. It was time for some hard truths.

“Guys like us, Micah, we don’t have room for sweet little innocent lovers, long as we’re doing this kind of stuff. Think of the shit we get into man. How do you think Zoya would’ve felt about you entering that race today? Okay, we ain’t out there running drugs or smuggling hot shit, but we got our share of business dealings that ain’t exactly on the up and up—if you take into account the racing. The way I see it, she did you a favor. You didn’t have to break her heart, and you didn’t have to keep her around and make her worry about what day you’re gonna come home in a body bag.”

“You make it sound like a guarantee.”

“Damn sure might as well be. We’re gettin’ old for this shit, man. I mean, it was a blast in our early twenties, but it’s about that time you either settle down with a normal, Regular Joe life or you marry the road. Some folks are made for this lifestyle, bro. I can tell you I’m starting to feel it ain’t in me.”

“What are you talking about, man? Don’t tell me you’re abandoning me, too.” Micah shook his head and shoved his empty bottle across the table in frustration. “Let me ask you something. What kind of life is getting up, going to work, and coming home to the same predictable shit every day, huh? Biking is the only way I feel alive.”

“Hmph. You ain’t looking too lively ever since your girl left you—in my opinion.” Quinn looked at him pointedly. “Look, all I’m saying is, if it’s racing and riding bikes that you love, then you gotta put that other shit out of the picture. You’re into a lifestyle that she can’t be a part of, and I guess she’s got a lifestyle that you can’t be a part of. It’s even-steven. Let that shit ride and come on out on this dance floor while you still got me on the team to show you some pointers on how to dance.”

Quinn chuckled and waved him out of the booth of The Punchline. For a handful of hours into the endless night, Micah felt more at peace, but when he finally made his way home hours later and threw his exhausted body into a hot bath, he was alone with his thoughts with nobody there to talk him down off the ledge. He rested his head on the lip of the tub and contemplated whether or not he should call her. She hadn’t called him, and she hadn’t answered any of the hundred calls he’d already placed. It had been three days since he had last seen Zoya. She had come to his bed one last time and disappeared before the sun rose, but the memory replayed in his mind like a special type of torture.

The way she had held him… Her mouth on his had been velvet desperation slick with tears. He had tasted her sorrow as she willingly undressed before his eyes, but he hadn’t understood why she was crying. At the time he hadn’t known what had transpired in the lapse of time from her older brother catching them kissing outside under a streetlamp and her calling him to come pick her up from her home after Miad left. He had only known she wanted to be with him with a fire that had been missing during their first weekend together. The first had been about exploration. The last, he was realizing, had been about goodbye.

She was a sad song stuck in his head. The last time, she had stripped naked as soon as she had walked into the house, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and ripped it over his shoulders and head. Her mouth had gone immediately to his small, dark nipples nestled in chest hair, and she had kissed him all the way down his torso. She hadn’t hesitated. She had eagerly dropped to her knees and unfastened his pants.

With lips untested, she had placed her mouth to his swollen member and flicked her silken tongue down his length. Growing bolder by the second, she had taken him into her mouth, as Micah stared down at her with shocked pleasure. The way she’d felt! Micah had had his share of women before, but none like Zoya. It was her innocence that heightened the experience. Her dainty hands fluttered over his shaft, her tongue inquisitive, her lips seeking the appropriate pressure—all of it had blown his nearly jaded mind.

He’d tangled his hands in her thick brown hair and felt it ripple through his palms like a river as he released her, grabbing her by the shoulders and dragging her up to his lips for a kiss that branded her as his . He had moved her over to the sofa to lay her down and return the favor. His mouth had devoured her while his soul fed her ecstasy, feeling her thighs clench around his face and her fingers tug at his hair.

He had suckled her sensitive clitoris until she had begged for him to give her what she needed. Then, he had mounted her perfect, lithe body and poured his lust into each stroke and caress. In and out with heightening frenzy, their mating had been a hurried affair. Had he known it would be the last time, he might have lingered.

Yet, he had pleased her and taken her upstairs. There he bathed her and put her to bed. It was almost like a dream—until she broke all contact. Now, it was a nightmare.

Micah pushed his weary body up out of the lukewarm bathwater, realizing it was near dawn, and he trudged to his bedroom to pretend like he didn’t still smell her on his sheets. He fell asleep dreaming of her, knowing he would wake up and she would still no longer be a part of his life.

“Zoya, I made up in my mind a long time ago that whatever you decided about Micah, I would support you. Now, I’m trying my best to wrap my mind around this whole process of you breaking up with him just because Miad said so, but I’m having a hard time. Do you realize how hypocritical your brother is being? He’s a drunk, Zoya! He’s holding you to a higher standard because you’re a woman, and that’s not fair.”

“It’s not about fairness, Callie,” Zoya sighed and pulled her hijab over her head, readying herself for class. “And, just because my brother has fallen by the wayside doesn’t mean I have to do the same thing. To you, it might look like I’m just following orders, but I’ve thought this out, Callie. What my brother said was right. I have an obligation to my family… and a responsibility to myself to make better choices.”

It was Monday morning, a new week and a new start. It was amazing how after everything that had happened, not much had changed in her world. Zoya frowned at her reflection. Behind her, the living room she shared with her best friend was exactly the same. The sun was shining outside. The world hadn’t ended. It was only her heart that felt like it was limping along, trying to remember how to beat properly around the hollow spot where her relationship with Micah had made her feel whole.

She pushed aside the weakness and focused on getting herself together. Callie paced, a restless shadow in the background. It was almost like her best friend was taking the situation even harder.

“Tell me what’s wrong with you caring about Micah. You’re not exactly running around with every Tom, Dick, and Harry, Zoya. You like a guy for fuck’s sake! From everything you’ve told me about him, you have good reason to like him, too. He seems like a kind, hard-working, open-hearted, and open-minded man. Your parents couldn’t ask for better.”

“He’s not Muslim.”

“He might convert. Don’t look at me like that. He might! Okay, even if he doesn’t, you could choose to be with the man you love or live a lie, which is still—correct me if I’m wrong—a sin!”

“Argh! Enough about this, Callie! I just want to get on with my life, okay? I respect your concern, but you don’t have to worry about me. It’s like you don’t want my parents to control me, but you want me to listen to you and make my decisions based off of what you’re trying to tell me to do. Why won’t any of you understand? It’s hard enough without everybody’s well-intentioned advice!”

Callie winced from the unexpected outburst, taking a step back with her hands on her hips. Zoya realized she had been shouting. She sighed helplessly and shook her head regretfully. “Callie, people break-up every day, and they survive. I’ll be fine.”

The platinum blond with the multi-colored dreadlocks rolled her eyes, crossing her slender arms over her meager chest. She plopped down on the sofa, giving up the argument, and watched her beautiful best friend apply liner to her eyes and a touch of lip gloss before grabbing her backpack and heading to the door. “All I’m saying is make sure you’re doing this because you want to and not because Miad or anyone else is making you,” she called after her.

Zoya walked out the door and ambled to her car, shaking her head. She was trying to banish thoughts about the week prior entirely, but Callie wasn’t letting it rest. “Make sure I’m doing this because I want to,” she muttered. “You can’t always do what you want, Callie.” She climbed into her car and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, as she took a deep breath to steady herself and cranked up the engine. Zoya hadn’t spoken with Micah in days. As much as it tore at her spirit to be away from him, it was the right thing to do. There was no point in holding onto something that just couldn’t be.

The sex had been…amazing. She wouldn’t undo that, even if she could. But, she never should’ve allowed herself to get so invested and involved with Micah in the first place. They were from different worlds, not just culturally. He was a biker. She was a graduate student. Admittedly, he was also a mechanical engineer, but ultimately he wasn’t the guy for her.

She eased into Monday morning traffic and inched her way onto campus, marching into class just a few minutes late. But, for all her sensible speeches to Callie, Zoya’s mind was in turmoil. She found it hard to concentrate on her studies and impossible not to think of Micah. In a lot of ways, Callie was right. He was perfect for her. The question was, how to convince her parents?

There was no answer because she had already given Miad her word she’d stay away from Micah. Head bowed over her textbook, she ignored the buzzing of her cellphone. She reached into her backpack and discreetly silenced the phone. She knew who was calling: Micah. And, she couldn’t talk to him. It wasn’t allowed.

She went through her classes with a frazzled mind, not able to focus on anything of importance. In fact, she was so out of sorts that she decided to skip her last class of the day. By the time she got home, Zoya was on autopilot. There was no way she’d be able to interact with Callie without her best friend picking up on her bad mood. Callie knew her like a sister. So, Zoya closeted herself in her room and made time to pray. She needed spiritual guidance.

Alone in her room, there was no judgment and no confusion in the communion between her being and her Creator. She collapsed onto the carpeted floor in complete submission and humility, opening her heart for healing and understanding. Though she recited words from rote memory, there was more to her prayer than mere words, and when she was done praying, she felt renewed. She felt at peace. Zoya stretched out on her bed. She had no ready answers to her dilemma, but she knew in time the signs would come.

***

The days slipped quietly onward with the same monotony as life pre-Micah. With no one to rush home and talk on the phone with through the week, Zoya had plenty of time to finish and edit her thesis, do her assignments, and improve her grades. She spent Fridays at mosque more diligently than ever before, and she reluctantly spent Saturdays with her family. However, the situation at her parents’ house was strained.

It was hard to imagine she had been without Micah for half a month. The worst of the energy sapping, mind-numbing blues had passed; however, there was a lingering malaise to missing the person she wasn’t allowed to have, and it didn’t seem prepared to let up. The pros to the passage of time was that her best friend had finally stopped using every opportunity to discuss how Zoya should still be with Micah, and Micah had finally stopped calling her phone.

The con was that no matter how much time passed, Miad’s suspicions seemed stubbornly unmovable.

“Is he still drinking?” Callie asked.

Zoya, curled on the couch, glanced from the television down to Callie, who was working on an assignment on the floor at her feet. “He tries to hide it from me, but I can tell. He wears too much cologne and looks unkempt. He stays in his bedroom in the basement, and he tells Maman and Baba he’s stressed from trying to find a job, but I know better. He’s getting worse.”

“Still think you should keep it to yourself?”

Zoya shrugged. She had made a conflicted decision not to let her parents know about Miad’s drinking to allow him the opportunity to straighten up his act and not face their parents’ ire, but it was starting to seem like an intervention was necessary. “I just know that if Baba finds out, he’ll lose all faith in my brother. They poured so much time and money into his recovery the first time. Who wants to go through all of that again, you know?”

It was Callie’s turn to shrug. She had grown up in a family of alcoholics. The one thing she had learned from the experience was that keeping secrets was a symptom and side effect of the disease. The worse off the addict, the more prone to deception and the more need for deception. “You know I have a few connections at the local rehab center. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

They sank back into companionable silence, and Zoya drifted between sleeping and watching television. It was Callie who broke the silence again with a smile in Zoya’s direction. “So, I have a proposition for you.”

“What’s the proposition?” Zoya asked warily at Callie’s mischievous tone.

“I want to take you out this weekend,” Callie murmured while scribbling in her notebook, perusing her textbook, and chatting on Facebook. She could never do one thing at a time. She had too much energy. “Nothing crazy. I just want to get you out of the house. All you’ve done all month is mope around.”

Zoya groaned and nudged Callie’s shoulder with the ball of her foot, smiling playfully. “Oh, it’s only been two weeks. Don’t exaggerate.”

Callie giggled and pushed aside her work. She turned around with her legs akimbo to look up at Zoya. “I feel like I’ve been punished! You know when you don’t go out with me, it’s not as much fun. I only get to be wildly irresponsible when you’re around. So, if you don’t want to do it for you, do it for me.” She frowned dramatically with puppy dog eyes, begging cutely. “Pretty please?”

It was true, Zoya had spent weeks indoors, aside from going to class and spending time with her family when required. There weren’t many high points to her life after the breakup. On the other hand, things hadn’t been that bad. She was finally feeling like she might one day get over him. Just days earlier, she had been thinking it would never happen.

“Where do you plan on going, Callie? I know you, and I know your ways. Don’t forget what Miad told you about being a positive influence.”

“Miad can cart his advice to the nearest deep ditch and throw himself in after it. No offense,” Callie replied blithely. “I need an answer. Is it a yes or no?” She squeezed her eyes shut and held up both hands, fingers crossed.

Zoya couldn’t say no. The truth was she was bored out of her mind with grieving. It couldn’t be any worse to go out and mope than it was to sit in and mope. “Fine, fine! I’ll go with you, but you better not spring any surprises on me. I’m warning you. I’ll bail.”

Callie let out a squeal of surprised pleasure, throwing her hands in the air and drumming her feet against the floor in triumph. “Ha! You’ve agreed, and you’ve given your word, so wherever I decide we go, we will go!”

Zoya leaned forward warily, pointing her finger at Callie with a warning look. “What are you up to, friend? I know that look.”

“Oh, nothing,” Callie said aloofly and crossed her legs with a toss of her head. “Just know that you’re going to have a great time, even if I have to force you to have a good time. Are we clear?”

***

“No, no, no, and no!” Zoya shook her head vehemently, refusing to get out of the car.

Callie stamped her foot and jiggled the door handle, knocking on the glass. “Zoya, get out of the car! You’re causing a scene.” She cursed her rotten luck for handing her friend the keys so she was able to lock her out. “This is crazy, you know. You’re not going to leave me here, and I’m not going to come with you. So, either you’re waiting in the car like a kid, or you get out and come party with me! Come on, the night is young! And, I don’t want you to get old waiting for me, so get out of this stupid car!”

Callie yelped, as her fingers got pinched under the handle. She yanked away her hand with a frustrated growl. Zoya guiltily unlocked the doors and slowly climbed out. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, and you owe me big time!”

“You’re welcome,” said Callie. “I promise you’re going to enjoy yourself. You just have to trust me.” They strutted across the parking lot to The Punchline, Callie in the lead and Zoya dragging reluctantly behind. Zoya made a whining noise and shook her body like a petulant five-year-old.

The building looked exactly the same as the last time they had come, with rundown siding and the aluminum roof with the name of the establishment in red paint. The same opaque windows stared blankly back at them, hiding what was inside. The motorcycles were the same, and the cars looked the same. Even the people lingering around outside looked the same. Zoya had realized where they were going as soon as Callie, who had insisted on driving, had turned off the main highway. They were back at the place where all the madness had begun, where she had met Micah.

“I don’t want to go in there!” Zoya stalled in the parking lot. Callie tugged her by the hand.

“You do! I know you do, because what else would you have to do tonight if not this? Do you really want to sit at home alone another weekend? Don’t make me drag you kicking and screaming. People are watching us,” Callie said in a stage-whisper, loud enough for the people watching to hear. Zoya colored in embarrassment, seeing she was right. There was a crowd of people at the door staring curiously at the two indecisive girls haggling under the streetlamp.

Zoya almost had to laugh at herself for her antics. Callie wrapped her arm around Zoya’s shoulders and gently, but firmly, pushed her toward the entrance. Zoya had chosen dark denim jeans and long sleeved kiwi green shirt with a gray hijab, and she hadn’t come dressed to impress. Callie sported a miniskirt and tank. They couldn’t have been more different. “Callie, how could you do this to me?” Zoya whispered, getting distressed as they neared the door. “What if he’s in there?”

“People break up every day and survive, remember? You’ll be fine.”

Zoya groaned, shrinking into herself. “This can’t be happening.”

They got past the bouncer and into the crowded club where the weekend regulars were already going strong. The club’s layout included a handful of tables positioned to the right of the entrance. Further inside, the space was wide open. Then, to the left, was the bar. At the back of the club, there was a makeshift stage that wasn’t in use on this night.

It was nine o’clock at night, and the dance floor was packed with women in tight, revealing clothes and men enjoying the temptation. Instead of live music, the DJ was playing a mix of popular and alternative music with a little country-pop thrown in for kicks.

Zoya tentatively stepped across the hardwood floor, making her way to a table. She was sure Callie would disappear off to the bar or the dancefloor, and she was surprised to glance back and find her friend following her. “Just to make sure you don’t try to escape,” Callie said with a grin. She had to shout over the sound of the music. They pushed past a throng of folks congregating in the middle of the walkway and took seats at the bar height tables at the side of the club where Zoya felt most comfortable, away from the crush and press of bodies.

A server made his way over to them at Zoya’s beckon. She remembered that was how Micah had gotten the guy’s attention the last time. When Donnie drew closer, his eyes lit up in recognition. He was wearing a greasy black vest with The Punchline written on back. It was open in front, and his bald head gleamed under the dim light. “Hey! Middle Eastern Girl! I didn’t think I’d see you in here again. Figured the biker boys scared you off last time. Giving us another try?” he teased. He smiled, revealing gold teeth and kind eyes.

Zoya smiled good-naturedly. “I was, um, coerced into giving the bar another try. Let’s just say my friend here made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

He chuckled. “What you ladies drinkin’ tonight? Lemme see if I get this right. Coca-Cola for you, huh?”

Zoya flashed a thumbs up and gestured to Callie. Her friend supplied, “I’ll have a vodka shot with a splash of grenadine.”

“You got it!” Donnie ambled back to the bar.

Callie swayed to the music, getting into the groove. She was glad she had come out and doubly glad she had convinced Zoya to come out with her. Her sparkling eyes roamed over the bar looking for familiar faces. Callie crossed her hands on top of the table and turned her gaze back to study her best friend. “Feeling anxious? Loosen up, darling. You know the rules. We give it a half hour, and if you absolutely hate it, we leave.”

“You know I’m anxious. You’re a horrible, horrible friend,” Zoya fired back with a grin. “Thank you for getting me out of the house, but you should never have brought me back here. Of all the places, Callie! I mean, come on! There are too many memories.”

“Cause you’re not over him! Zoya, I know you’re not. It’s obvious as fuck. He was good for you. You liked him. He liked you.”

“And, we didn’t work out. You’re meddling with people’s lives here, friend.” Zoya frowned gently and placed her hand on top of Callie’s.

Callie shrugged ruefully. “I thought maybe if I brought you here, it would spark something. Maybe get you to at least give him a call. Think about it, Zoya. You got closure. You instituted the closing of the chapter by opting not to talk to him again, but what about Micah? Don’t you think he deserves a chance to at least hear why you can’t be together? It’s only right. You basically just dropped off the face of the earth to him. Who does that?”

Donnie came back over with their drinks, and Zoya reached into her clutch to pay him. Handing off the money absently, she kept her eyes on Callie, addressing her, “I’m pretty sure he got the point. He knows my brother saw us, and he knew my family would have a problem with us dating. He probably put two and two together.”

“I did,” he murmured.

Callie finally moved her gaze from Zoya’s face, having kept it there the minute she saw Micah approaching the table out of her periphery vision. Zoya felt her breath hitch in her chest at the familiar voice. It raised goosebumps along her skin and sent her heartbeat spiraling out of control. Hairs on the back of her neck stood up in awareness. Her nipples even tightened in response. She looked down at her hand where the money she was holding out for Donnie to take was still dangling, and her eyes slowly rose up to her ex-boyfriend’s face. He had already gestured for Donnie to put it on his tab.

Micah casually rested his elbow on the table and leaned across the table between the women, staring Zoya in the eyes. “I put two and two together, and it still didn’t make any sense to me, but I accepted it because I didn’t have any choice.”

“Um, do you hear that? Yeah, Zoya, I think the dance floor just called me,” Callie said, popping her head over Micah’s shoulder to wave goodbye to the hapless Zoya. Zoya’s eyes widened, and she gestured for Callie to stay, but her bestie shot off and disappeared in the midst of dancing bodies. Zoya dropped her face into her hand, shaking her head.

“Why does this feel like a conspiracy?” she muttered into her palm. When she looked back up, Micah wore a half-smile.

“More like a happy coincidence. Imagine my surprise when you walked into the building. I thought I’d never see you again…But, it seems that fate would have otherwise, and who are we to question the machinations of the universe, right? What do you say we step out back and catch up on old times?” he asked. His tone was light and not the least bit pushy. He almost sounded like he thought she’d say no.

Zoya got the distinct impression she could turn him down, no harm, no foul. Fact was she wanted to go out back and talk with him. She had missed their conversations, his perspective and ways of thinking. He was close enough in proximity for her to smell his spicy, enticing cologne, and the memories that flooded back were erotic and intense. She struggled not to breathe, but she couldn’t hold her breath forever.

She rose from the chair, undecided, her eyes locked with his translucent blues. His lips were pressed together in a straight line, and her mouth remembered the exact texture and pressure of those lips against hers. The cleft of his chin begged to be caressed. He was still sporting the stubble of a beard she was most familiar with, and his gold rimmed blue shades clung to the neck of his t-shirt, which clung to the chest her hands recalled intimately. His jeans hung from his hips, and beneath the worn, faded denim she knew the rest of him. She blushed at the knowledge.

Zoya had never known her body could be just as capable of retaining impressions of past events as her mind. Her body remembered him in vivid detail—from the satiny feel of his short, wavy hair between her fingers to the heft of his nearly six foot frame rising and falling between her legs, their limbs intertwined like sticks starting a fire. Her thighs tightened, as she stood before him and contemplated going outside. Moisture instantly collected, as her gaze drifted down his taut stomach and stopped at his pelvis. She knew she should stay right where she was, in the crowd where she was safe from herself.

“I’ll come with you,” she murmured, and he couldn’t hear, but he seemed to understand, following the movement of her lips with eyes that looked as if they yearned for her. From the very first time they’d met, he had had that look in his eyes. It made her skin burn and her heart beat faster. Micah turned away, releasing her from the potent spell of eye contact, and when he headed to the double doors that led to the back porch of the biker bar, she followed.

There weren’t many others outside. Those seeking a quieter place to chat, or those wanting to smoke cigarettes—the loners and the lovers were there. The night was hot and humid, and citronella candles burned quaintly on the picnic tables that lined the rustic back porch. The view from the back of The Punchline looked out on a distant, shadowy mesa. It was a hot and humid night, but pleasant with the breeze. Fireflies could be spotted, as the back of the bar was less illuminated than the front.

Zoya and Micah took a seat at one of the picnic tables furthest from the door. It was at the edge of the porch where they could look out at the night, see the stars, and converse without anyone overhearing. There was a definite illusion of being alone. Zoya knew she should feel uncomfortable with the situation, but she strangely wasn’t.

She felt butterflies, sweaty palms, and electric desire. His body was too close to hers to ignore. Their thighs almost touched, and he was looking at her so intensely that she felt like not a day had elapsed since the last time they had seen each other. She remembered waking up beside him that final morning nearly a month ago and slipping out to the cab to leave, thinking she could stay away from him. She had been wrong. There was no staying away when given the chance to see him.

“I missed you,” he whispered. He couldn’t resist. Micah turned to her and grasped her chin, smoothed his thumb against her lower lip. Zoya inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut reverently. He didn’t dare kiss her. He didn’t think he would be able to stop at just a kiss; but, he had to touch her and make sure that she was real. The ache in his throat felt scarily like tears. He swallowed, pushed down the pain of feeling abandoned by her.

He had overhead her friend telling her he deserved an explanation. It was true. He needed to understand why Zoya had left him high and dry. “Why did you stop talking me?”

“You must know,” she said in a small voice. “Miad saw us together, Micah. He made me swear not to see you again.”

“I thought you were going to tell your parents about us. I thought we were going to try to make this work. Instead, you bailed on me without even a backwards glance. Do you know how many sleepless nights I’ve spent? How many days I’ve tormented myself wondering what I could have done differently? I realize…I realize that I might not be the best man, Zoya, but I was the best man I could be for you, and you walked away from us. You ended us.”

Zoya dropped her head desolately, trying to find the words to convey the thought processes that had led to her actions. “I never wanted things to end that way. I care very much for you, Micah.” She sighed and grabbed his hand to run her fingers along his palm. “You have to understand. If I hadn’t made that promise to Miad, he would’ve tarnished your image for my parents. Nothing I would have told them about you would’ve mattered. I had to let you go to keep you from that, and I don’t regret it, Micah. I don’t regret saving us that battle.”

“So, you let us lose the entire war.” He frowned. Her eyes downcast, she gnawed on her bottom lip uncertainly. She had given up on them. They were over, but the closure he had heard Callie mention was closed to him because he was discovering some events in life were more like the close of the book than the mere opening of a new chapter. Anything that came after Zoya would be a new story entirely. She had changed him, and he didn’t want any other narrative. He wanted her. “What if I told you I’m not ready to stop fighting?” he whispered.

She lifted her eyes and met his. “What are we fighting for?”

“A word? A week? A kiss? Zoya, I don’t know, but there’s an entire revolution in my being for you. I can’t pretend I’m okay with the powers that be telling us we can’t be together. This doesn’t feel like it’s a decision you or I made, regardless of your argument to the contrary. You did it to save us the hardship, but, babe…what’s a little hardship if I’ve got you?” He gave a half-smile. He didn’t know exactly how much of what he was saying was able to be back up, but he was willing to give it 100 percent to show her that he was willing to keep going if she was.

She licked her trembling lips. Her fingers moved over his hand, and she cupped his palm to her cheek, inhaling deeply for the first time since he showed up at the table. His familiar scent clouded her thoughts and made her sigh in surrender because everything he was saying made perfect sense to her addled mind. She just wanted the contact, to touch him, caress him, and remind him of the things she hadn’t forgotten.

“We’d have to be careful,” she whispered furtively. “We couldn’t be seen in public. We’d have to sneak, and everything would have to be done in secrecy. Could you handle that?”

“Baby, I’ve handled far worse. Trust me,” he said with a grin. Hope winged upwards within his fragile heart. Was she really telling him there was a chance they could get back together? “I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts, Zoya. I’d walk over hot coals for you…well, figuratively.” He chuckled. Micah stole a kiss, a small one. Zoya giggled and blushed, kissing him back.

“Callie is going to be pleased; I can tell you that. She’s been advocating for you.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked your friend.” He grinned and rose from the picnic table. “You’ll have to indulge me, beloved. I just want to see you dance one time.” He gathered her in his arms, Zoya’s eyes skating nervously to see if anyone was watching them. He directed her gaze back to his. “And, then I plan to whisk you away on the back of my motorcycle and show you, beautiful girl, just how much I genuinely appreciate a second chance with you.”

“Oh, really?” she said breathlessly, smiling shyly. “How do you plan on doing that, biker boy?”

“Dance first. I miss the way you move.”

He took Zoya by the hand and pulled her with him back into the building, feeling a sense of excitement that hadn’t been there before. He knew, somewhere in the crowded bar, the rest of his crew was wondering where he had disappeared to. He knew Quinn would have words for him, and Pinwheel would have a disappointed look. However, Micah didn’t care what any of them had to say about it. Zoya was his.

He pushed past a drunken gentleman who stumbled out of his way as Micah exuberantly made his way to the dance floor. Zoya stopped short when she saw who the man was.

“Oh, no! Miad,” she whispered in fear.

“What?” Micah couldn’t hear her above the music. He leaned in close, and she buried her face in his chest. Zoya hurriedly snatched off her hijab to disguise herself, hoping Miad hadn’t seen her.

“My brother. He’s here,” she whispered in terror.

“What? Where?” He looked around, but the place was too dimly lit to spot a face he had only seen once on a dark night in passing. He clutched Zoya by the shoulders and put his arm around her, hiding the hijab that hung from her neck now like a scarf. He knew it had to be causing her intense discomfort to be so uncovered, but he also understood she was trying not to be recognized. “I’ll get you out of here.”

Zoya trembled, as she moved step by step with Micah shielding her. They moved toward the exit at a snail’s pace it seemed. There were too many people blocking their path, too many hang-ups along the way. She fought panic, trying not to look back. The door was within sight, and they had barely ten paces to get to it. They would’ve made it.

Except, Callie spotted them and called out loudly, “Zoya! Micah! Where are you guys going? I’m over here!” She waved her hands. Callie shimmied around in a circle to the music. She was dancing with a sexy shirtless biker, and she didn’t even realize that she had written Zoya’s fate.

Miad’s head lolled forward and snapped back, as he struggled to straighten to his full height. He was leaning against the bar, but at the sound of his sister’s name, he gazed dazedly at Callie, realized who she was, and followed the direction of her gesticulations. Zoya froze on the spot, locking her knees.

“He sees us.”

“Come on, Zoya. We’ll take my bike. We’ll lose him.”

She wanted to scream in frustration and anger at the hopelessness of the situation! No one understood, least of all Micah. There was no running from what was expected. Her only hope was to mitigate the confrontation.

Miad was drunk. Zoya didn’t want to have to deal with her brother in front of the whole biker bar. She pushed past Micah and made her way outside, knowing this time her boyfriend would follow her. She couldn’t run off like the night Miad had caught them kissing. Micah wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

She briskly walked into the parking lot and waited some distance away from the door of the biker bar. It was only ten-something, and there were revelers still filing into the establishment. Miad forced his way through the line and stumbled in their direction.

“You don’t have to put up with his bullying, Zoya. You don’t have to do anything he says.” Micah’s face was set in a fierce scowl, his fist balled. It would’ve been gallant if not for the fact his stance would definitely add fuel to the fire. Zoya gestured in the negative.

“Micah, I’m fine. I’ll take care of this.”

He breathed heavily, as adrenaline pumped through him. Never one to back down from a fight, he would very gladly put Miad back in his place if Zoya let him. He faced the approaching young man, shoulders squared. Zoya put a gentle hand on his wrist, and Micah looked down at her, realizing she was getting upset. He took her hand in his and squeezed. She smiled shakily, gratefully. “I’ve got to diffuse the situation before anything gets out of hand. If you want to help me, stay cool. Do you understand?”

“Zoya!” Miad shouted her name furiously. He stepped closer, feet spread, and steadied himself. Miad fumed and Micah bristled, but he held himself in check. Zoya desperately stepped between the two men who stared at each other with unwavering eyes. She put a hand to Micah’s chest, and he backed down, but Miad grabbed her by the other hand and pulled her away from Micah.

“Don’t you dare hurt her!” Micah growled, menacingly.

“Hurt her? I’m trying to keep her safe from the likes of you! You think I don’t know what you’re up to, infidel? I know what you want from my sister, and I won’t stand idly by and let you destroy her rep-reputation,” Miad slurred. He wiped a thin stream of spittle from his mouth that had escaped with his outburst and pointed a shaky accusatory finger at Zoya. “And, you! You gave me your word, you liar. You’ve continued to see him.”

“I haven’t, Miad. I swear; I have not. We ran into each other here. Miad, please!” Zoya clutched at the collar of her brother’s shirt and tried to drag him away. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk. I can explain.”

“Why are you here in the first place? More lies, lies, lies! I will never trust you again, jende ! Harlot! I should’ve followed my first instinct and made your transgressions known, but no! I gave you the chance to redeem yourself. You are a weak woman and a schemer. This time I will tell Maman and Baba…after I teach this insolent dool what we do to bastards like him for defiling our women!”

A switchblade materialized in his unsteady hand. Zoya let out a sharp sound of stunned disbelief. Miad breathed through his mouth, appearing more focused the angrier he got. He blinked, and his blurred vision cleared.

“Put down your toy, Miad. I’m not fighting you,” Micah sighed. Judging by the stench of liquor roiling off the man, Micah could take him out without breaking a sweat. Miad was drunk, and the alcohol was making him brave but stupid. Micah was twice his size, in better shape and completely sober. Plus, Micah had a pistol in the holster at his hip, a knife in the top of his boots, and brass knuckles in his back pocket. All that was on top of years and years of fist fights and bar brawls. The idiot didn’t stand a chance.

Micah held up his hands and took another step back. “You don’t have a right to control Zoya anymore, Miad. And, how do you get off calling her names but jeer at me as if I’ve disrespected her in some way? How fucking hypocritical. Let her decide. Zoya?” His blue eyes flew to her face. She shook her head subtly, and Micah bit back a frustrated retort. He had been about to ask her to choose whether she wanted to come with him or go with her brother, but he saw the decision in her defeated expression.

“Micah, I need to take my brother home. He can’t drive like this.”

As much as it galled him, Micah nodded understanding. Maybe it wasn’t the time. Her brother was clearly in no state for debate or driving. He conceded to Zoya’s wisdom on the situation—despite the fact he wanted to break Miad’s smug face just for the audacity of trying to step to him. That didn’t include what he wanted to do to the man for causing Zoya distress.

Miad chuckled dryly, yanking Zoya behind him. She was thrown to the ground by his viciousness. Micah shouted in anger and went to her aid, but Miad pushed him back. “She’s coming with me, and my retribution will be delivered.” Miad abruptly lunged forward with the knife. Micah furiously and effortlessly chopped at the man’s wrist and sent the knife flying. In turn, Miad doubled over, clutching his arm. “Ah!” he gasped in pain.

Resisting the urge to kick him in the gut, Micah knelt beside Zoya and swiped her hair back from her face. She was crying silently. The look on her face made his heart clench. Micah shook his head, no longer siding with her decision to let Miad intentionally or unintentionally control her actions. Let the prick find his own way home.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, helping her up. “I’m not letting you go with him like this. He’s in no condition to be reasoned with, Zoya. Please, take my advice and ride home with Callie if you don’t want to ride home with me…because I can’t be held accountable for what I might do to him if he hurts you. Come on, love. Let’s get you back inside. You can talk to Miad in the morning when he’s clearheaded.”

She conceded and started to limp beside him back to the bar entrance. But, Miad wouldn’t be so easily deterred. He snatched at Zoya with his uninjured hand, grabbing her hard by the shoulder and wrenching her from Micah’s handhold. At that moment, The Hangman’s Crows exited the club in search of Micah. From their vantage point, to Pinwheel, Chop, and Dante, it looked like trouble and a good time. Miad had regained the knife and was holding it threateningly at Zoya’s throat. Her face was a mask of shocked confusion.

“Miad, what are you doing?” she hissed.

“Looka here!” Dante shouted with a rebel yell. “Looks like we got us a fight, boys!”

Quinn and Dante, the biggest of the crew, closed the distance from the door to Micah, coming up to flank their leader as reinforcement. “What’s the problem, Blade? I’m in a problem solving mood.” Q popped his knuckles and flexed his rippling mahogany muscles in a cutoff shirt. He towered over everyone except Dante, and the two of them combined was like staring down a semi and a monster truck.

Pinwheel, sexy in red tights and a black t-shirt, strutted forward, a small gun in her hand. She smiled with sultry red lips and added, “ C’est dans mes cordes . A nice tumble in the dust is right up my alley tonight. Is this cacaboudin fucking with you, baby?”

Miad took a step back. “If you love her, bishour , American idiot, tell your friends to stay out of this. Zoya’s coming with me.”

The knife nicked Zoya’s throat, and Micah shot forward, but Zoya screamed at him to get back. “Alright, alright, Miad! I’m coming with you! Enough of this!”

Micah gestured for the motorcycle club to stay back. “This isn’t over between us, Miad,” he promised.

Miad wrestled Zoya to his car, parked near the front of the lot. He pointed to the driver’s side and made her climb in. He slumped into the passenger seat. Micah was grateful for that. At least Miad wasn’t at the wheel.

He stood behind, helplessly watching the woman he cared about get carted off like property. He could understand her religion and respect her values, but he couldn’t understand that. Micah swore violently, wanting to hit something. He spun away from the scene and marched to his bike after the car drove away. Quinn and the rest of the crew followed.

“What’s going on, Micah?” Dante called after him.

Chop ran up beside him, enthusiastic to be a part of something with a little hint of danger. “You gonna follow them?” the biracial youth asked. “We got your back, man. That mothafucka is toast!” Micah shook his head.

“I’m gonna go blow off some steam,” Same said. Pinwheel volunteered to ride with him, but he declined. “I need to be alone. You guys hang out without me tonight.”

Quinn parked his booted foot on the rear wheel of the bike and stared at Micah. “Don’t do anything crazy, man,” Quinn warned. “We talked about this. I thought you were letting her go.”

Micah threw a leg over the seat and settled on his Victory Cross Roads. “I tried, Q, but I can’t lie to myself or to you. This shit is personal, separate from the motorcycle club and anything else in my life. Zoya is my business. Man to man, if it doesn’t have anything to with The Hangman’s Crows from now on, stay out of it.” Quinn pulled back, stung. Then, Micah continued, “And, that goes for all of you. I don’t expect you to come fight this fight for me. I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way like that. I can’t shake her. I care about her. So, don’t ask me to choose between the gang and my girl. I’m with you guys til the end, no doubt about it. But, I will have her.”

Q held up his hands and smiled tightly. “It’s your call…I’m going back inside before last call. You guys with me?”

The Hangman’s Crows trudged back into the biker bar like the dejected end of a messy breakup, and Micah felt like shit, but what he had said was something that had to be said.

He ripped out of the parking lot, sending up a spray of gravel into the night. He nosed his bike in the direction of the desert. It was the only place he could be alone with his thoughts. Micah still had hope. Zoya hadn’t given him any indication she was backing down from renewing their relationship. However, the fact Miad was aware they were together might throw a monkey-wrench into the plan.

How could loving someone cause so much pain? He gripped the handlebars, feeling conflicted. He was also letting down his crew. It wasn’t like him to put anything, aside from his career, in a place of priority over his friends. He knew he had plugged a hole in Quinn with his request that his friend steer clear of his relationship, but he couldn’t see any other way of keeping them from getting rolled up in the conflict.

He tore down the road and disappeared in a cloud of dust. Micah was aware Zoya wasn’t exaggerating the hardship they would face to be together. If he had any control of the situation, the gang would have to stay out of it. Boundaries had to be put in place for everyone’s sake.

There was a storm brewing in Zoya at odds with her normally temperate state. She gripped the steering wheel, determined not to burst into tears. Tears were the helpless last resort of those who had given up, and she hadn’t given up. She had left the biker bar with Miad by force, but she was fed up with his dominance, especially in light of his submission to alcohol.

He groaned, as a car sped past on the other side of the road, headlights illuminating the car and sending shards of pain through his skull. He clutched at his temples and fought the urge to vomit. “Slow down,” he muttered, slurring his speech.

Zoya decelerated a fraction, eyes on the rearview mirror for cops once she realized she was driving over the speed limit. It was her racing thoughts she was trying to outrun. She could see herself in a future of her parents’ and her brother’s choosing. She would marry some boring clod of a man and eventually learn to appreciate him, but she’d never love him. Her love was devoted to a man they were intent on her not having, her parents unwittingly, and her brother through force.

They were well-intentioned. For her parents, who had grown up in a world where a woman’s carefully cultivated reputation could mean the difference between life and death, old habits die hard. Zoya was expected to dress, speak, and carry herself a certain way to be conservative and marriageable. In their culture, marriage ensured a stable, productive future with a man who would devote himself to her safety and prosperity. She understood Islamic tradition required her to marry another Muslim, but she couldn’t imagine Allah had created this beautiful universe with so many diversities simply to keep people at odds.

There was nothing morally wrong about love, and they were all created as one by One. It was ritual and tradition that kept them apart, not divine will.

Zoya stared ahead at the road, driving on autopilot to her parents’ house where Miad resided as a result of being evicted from his townhome. She would have to sneak him inside without her parents knowing. How the blazes was she supposed to do that?

Zoya sighed and took the exit before the one that would take her to the family residence. She turned to Miad to gauge his coherence. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleep or passed out. “We need to talk,” she replied. His thick black lashes fluttered open, and he stared at her with a sneer.

“What is there to talk about?” he goaded. She turned the car towards her own apartment. He needed sustenance and something to bring down his intoxication, and she would cook for him. Miad didn’t protest. He gazed out the window, seeing his reflection in the glass. He looked terrible. His hair was shaggy and unruly, and there were dark circles under his soulful brown eyes. He wanted to run away from the sight, but no matter how fast they traveled, he had to face himself. Miad closed his eyes again.

Zoya parked on the side street and waited patiently for her brother to leverage himself up out of the car. She stood next to him, ever the devoted sister, and let him drape his arm over her shoulder so she could assist him up the stairs and into the building. Zoya had appropriately replaced her hijab, hiding her face. She prayed anyone seeing them together wouldn’t notice her brother was stumbling drunk. It was embarrassing.

They made it to the elevators and up to her floor, where Miad made a stronger attempt to put one foot steadily in front of the other. “I can walk,” he growled, pushing away from her. Zoya covered her face and moved quickly up the hall to unlock the door to apartment 212. She stood at the threshold waiting for him to drag his weight along the wall and into the apartment.

The first matter of business was to get him something to eat. She directed her brother to the sofa and helped him out of his shoes, putting his feet up and his head on a pillow. Miad dozed. Zoya stepped into the kitchen and dug out her cellphone to call Callie. Her friend had to be frantic, wondering what had happened.

Callie answered the cellphone on the first ring. “I’m on my way home. I heard. One of Micah’s friends told me there was some kind of problem in the parking lot between Micah and someone you left with. Tell me it isn’t who I think it is.”

“My brother,” Zoya said tiredly. “He’s here. Listen, friend, I’m at the apartment, and I’m going to talk to my brother. Tonight.”

“What was he doing at the biker bar?”

“I have no clue, Callie. Your guess is as good as mine. He pulled a knife on Micah, and things are getting out of hand. I can’t let this situation continue like this. I’m going to tell him he can’t run my life anymore. He needs help, Callie!” She teared up, thinking how low Miad had descended from the big brother that fought her battles to the big brother who called her a whore and harlot and threatened to kill the person she loved. “The drinking is out of control. Do you remember you told me you had a connection or knew someone at the rehab center?”

Zoya grated onions and pulled a pack of thawed, boneless chicken cutlets out of the fridge. She would make kebabs. She mixed onions, lemon juice and salt in a bowl as she talked on the phone. She didn’t have time to let the chicken marinate for long, but she set it aside and leaned against the kitchen counter, listening to Callie.

“I’ll be home in the next fifteen. I’ll help you talk to him. I can tell him all about the place. It’s not like the usual center.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I better do this alone. He’s not going to take it well coming from me. I can imagine how he’ll take it coming from a complete stranger. His problems have always been deep, dark family secrets, and he won’t appreciate me telling you.” Zoya melted butter on the stovetop, dissolving slivers of fragrant, colorful saffron with the butter. She pulled a few metal skewers from under the kitchen counter, just enough for her and her brother.

“In that case, I have a couple of spare pamphlets in my bedroom you can use to show him about the place. Check in the top drawer of my dresser. It’s my junk drawer. In the meantime, I’ll linger out instead of coming right home.”

“Where are you going to go?” Zoya asked in curiosity, as she threaded the chicken pieces onto the metal skewers.

“Met a guy,” Callie said mysteriously. Zoya could hear the smile in her friend’s voice. “I ended up leaving the bar in a hurry to get to you, but now that I know it might be better for me to linger out for a while, consider me off the radar for the night. Call me if you need me though. I’ll keep my ringer on.”

Zoya preheated the countertop grill and placed the chicken skewers on it, brushing marinade on top. “Will do. I’ve got this covered though. I’m taking off the gloves. If Miad wants to fight dirty…then, he’s about to see I can do the exact same.”

“That’s it, baby! Fight like a girl. Kick his ass!”

“It was a metaphor,” Zoya giggled, lightening up. “I’ll talk to you later, friend.” When she hung up the phone, she felt a bolster of confidence. She threw a bag of quick rice on the stovetop to boil and placed a bag of veggies in the microwave to steam.

Zoya left the chicken skewers, planning to come back and baste after she checked in Callie’s bedroom for the pamphlets to show to her brother. Callie’s room was orderly and well-organized. It was often odd to think of her flighty, free-spirited best friend as the neat-freak of the household. As Callie had said, Zoya found the pamphlets in the top drawer. The junk drawer was laid out like an office desk with coupons clipped together next to a ball of rubber bands, a handful of writing pens bundled with a band, spare lighters, a few boxes of playing cards, and other knickknacks. What she sought was a stack of glossy folded papers in the bottom. She tried not to displace Callie’s things as she slipped a brochure from the stack.

Zoya padded back into the living room while reading. The facility was private-run and staffed by local physicians and psychiatrists, offering both detox and recovery programs with the option to stay on-grounds after detox or come in for daily check-ups. She could imagine the benefit her brother would get from therapy and counseling sessions. What Miad needed most was new ways to cope with the problems he faced living with a strong sense of entitlement but a very poor work ethic.

The mouth-watering aroma of chicken wafted through the apartment, and she stepped back in the kitchen to turn and baste the food and check the rice and vegetables. She pulled out plates and set them on the bar where she and her brother would eat. Tiptoeing into the living room, she peeked in to see if he was awake, but he was snoring softly. Zoya wrung her hands, wondering if she should abandon the plan. Maybe she should just accept that she couldn’t be with Micah.

But that wasn’t acceptable. Besides, if Miad didn’t get help for his drinking, his life would be ruined by it. The two seemed tied hand-in-hand in her mind. She knew if her brother’s personal life hadn’t been destroyed by his drinking, then he would be more rational and logical about her relationship with Micah. They had both grown up in this country. Muslims married secular partners every day in America, didn’t they?

She sighed and nudged Miad’s shoulder to wake him.

“What?” he grunted, disoriented.

“I cooked for you. Come eat, brother. We have things to discuss, and I didn’t want to talk about this stuff at Maman and Baba’s home. You’re at my place.”

“Your place?” he scowled and sat up, swinging his legs around to the floor. He seemed a little better in charge of himself. Zoya stepped back and cautiously watched him amble to the kitchen area where the countertop served as a bar with stools on the side of the living room. She gestured for him to sit and moved into the kitchen to fix their plates.

“This is getting out of control between us. We never used to fight like this,” she muttered. Zoya served the rice, kebabs, and vegetables. “What’s happened to us?”

“You think I want this?”

She moved to the kitchen sink and poured a glass of cold water. He’d need it to flush the alcohol out of his system. “I think you rely too heavily on booze to cosset you from real world problems, and you jump at shadows, ready for a fight at every second as a result of it. So, yeah, I guess I do think you want this, because you keep it going.”

She slapped the brochure down on the counter next to his plate. Miad glanced at the cover. The navy blue pamphlet pictured a sparkling steel and glass facility on the front overshadowed by a smiling practitioner. “What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s help. Like the rehab facility Maman and Baba got you admitted into the first time.” She picked up her fork and started to eat though she wasn’t hungry. She encouraged Miad to do the same.

“You’re worried about the wrong things. I’m a man. I can handle myself. It’s you I worry about. These American ways have subverted you, changed you from the wholesome, virtuous woman you used to be into someone I barely recognize. You leave me no choice, Zoya. I’m telling Maman and Baba you have been consorting with the biker.”

“You don’t know of what you speak,” she hissed angrily. Her fork clattered out of her fingers, and she turned her body on the stool to face Miad. “I stopped seeing him because of you, because of my respect for you and in an attempt to do what I thought must be right. But, I have prayed, brother. I have sought counsel and studied the Word.”

“Then, you must know that to be with him puts your soul in danger,” Miad countered. He wasn’t about to back down. He knew that he was right.

Zoya sighed and averted her gaze, having nothing she could say to defend herself. There was little uncertainty to it. She was wrong, religiously, to be with Micah. Yet…she didn’t care. “It’s my choice,” she whispered. “My soul is mine to bear.”

He pointed at her with the fork. “Which is exactly why I’m telling our parents. Maybe they can talk some sense into you.”

Zoya’s eyes flashed. They were the color of shifting sands and sunrises, soft brown with golden flecks, and ringed in rich brown. She told him seriously, “If you tell my Maman and Baba about Micah, then I will tell them about you and your drinking.”

He faltered, his fork lowering to the near clean plate, appetite sated. Miad wiped his mouth and muttered expletives, furious at Zoya for leveraging his drinking against him. “So what if I drink!”

“So what would Baba say, eh? What would he think about you throwing away everything he has invested into your future, our future! At some point, you have to grow up and realize there is more at stake than reputations where your alcoholism is involved. You steal from our parents to support your habits. You gamble away the money they give you, and now you live off of them like a child. You’re not a man, Miad. You’re a leech. And, you worry about my soul? What about yours?”

Her scathing commentary fired through him like missiles, cutting Miad to the core. It was one thing to suffer in privacy with his demons. It was quite another to realize they were so obvious even his sister could see them. He couldn’t let his parents find out. In a final show of authority, Miad viciously snatched up the brochure for the rehab facility and ripped it up into pieces, letting the blue and white paper flutter to the floor. He grabbed his keys and prepared to leave.

Zoya thought all hope was lost. Her threat hadn’t scared him the way she had intended. But, Miad stopped at the door and turned back to fire a retort. “I’m not going to that place. I’ll take care of my problems on my own…You just make sure you handle yours. I won’t tell Maman and Baba. That infidel will knock you up and tell on his damn self.”

He flung open the door and breezed out, slamming it shut behind him. The noise made Zoya jump. She pressed a hand to her beating heart. Miad had brought up a concern she hadn’t, in her lovesick wonder, thought about before. She slipped a hand to her tummy and pressed in fear. She hadn’t had her cycle.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

Zoya sat with Callie in the campus clinic, the two girls holding hands like nervous best friends preparing to receive bad news. Zoya was anxious about any judgment that might be made for being young, unmarried, and having sex, but Callie put her mind at ease. “The majority of people at this school fall into that category. I just wish you would have asked me about it sooner,” Callie said for the third time, squeezing Zoya’s hand in a sign of solidarity.

Zoya shushed her, glancing around at the others in the waiting room. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. “How was I supposed to ask?” she whispered. “It just happened. We didn’t go into spending the weekend together thinking we were going to have sex, Callie. Micah’s not that kind of guy, and I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Bless your innocent little heart,” Callie tisked. “For future reference, when a guy asks you to spend the weekend—not saying he has any intentions—just go prepared, okay? I can’t stress enough how important safe sex is. I mean, getting pregnant isn’t even the worst of it.” She had lowered her voice. She wasn’t trying to lecture, but Callie found it hard to keep her peace. She felt like the culture that shunned sex and kept girls in the dark about the birds and the bees was the same culture that set girls up to make these kinds of mistakes.

At length, the nurse called Zoya’s name. She glanced at Callie anxiously. Callie patted her hand encouragingly. “You’ll be okay. They’re just going to talk to you and give you your options as far as birth control. Do you want me to go in there with you?”

Deeper into the week after the harrowing conversation with Miad about Micah knocking her up, her cycle had finally arrived, removing all doubt. She wasn’t pregnant. But, Zoya wasn’t willing to take any more risks either. The next week she had scheduled an appointment at the clinic to put barriers in place so she’d never have to worry about pregnancy again, not until she was ready to have kids.

In conversations with Micah, he had set her mind at ease about his sexual history and even gone the length of sending her a copy of his most recent testing. Now, she was going in to take control of her reproductive system.

“I think I can do this on my own,” she said to Callie. Callie threw up the rock star sign and waved her to the back. Zoya followed the nurse into the doctor’s office. By the time she left the building, she was safely on the patch.

“I have to wait a few weeks before it’s effective,” she told Callie.

They climbed in the Porsche and headed off campus. “Are you excited? You’re doing grown woman stuff now! I’m so proud of you! You stood up to Miad, and you’re in charge of your destiny. Next up, giving your parents the same speech.”

Zoya shook her head, smiling. “You never give up, do you?”

“Of course not. I’d never have made it this far if I had. What do you say we grab a coffee or something? I don’t feel like lingering around the house all day. I’m too antsy. You know I have a date tonight, right?”

It was Friday, and Zoya had gone to mosque before going to her apartment. She had spent the entire week talking to Micah on the phone but avoided seeing him in person. It was part of her attempt to keep a low profile. At the thought of being home alone all night, however, she wondered if she could trust herself to be alone with him yet.

The girls drove over to the coffee shop where Callie ordered a latté and Zoya got tea. They settled at a table in front of the large plate glass window and stared out at the sleepy Friday afternoon. Zoya nibbled at cookies, deep in thought, as Callie prattled on about her new beau.

“I know it’s scary,” Callie replied.

Zoya looked up. The conversation had turned from Callie’s courtship with Garrett to this. “What do you mean?”

“You’re worried about messing up or making a mistake. It’s natural. I’m worried about screwing up, too. I like this guy, but I don’t have a track record for holding onto a relationship. So, you know what I plan to do?”

“What exactly do you plan to do, Queen of Hearts?” Zoya smiled.

“I plan to live it up, enjoy the moment. Love isn’t about forevers. It’s about now.”

“Wise words, friend. In the Quran, there is a scripture. It says, ‘I created you from one soul, and from the soul I created its mate so that you may live in harmony and love.’ I’m not really looking for forever, but I would like to know that he’s the one.” She stared wistfully out the window. It was complicated.

Callie shrugged, carefree. “You’ll never know until you rule him out. That would be my approach…of course, I’ve ruled out a lot more men than you, but…” They burst out giggling. Callie smiled softly. “I have a feeling it’s going to work out for you.”

“We’ll see. I’m going to my parents’ tomorrow. It remains to be seen whether Miad will keep silent or not. I think he’s concerned about me telling them he’s been drinking, but he might not even care. He might tell them anyway.”

“Then, that’ll be a prime time to let them know you’re standing up for yourself and staking a claim on your own life instead of letting other people own you.”

“If only I could be as blithely confident as you.” Zoya chuckled. If Miad told her parents about Micah, she knew there was no staying with him. Callie knew it, too, but it was nice to dream. “Anyway, I hope you have fun tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she teased.

Callie’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Oh, goodie. That means I can spend the weekend with him and make mad passionate love then, right?”

Zoya covered her blushing face. “I’m going to need better friends,” she joked.

***

Saturday morning, bright and early, Zoya hopped in her car and headed across town to the house of Musa and Taba Rao. She was ready to do battle. After laying out the ultimatum to Miad, she had avoided coming home on Saturdays, but she couldn’t put it off much longer. There wasn’t much likelihood Miad had kept mum, and as she climbed out of her car with a grim, resolute sigh, she wondered how much trouble she would be into when she walked inside.

“Ah! Zoya!” Musa opened the door to his lovely only daughter and drew her inside. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! You’ve been too busy for us, little girl.” He flashed a mock stern expression like he had a habit of doing when she was a small child and up to something mischievous but not too terrible.

Zoya flew into her father’s arms, discovering she had missed him. He hugged her tight. “Hello, Baba. You know I’d never get too busy for you. Where’s Maman?”

“Cleaning, cooking, the usual things. Sit, sit. How are your studies? You know I said to you before that you might be taking on too heavy of a course load. I’m hoping you’re almost done with this.”

“You say me that every time, Baba.” Zoya grinned, realizing from the sign of things that Miad hadn’t said a word. She plopped down on the couch and put her feet up. Her father launched into a recounting of his week with questions about hers, and she listened and answered drowsily. She was tired from a night of working on school work and watching reruns. In the end, she had opted not to invite Micah over while Callie. She wasn’t sure who would be watching her place.

“Javid asked after you,” Taba said brightly. “Zoya, come help me in the kitchen, would you?”

Zoya pushed up from her comfortable seat and ambled into the kitchen to help her mother cook. It was the only time of the week the entire immediate family sat down to eat together, and Taba put a lot of love and energy into making sure Saturday meals were veritable feasts. The menu was usually traditional Iranian food, the makings of which spread out on the counter. There were also pots simmering on the stove and in the oven.

The savory smell of meat cooking and the sugary sweetness of desserts baking made her stomach rumble in pleasure. “You’re outdoing yourself,” she murmured, smiling. Zoya stuck a finger in batter and tasted.

Taba swatted her away. “I’m thinking you should have some good news for me. Javid says he has kept in contact with you, right?”

Zoya hid a frown. The suitor her parents had picked out for her was in his residency at Memorial Lake Hospital, and he had kept in touch with daily emails and occasional text messages, but Zoya hadn’t really paid him much mind. She simply wasn’t interested. “What sort of good news are you thinking I should have for you, Maman?” she asked. She pulled her mother into a hug and looked her in the face. “Maman, I’m not marrying him,” she said soberly. “There’s nothing about him that appeals to me.”

Taba sighed and swatted her away. “Ach!” she said with frustration. “No one ever appeals to you. I guess you’ll marry your books and your degrees then. I’ll be a grandchildless woman, I guess. You don’t love me enough to please your poor, dear, old Maman. Is that it?” She grumbled, stirring a pot, and Zoya giggled.

“You know that isn’t it. I love you with all my heart. I just don’t care for the men you choose.”

“Is there someone else?” Taba asked with interest.

Zoya hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that there was, but how did she explain Micah to her mother? “Not really,” she hedged.

Taba looked up from the pot, eyes like a hawk. “Not really or no? You haven’t gotten mixed up with the wrong kind, have you?” She shook her cooking spoon at Zoya, and her daughter quickly denied.

“Of course not, maman.”

“I worry about you living on campus with that strange girl. Don’t let her ways rub off on you. You should come back home and live with us like your brother.”

Zoya broached the subject, eyes on her manicure. She picked at a nail. “How has Miad been doing with the job search?”

Her mother’s expression went from placid to a soft scowl. Taba shrugged noncommittally. “Work comes and goes. He’ll be working again soon. It was a misunderstanding with your cousin is all. The money will come up someday, and we’ll all laugh about it. Get the plates, daughter. Set the table for me.”

Zoya sighed and made herself busy, thinking her parents were deluding themselves. She couldn’t see how they could walk around with blinders all day. There was no job search. Miad spent his nights drinking and his days recovering—if he wasn’t gambling or swindling someone else out of their money. Zoya reached into an overhanging cabinet and pulled down dinnerware. Over her shoulder she asked, “Has any other money come up missing?”

From behind her came Miad’s unmistakable voice. “So nice of you to join us this weekend, Zoya. With your busy schedule, it’s amazing you make it home each week. How is school? Any new friends?”

She turned to him, catching the malicious glint in his eyes. Miad had an apple in his hand and a smile on his handsome face, but the smile was brittle and cold. He tossed up the apple and caught it, biting into it with a loud crunch and smack of his sensual mouth. He winked at Zoya. “No new boyfriends?” he goaded.

“Hush that nonsense, Miad. Your sister is a good girl,” her mother murmured. “Are you hungry, son?”

Miad shook his head and ambled out of the kitchen. Zoya breathed a discreet sigh of relief. She had caught the threat. He didn’t want her mentioning anything about money or his drinking problem to her parents. Zoya reluctantly decided not to pry any more into the situation. She had her own skeletons in her closet. No sense in trying to dig into his.

At dinner, the family shared pleasant conversation that ranged from her father’s work as a chemist to gossip amongst Taba and her friends. Zoya said little and ate well, watching her brother closely. She noticed he had taken to sipping from the flask instead of his wineglass. She didn’t think her parents noticed though. Miad caught her staring and mentioned in an offhand way, “Zoya, you should be thankful you’re not like these American women you try to emulate. They’re sex objects. If you don’t be careful, someone will use you up just like they use them.”

“Such foul language at dinner,” Musa reprimanded, pounding the table. He pointed a warning finger at Miad, but her brother simply chuckled and shook his head.

“I was joking, Baba. Zoya knows I’m joking. Eh?”

Zoya slumped down in her chair and continued to eat.

“Eating for two?” Miad teased softly.

Taba caught his eye and looked pointedly at Zoya. “What’s gotten into you, Miad? Zoya, don’t be a glutton.”

She put down her fork with a sigh and pushed back from the table. “I need to go. I have some assignments to finish at home. It’s getting late.”

“Don’t get lost along the way,” Taba replied, glancing over at Miad.

Zoya adjusted her hijab. “Now, why would I do that, Maman? Like you said…” She stared at Miad to drive the point home. “I’m a good girl. Goodbye, Maman, Baba.”

She darted out of the door, the sound of Miad laughing out loud chasing her. He was a cad and a coward. She hopped into her car, angrily slamming the car door and jamming her key into the ignition. She knew what Miad was trying to do. With his belittling and degrading comments, he would raise their parents’ suspicions, even if he didn’t confess her secret outright.

Zoya gunned the engine and hurried home to her apartment, away from her older brother’s manipulation and schemes. She was furious at Miad. Something had to be done about him. She just had to figure out what to do.

“Your brother is unstable, Zoya,” he countered over the phone. “Are you entirely certain you want to play this game with him? If everything you’ve told me about him is correct, which I have no doubt it is, then instead of getting caught up in his game, you should end this.”

“Miad thinks he can intimidate me with these tactics, but he can’t.”

“Tell them, Zoya.” He dropped his head in his hand and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’ll go with you. We can sit them down and talk to them together.”

“This is another one of those situations that I have to—“

“Handle alone,” he sighed. “I know. I’m just…I don’t want to put you in a situation where you might get hurt, physically or emotionally. Miad dropping hints like that will not only make your parents doubt you…it might turn them against you entirely. I grew up without a two-parent supportive household, babe. I know how important having your parents there for you can be.”

“You said you were ready to face the hardship.”

He pushed back from his desk, the model engine he had been working on forgotten as he paced the spacious home office with one hand in his pocket. His bare feet coasted over the plush beige carpet, and he walked around a squat leather ottoman to sit on the couch. He lounged back against the thick cushion.

When he had gotten the late evening call from Zoya, he had been anticipating hearing her voice because the last time they had spoken she had been a little distressed about going home since Miad knew they were dating again. He had hoped she would call back with good news. Finding out her malicious older brother was tormenting her put him on edge. Micah was much more used to fighting his own battles versus standing behind and waiting for someone else to speak for him. He could understand Zoya feeling like she knew her family better and how to respond to their reactions, but it was crippling to feel so out of touch with what was going on, especially when the key to his happiness depended on things going well.

“I want to be with you, Zoya. I will put myself on the frontline. I’ll go through the obstacles, but that’s not what you’re asking me to do. You want me to sit back and let you handle this, and frankly I feel like my hands are tied. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Her voice softened and sounded vulnerable. “Whatever happens…just be there for me.”

He glanced out the glass doors that looked over the backyard, where his Victory Cross Roads was parked. “I’ll be there for you. You know that. Do you want me to come get you tonight? I’m free. The gang took a ride without me.” The Hangman’s Crows had gone out to an illegal race, but Micah had held back, citing work that needed to be finished. The truth was he was waiting to hear from Zoya.

He pushed down his regret at making the team stand alone because he knew, with or without him, they were fine out there. He wondered how much money they were winning. Chop was probably being a showoff. He had a new bike some fool girl had gotten him for his twenty-third birthday. Micah looked at the kid like a little brother, and he should’ve been there making sure he didn’t break his neck. Again, Micah sighed and dragged his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“I think it’s best if you don’t come over tonight. I told my parents I had to get home to work on something for class. It was a lie, but if Miad decides to pass by the apartment complex, I don’t want him seeing your bike parked out front.”

Micah nodded. “I guess that’s for the best.”

They drifted into a conversation about the project he was working on and about the gang, but Micah wasn’t in much of a mood to talk. He had a lot on his mind, namely what he should do about his relationship with Zoya. If things didn’t lighten up between her and her brother soon, he felt he would have to make the decision to let her go. As much as it would hurt him, he couldn’t stand by and watch her family turn away from her on his account.

There was always the motorcycle club for him to call kin. Who would Zoya have without her mom and dad?

***

They sat in a park on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, finally alone after weeks of taking things slowly, and Zoya suddenly couldn’t figure out why she had insisted on the separation in the first place. The sun overhead was bright and white hot over the verdant greenery of the garden-like landscape. The stone bench where Zoya and Micah were sharing a soft-spoken conversation was across from a still, deep pond, and long-necked swans swam sedately by as they talked.

A winding path curved past them with joggers and dog walkers going about their normal evening routine. Micah slipped a grape into Zoya’s mouth and smiled at her, touching the tip of her pert little nose. “I’m glad we decided to meet here,” he said.

“I am, too. I’ve missed you a lot.”

“I had some stuff to take care of with the gang the past two weekends, and I’ve been busy at work this the week. It’s a wonder I have any time at all to talk in the evenings, but I made time today.”

“The only thing on my agenda is school, school, and more school. I can’t wait for the summer semester to be over. I took it on thinking I’d get closer to finishing up. Well, it got me closer, but I’m exhausted.” Zoya lolled her head back, massaging her neck. Micah watched her face, thinking she was beautiful. It made it harder to resist her, to stick to his resolve.

Over the weeks apart, ever since they had made a decision to get back together, Micah had been thinking. He wanted to be with Zoya, but he also wanted to protect her, and it was difficult knowing his role in her life caused her so much pain. The situation with her brother wasn’t under control. Zoya had confided to Micah the minor blackmail she was using to keep Miad out of her business, but Micah had a feeling things would soon come to a head.

He knew he wanted his relationship to stand, and he knew her parents would likely want it to dissolve. The least he could do, though, was keep Zoya in an honorable position. Micah had made the decision not to sleep with her again. If their connection could stand that test, it could stand anything. And, if the relationship didn’t work out…well, then at least she would retain some of her innocence.

“To tell you the truth, I’ve kind of been avoiding you,” he confessed sheepishly.

Zoya pulled back, surprised. “Why have you been avoiding me?” A shaggy terrier raced past them, yapping loudly at a boy playing with a ball in the grass. Zoya’s attention was momentarily arrested by its passing, but when she turned back to Micah, he was staring at her intently. His elbow was rested on the back of the park bench, and he wore a half smile.

“For the same reason people on diets avoid their favorite restaurants. You’re too much of a temptation. Every time I see you, Zoya, I feel a rush. It’s like a drug. They always say that about love and desire—that it’s addicting. But, I mean more like a dangerous high, and I want more and more of you. I’m not trying to have merely a physical relationship with you. So, I’m trying to avoid sleeping with you. There are deeper ways to connect. Easier said than done, but possible.”

Zoya tilted her head to the side, considering. There certainly were deeper ways to connect. It was pleasant talking on the phone deep into the night like teenagers, like they’d never run out of things to say to each other. She could picture more dates like the current one, too. It would be lovely to go out, have dinner, see a movie, and hold hands. Intimacy wasn’t about intercourse. It was about meaningful sharing. She liked the sound of his proposition.

“Are you telling me that you’re still willing to be with me even if there’s no sex involved?” Zoya asked skeptically. “That’s not very American of you.” She giggled, not fully believing him.

Micah laughed and said, “Why isn’t it? This place is all about individualism. Just because the majority is into something doesn’t mean everybody is or everybody should be. I don’t run with a crowd, sweetheart. I’m telling you I want to be with you, regardless of whether we’re sleeping together. The thing that bothers me about this problem with your parents is I understand they’re just looking out for your best interests.”

She tucked her hand into his, staring off at the lake, the swans, and the landscape. There were colorful flowers, some of them desert blossoms. The local climate got hot enough for them. She contemplated Micah’s response. “I know that’s what they’re trying to do. I can also see how to people like you and Callie it would seem like they’re trying to control me.”

“A lot of relationships spring up out of lust. Most parents want to make sure their kids never get hurt, never get heartbroken, and never know sorrow. Culture aside, that’s what your mom and pop are trying to do for you by ensuring you make a connection with someone based off of something more tangible than that tingly feeling you get when you desire someone, and that’s understandable. That said, I want to make sure this is the real deal, too. I’m breaking a lot of my own rules here. I don’t usually do serious relationships.”

Micah’s lips were curved in a half-smile. It was a bit of an understatement. He didn’t do serious relationships period. Micah had gotten accustomed to keeping around a nice, regular lay but nothing with strings attached. The minute he had met Zoya, everything had changed for him. Suddenly, he could see himself enjoying her company long term. Even when they had broken up for two weeks, he hadn’t moved on to easier conquests. He had thrown himself into racing and his motorcycle club, but not into another woman’s bed. In his mind, that said a lot about Zoya. Any woman who could keep his attention like that was a keeper.

Zoya was impressed by his line of thinking and flattered at the lengths he was taking to accommodate her parents without them even knowing. Her eyebrows knit over her nose in slight confusion. She really couldn’t see anything about the man that her parents wouldn’t love—except that he wasn’t Muslim. “You know what I think?” she murmured in wonder, laying her head on his shoulder. “I think I might fall in love with you.”

“Might?” he chuckled. “Damn, I think I’m already there.”

***

Micah arrived at home earlier than he had intended, having dropped Zoya off at her place around seven to finish something for class. He walked into his ranch house and dug out his cellphone. He had a few missed calls. As a man who found it impolite for a person to entertain an electronic device more than his date, Micah made a habit of turning his off when he was out with Zoya.

But, as he scrolled through the list, he noticed Quinn had called him numerous times over the course of the evening. Micah quickly hit the redial button to call him back. “Wassup, man?” he responded at the sound of Quinn’s hurried hello.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all evening. Man, Chop got arrested. Cop said his bike was stolen.”

“I thought that chick, Gabriele, bought it for him.” Micah reached for his keys and headed back out the door.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. According to Anime, turns out him and Chop won it in a race against some knucklehead who turned around and reported it stolen.”

“I’m on my way to you now.”

It was a hot, sticky night, but the breeze felt terrific from the back of a motorcycle, and Micah and the rest of The Hangman’s Crows, minus Chop, descended on the Asphalt Angel’s compound, preceded by the sound of their bikes. Micah skidded in the dust outside the hangar tucked to the side of a rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It was bad business taking the fight to the enemy’s turf, and he knew that, but he didn’t have time to follow proper protocol.

Micah hopped from the back of his ride as soon as he slid to a halt and put it in park, stomping angrily up to the hangar doors. He banged on the metal with his fist. “Dorin!” he yelled out. Pinwheel joined him as the doors swung open and light fell upon them from inside. The Asphalt Angels was a ladies’ motorcycle club, and Pinwheel was gearing up for a cat fight.

The leader of the rival gang stood at the threshold with her manicured nails digging into thick hips, her tight jean shorts encasing muscular thighs. Wearing nothing but a bra under a brown bomber jacket, her tousled blond hair fell around her sharp face in ripples of gold. She let out a fierce cat call, echoed by the five other women inside the hangar, and smiled at Micah, eyebrow lifted. “We got a live one, girls!”

Quinn stepped forward, dark eyes on the vixen in leather and high heel brown boots. “This ain’t a leisure call,” he replied coldly. “Where’s Gabriele?”

The biker chick circled Quinn warily, her green eyes skating from the big burly black guy to his accomplices. Dorin had history with Quinn, but she was sure his crew wasn’t aware of that. She grinned and flicked her pink tongue along her coral lips. “Gabriele,” she said. A raven haired beauty with doe-like eyes and a coke bottle figure poured into skintight jeans and a ripped muscle shirt stepped forward and ambled toward the brewing conflict, a knowing look on her face.

“Apparently you got something these fellas want. You know anything about it?” Dorin asked lightly.

“Aw, honey, everybody wants a stab at the G-spot, don’t they?” Gabriele put her arm around Dorin’s waist. Dragging the statuesque blonde closer, she tongue-kissed her seductively with a throaty groan, both women aware of Dante and Quinn staring with reserved interest. Dorin cooed and slipped a hand up under Gabriele’s shirt. She squeezed her possessively.

“You raced against one of my crew and lost,” Micah spat, pushing forward. He wasn’t in the mood for games or beating around the bush. Chop had a solid future ahead of him that a criminal record might mangle irreparably, and Micah wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch. He crooked his fingers and beckoned to Gabriele. “I think you and I need to have a little talk with the sheriff and let him know that the police report saying the bike was stolen was a little error on your part, sweetheart.”

Gabriele chuckled and tossed her black hair over her shoulder. “That kid fucked with the wrong bitch, baby, and he’s the one that got screwed. I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you. Ain’t that right, mama?” She patted Dorin on the ass.

Dorin shrugged, pulling away from the sultry seductress to look back at Micah. “She said she ain’t going.”

Quinn stepped forward insistently. “Dorin…”

“Careful, Q-Ball.” She put a finger to his chest and pushed him back. “I bite.”

Pinwheel pointed her gun at Dorin’s face. Quinn pushed her arm down. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Look, all we want is for the girl to come down to the precinct and help us get Chop out. He’s a damn idiot kid. You feel like he overstepped his boundaries? Cool. He might have. But, we’re not leaving until we get what we came here to get. Comprende? Gabriele! Get your shit and come on.”

Micah shook his head in frustration and dug into his pocket for his wallet. “How much was the bike worth?” He knew they would inflate the cost, and he knew he’d pay an arm and an ass for something probably not worth spit, but he was willing if it meant they could get the fuck out of dodge. The tension in the air was palpable. Pinwheel seemed to have a grudge, and she was trigger happy.

Eyes lit up at the sight of money about to exchange hands. “We’re not paying them for shit,” Pinwheel growled. Even Dante looked at him in askance.

Quinn whispered out of the side of his mouth, “This shit will run like wildfire.”

“I got ten thousand says I can take any one of you in here right now, right out there. If I lose, you get to keep the money. But, if I win, Gabriele comes with us.” He stood his ground. Q was right. If he paid them off, their reputation would suffer, and every biker with a bad attitude would try their luck at strong-arming The Hangman’s Crows for more easy money. But, if they had a fair race, it would look better for his crew.

“Show us the money,” Dorin challenged. Micah didn’t walk around with ten thousand in cash. He did, however, wear an exquisite Movado watch he put up as collateral with the money he did have on hand. Dorin shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The lady bikers conferred privately while The Hangman’s Crows waited impatiently for them to pick their rider. When Dorin turned back, she had a smile on her face that made Micah uncomfortable. “We’re down for a race,” she said. “But, not against you. Woman to woman, and it looks like that only leaves you with one potential rider.”

Her glittering green eyes slid to Pinwheel. The flame-haired Frenchwoman bared her teeth, and Dorin grinned, whistling low.

“I’ve got this, Micah,” said Pinwheel, as she strutted out to check her bike while Quinn, Dante, and Micah shared looks. Pinwheel was good, but a gamble.

“This isn’t what we originally agreed to,” Micah countered. “I race or no one races, and we still don’t leave until Gabriele comes with us.”

“Well, lock up for us boys, and I hope you don’t get lonely waiting. Cause we’re riding out in a few,” Dorin chuckled.

Pinwheel stood back, pissed as a rattlesnake that Micah would publicly question her ability to win. She pointed her pistol in the air and fired off an explosive round that thundered through the quiet night, drawing everyone’s attention. Micah flinched and scowled at her. “I said I’ve got this, Micah,” she reiterated.

Dorin replied, “Ooh, I like a lady who speaks her mind.” She sauntered past Micah, leaving the boys to stare in disbelief as Pinwheel took control of the situation.

The start and finish lines were quietly and quickly negotiated, Micah and Dorin haggling for the advantage. Micah knew Pinwheel’s bike could handle speed if given enough distance to kick into high gear, but Dorin wanted a short race. It was finally decided by a coin toss.

Quinn threw a quarter in the air. When he looked down, he shook his head and swore. “It’s in Dorin’s favor.”

Micah bristled, but let it ride. He pulled aside Pinwheel to give her some pointers, but before he could open his mouth, she jabbed his in his chest. “No, you listen to me. Don’t you ever put me out like that again! You made me look like shit, Micah!”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve raced against her before, and she’s really good, Pinwheel. This isn’t about you. This is about Chop.”

She grinned and nodded. “Baby, it’s always about winning, no matter what else it’s about.”

She moved to the starting line on her Indian Chief Classic. It was fire engine red, the same shade as her hair. It was sleek and sexy with chrome innards. On her bike, Pinwheel was in charge. One thing about being a part of an otherwise male biker club was that they always underestimated her. It was time to prove herself once and for all.

The rest of the Asphalt Angels and the gang with The Hangman’s Crows spread out along the roadside in front of the compound. It was a hideaway, and there wasn’t much traffic on the road. It was the perfect place for a race.

Quinn held the pistol up in the air and counted down the start, and when the blast fired, the motorcycles shot off like meteors from God’s slingshot, leaving the ripe smell of burnt rubber in their wake. There was a point where Pinwheel lagged far behind the seasoned racer, but they had to get to the finish line and back. That was where the red haired fighter met her stride. Micah let out a yelp of encouragement, Dante and Quinn yelling for her to keep at it, even as Dorin counter-steered and tried to run her off the road.

Pinwheel’s bike was made for stability more so than speed. There was no unseating Pinwheel. In a blur, both bikes rushed past the finish line, but The Hangman’s Crows mistress was in first place. She cut her wheel to the side and easily coasted to a halt next to the boys.

“Now, what was that about her being really good and all that caca?” she asked, smiling.

“Fuck!” Gabriele shouted.

Dorin pulled up on the opposite side, yanking off her helmet and shaking her golden mane in frustration. She cast a glance at Quinn, and he smiled and put his head down, knowing damn well she could’ve beat Pinwheel. Dorin was doing him a favor. He’d pay for it later.

“Looks like you won,” Dorin replied. “Gabriele?”

They left the place in a hurry. It was time to get Chop out of jail.

***

It wasn’t until after the paperwork and legalities were squared away that Micah finally got to pull his right hand man aside and ask a few pointed questions. They sat in Micah’s living room, having drinks.

“So, what happened back there? I got the sense you and Dorin had an unspoken conversation going on that whole time the rest of us weren’t privy to.” Micah drew on a Cuban cigar from his friend, the investment banker by day.

“What do you mean?” Quinn feigned ignorance. He chuckled ruefully, knowing he couldn’t keep a secret from his friend. He tossed back his dreadlocks and shrugged casually.

“You know what I’m talking about,” said Micah, pointing at him with the hand in which he held a tumbler of whiskey. “You two had something going on.”

“Well…let’s just say that little chat me and you had a while back was coming from personal experience,” Quinn conceded. “Some of us are built for this life, and some of us aren’t. I told you I’m starting to feel like I’m too old for this shit.”

“Then, why would you tell me to give up Zoya, knowing you have something like that to go home to? Not that I was looking, but…“—Micah grinned—“…she’s a looker.”

Quinn fired back with more emotion than he intended. “Because, Micah! Some of us are built for this life, and Dorin is . I’m the Zoya in this case, you understand? I know what it’s like worrying about the person you love. I know what it’s like to want to see her when I wake up and when I go to bed, to not have to worry about races and the dark underbelly of biker gangs. I want a normal fucking life, man. How the hell can anybody living faster than the speed of life have that?”

The question stayed with Micah deep into the night, long after his friend was gone. There was so much more at stake than Zoya losing her family by staying with him. He wasn’t prepared to give up the motorcycle club. What if, like Quinn, she needed that from him?

She slid between the sheets, a rose pressed between the pages of a book. She was naked and fragrant from a long soak in bath salts and bath oils, hairless below the neck from carefully removing any unsightly body hair and oiled to a slick golden sheen with sweet coconut oil. Her lustrous brown hair floated down to the pillow as she laid on her side and studied his face.

Micah slumbered peacefully, undisturbed. Zoya was sneaking. In his attempt to shield her from spiritual condemnation, he had kept himself from her. She was awed by the reserve required to be chaste in each other’s company for the several weeks since they had renewed their connection, but her restraint was growing thin. She knew her birth control would now be effective.

When it came to her morals, try as she might, Zoya couldn’t see anything wrong with making love to the man she loved. True, they weren’t married, but what was marriage other than a meeting of the minds and agreement of souls? She was sure she was made for him, and he was made for her. It was starting to make less and less sense to stay away from each other.

Wanting him was an ache that made her tongue thick with thirst for the quenching shower of his kisses. Her skin tingled to be touched, and her womanhood threatened to blossom each and every time he drew close enough to stir her. His scent was encoded in her memory. She inhaled, reveling in the smell of his sheets and comforter, his skin, and his body. The need was fierce.

Zoya reached a slender hand to his shoulder and smoothed it slowly down his arm. She drew her fingers back and started over at the base of his neck, moving them down his chest. She ran her fingertips through the silky curls covering his stomach. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only flannel pants, and his nudity thrilled her. His body was feverishly hot from being beneath the covers. The satiny skin beneath the pads of her fingers made her heart race in anticipation.

She slid her thighs together, hiding the pearl between her legs that was rigid and swollen with lust. Her petals were dewy with desire. Her nipples beaded, and her stomach quivered. Each breath was shallow and rapid. Her eyelids fluttered as she closed her eyes and imagined them making love. Zoya suppressed a throaty groan, repositioning herself on her back.

Rousing him from sleep was tempting, but she refrained. She wanted to enjoy the view, the clandestine courtship of her upper thigh brushing teasingly against his crotch, before he opened his eyes with reason and sense and told her to go back to the guest room. She pushed her hands down her naked stomach to the V between her legs. She had tried to do this in her room, but there was no way she could stay away with him so close. A wall of separation wasn’t enough. Spending the weekend at Micah’s house had probably been a bad idea.

She clenched her eyes shut and touched herself. Her fingers quested inquisitively into the folds of her rosebud, carefully caressing the sensitive skin of her secret. She pressed her fingertip into the slit and touched deeper, and the tips came away slick and wet. She rolled the moisture over the nub of her clitoris, sucking in a breath in erotic pleasure. Zoya opened her eyes and stared into Micah’s face.

She shuddered deliciously as she stroked around and around in circles of dizzying pleasure. Her beating heart was thunderous, and her ears were clouded by the whoosh of blood through her veins. Biting her bottom lip, her head lolled back and her legs spread wider, accepting the eager penetration of her fingers. Slow strokes in and out, she met the inward thrusts with rising hips and trembling legs. A soft sigh and moan erupted, unbidden, and Zoya squeezed her eyes closed, frozen still…

He didn’t stir. She waited the space of a few deep breaths, steadying herself. It didn’t do to rush the excitement. She wanted to revel in the fantasy. As she continued her masturbation, she held Micah in her thoughts, remembering the way he had masterfully taken her. His thrusts, powerful and sure, had caressed her recess with exquisite talent and skill, skating over erogenous zones and penetrating to her core. The memory coaxed more wetness from her folds to soak her aroused womanhood, and perspiration began to bead along her skin.

She needed. She pushed her finger deep inside herself, circling faster with her thumb around her clit, and her breaths grew more manic as she moved closer to culmination. Try as she might, she couldn’t slow the swift ecstasy that threatened to take her over the edge. She had to stop touching herself before she exploded. She had to calm her body. She couldn’t wake him.

Except he was already awake. Micah, unmoving, felt the woman beside him as her ministrations made the bed move restlessly with each stroke and swirl of her fingers, and it took everything in him not to rise above her and finish the job. He held back a sigh as his cock slowly but surely grew to life, massively erect. He wasn’t sure if she could feel it against her upper outer thigh, if she was even of the presence of mind to notice, but he hoped she would continue. When she held still again, trying to lower the arousal level, he waited with baited breath for her to keep going.

He felt Zoya shift and squirm. He didn’t open his eyes, but he felt her gaze on him. Micah waited.

“Are you awake?” she whispered tentatively.

He didn’t answer. He felt the tension in her arm, the one pressed against his. Gradually, she started again. The in and out drag of her penetrating middle finger made Zoya bite back cries of pleasure. It was the fantasy that made the arousal burn hotter, the idea of him having his way with her.

He slid a hand between her legs and cupped her mons, pressing her finger deeper. Zoya whimpered. Micah groaned in desire. He was losing the battle to stay away from her physically. She wasn’t fighting fair. It had to be biological warfare to crawl naked into his bed and expect him not to touch her.

He growled softly with frustrated need. His mouth slipped to her shoulder to close around the dusky skin. His tongue flicked against her flesh. He tasted the sweet coconut oil she had used to oil herself. He smelled the jasmine and honey perfume. He groaned again.

“Let me help you with that,” Micah sighed. His mouth slid over her shoulder to the side of her neck as she moved into his arms with a wanton moan that spoke volumes about how she really felt about his move to not have sex with her. Micah chuckled, surprised. “My darling,” he murmured, sucking at her throbbing pulse. Her hair fluttered around his face, tickling his cheeks. He smiled against her jugular. “I’ve kept you waiting, haven’t I?”

He rolled Zoya onto her back and slipped over her, settling between her widespread legs and feeling her pelvis press against his anxiously. His pajama bottoms provided minimal barrier. He could feel her heat, her moisture like a thundercloud ready to unleash. Her hands flew to his neck and her nails raked down his back. Micah dropped his mouth to Zoya’s and kissed her like he had wanted to do for ages. She melted. She flowed in his arms as languidly as a river, molding to his body. Her legs eased up and round his hips, heels locking at the back of his thighs, moving restlessly up and down the back of his legs.

Micah sipped at her tongue, flicking his tongue against the roof of her mouth. He licked and sucked her lips. He slanted his mouth against hers, as she mewled and whimpered with abandonment. Each small sound of pleasure and desire battered his senses and spiked his lust. He couldn’t hold back from her.

Her breasts were round and full, dark nipples beckoning to him. Micah moved his face down to her chest to rest his nose in her cleavage. Inhaling deeply, he smiled against her skin.

“I thought I didn’t pique your interest anymore,” she confessed in a breathless sigh. Her spine arched, and she pressed his face to her breasts. His mouth moved to her nipple. Micah slid his wet, silky tongue around the areola and tugged the nipple into his mouth, suckling. Her fingers ran through his unruly hair. “Ah! Yes,” she gasped.

Her womanhood throbbed against his cock. He could feel it through his pants. Micah desperately clung to her waist and pressed her back down to the bed to ease some of the tension. If he didn’t, he would let go before he had even gotten in good. He groaned, sucking from one nipple to the next. She was already aroused, but there were levels. He could take her higher. With diligent dedication, he kissed her golden globes until her cries grew louder and more urgent, and he drew his kisses lower down her stomach. The dip of her bellybutton accepted the tip of his tongue.

Micah didn’t stop there. His nose skidded over the bare skin to the sweet nectar between her quivering thighs, and he buried his tongue as deeply inside of her as he could go. The instant shock of pleasure made Zoya scream his name.

“Yes,” he murmured against her dripping wetness. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

She blushed, uncertain if she had heard him correctly. “You know,” she moaned shyly. Her thighs slid against his face. Her fingers tangled in his hair. “You know what you do to me.”

He grabbed her legs and held them open wide. “Tell me.” His breath tickled her. She squirmed, trying to lift her hips to put her body back at his mouth. Micah pulled back a teasing fraction more.

“Kiss me,” she cried out with need.

“You mean like this?” Micah slipped his tongue past his lips and slid the glistening tip from the top of her slit near her clitoris to the very bottom. He curled his tongue erotically into her opening and gently eased back out. Her incoherent cries echoed through the quiet room. His erection strained against the bed, and he moaned in abject pleasure at the pleasure he was giving her.

Tongue kissing her intimate parts as tenderly and deeply as he had kissed her mouth, Micah gave Zoya oral sex the likes of which he had never given another woman. He boldly drew his chin into the well of her body and stroked in and out as he let her thrust against his mouth, her clitoris at the mercy of his tongue. As she rode his face, he felt his cock jerk insistently, and Micah let out a tortured sound. He sucked her clit harder. First, she would come. First, he would make her body shower sparks of radiant completion across his darkened bedroom. Then, he would get his.

He kept going. His tongue flicked up and down in rapid swoops like a bumblebee’s wings beating against a flower. Her body was a loose cannon, ready to fire. A strangled cry flew from her lips as she instinctively curved her pelvis to accept the pleasure. Her stomach tensed, as Zoya held herself still to receive. All she could say was yes. Affirmations slipped out of her mouth with each exhale. She shuddered for him and throbbed. Her clit pulsated against his tongue. Masturbation had nothing on his expert love making.

“Please!” she cried. “Oh, please!” Head whipping from side to side, her hair flew around her face as her body ejaculated with a powerful orgasm. Zoya felt release like she had never experienced before. She felt it from the tingling crown of her head to her clenched toes. She felt it balled in her pelvis and flowing between her legs.

Micah chuckled against her womanhood. Her body convulsed helplessly, surrendering control. “That’s it,” he murmured encouragingly, rising. His hand upon her stomach, he massaged her lower abdomen until she gradually relaxed. “That’s it, my beautiful girl. Did you get what you needed?”

Zoya’s face flushed, and she covered it with weak hands. “Yes,” she whispered, embarrassed. He had picked up on her desperation and assuaged her desire. She felt worldly and…womanly. Decidedly more good than bad. Zoya dropped her hands and stared into Micah’s eyes.

He leaned down and kissed her lips. Micah untied the drawstring of his pants and eased them over his hips, down his legs. She smiled against his mouth. “More?” she said inquisitively. She put her arms around his shoulders and brought him flush against her body after he was completely naked like her.

Her breasts pressed to his chest, and Zoya savored the feel of his skin. She closed her eyes and let him guide his erection to her entrance. She gritted her teeth in excitement as his thick hardness pressed slowly into her tight sheath. She was slick and engorged after her potent climax. His entrance was easy, enticing her hips to move against his. They came together in another dance of pleasure.

Micah slipped his arms under her body and clutched her to his chest as he stroked in and out of her sexy, sultry body, marveling at the feel. She held him in the vise grip of her vagina, milking him. Each push inside sent thrills through his body. Each pull out made him want to plunge back in. He struggled mightily not to be done on the first few plunges, but Zoya was making that hard by the perfection of her response. He needed the feeling to linger, to remove any doubt. She thought he had lost interest in her. That was the furthest thing from the truth.

She had all of it. Every inch. He sank into her body, grinding together with greater urgency, and Zoya’s arm and hand went up to cup his head to her neck. His mouth opened against her throat. He bit and sucked, licked, moaned, and ground out swear words in ecstasy. His thrusts grew harder and deeper, and his cock expanded; yet, still she held on. Zoya’s soft sighs and gasps of pleasure got louder. He gripped her hips in his hands and held her steady as he got closer to culmination.

“Zoya,” Micah moaned against her ear.

She gasped his name in response, squeezing him to her, and Micah let go.

He woke up with Zoya in his arms, her weight easy, her lithe body nubile. The early morning, late summer sun slanted through the blinds in shards of honey light that illuminated the bedroom and fell across her face, turning her skin a pale brown against his tanned shoulder. The contrast of their skin tones was less stark in such a light. Her closed eyes, heavy-lidded and slanted upwards at the corner with exotic beauty, and her soft, full lips were pressed against the roundness of his arm. Without her hijab in place, many of the differences between them disappeared.

They were an illusion, he thought. Micah shifted under the comforter and reveled in the texture of the high thread count sheets. It was Sunday morning. As a juvenile, one of the correctional facilities he had spent time in touted religion as a powerful motivational tool to get residents on track to a more positive life. He had spent a number of Sundays sitting in the facility’s Baptist church, listening to a youth pastor preach about forgiveness, love, and redemption.

Micah had never taken to religion in any more than a philosophical sense. His childhood had been too unstable for his mother, raising a child alone, to bother with going to service once a week or Bible study or even teaching him how to say grace. Eva Whitfield had worked two part-time jobs and juggled five or six men, trying to keep a roof over her son’s head.

Even in his adulthood, Micah had never pursued any type of structured spiritual awakening experience. He believed in a Higher Power, but not in a dictatorial God waiting to condemn the unwary to hell. He didn’t have room to find sin in every good time. He felt God was Love, and right and wrong were subjective, but a soul knew the difference, if it listened…which brought him back to his current state.

Zoya’s religious upbringing no longer served to create a boundary between them. She was showing him and telling him in loving ways that she was comfortable, at ease in their relationship, and he was sure she had found some way to reconcile her spiritual beliefs with her love for him. For the first time in his life, when Micah thought about his tomorrows, someone else was in the picture. It would be damn near impossible to re-envision his life without her. So, if Zoya could make the leaps of faith necessary to be with him, then the only thing standing between them was her family.

Micah wanted no more boundaries.

She stirred, as if his deep thoughts had roused her. Her silky hair slid across his skin as she gazed up at him with a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” she whispered.

“Good morning, beloved,” he answered back. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a dream.”

“Perfect, because you needed all that rest for what I have in mind for today. I want to take you out to meet my motorcycle club and show you some of what we do. It’s a small race amongst friends, but it’ll give you a taste of what my lifestyle is like.”

She sat up in the bed, her hair falling over her shoulder. Her naked skin glowed. Micah felt a clutch of desire, but tempered it, smiling and sitting up to face her. He kissed her lips tenderly. “That sounds exciting,” Zoya murmured against his mouth. “Are you racing?”

“I am. Zoya, I need you to get a clear understanding of every aspect of my life. That includes my work world and my bike world and my world with you. So far, you’ve only seen the fringes. I’m giving you the opportunity to decide if you can be with a man like me…permanently.” Micah looked down, the corners of his lips upturned slightly. He knew he sounded vague, but he equally knew she could read between the lines. What he intended to show her was what she would be committing to—if she committed to him. Because, Micah desperately wanted Zoya to commit.

Zoya crawled out of bed, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nudity. “Well, then, I guess I better get ready for this momentous event.” She winked and sauntered out of his bedroom and into the guestroom to get dressed. Micah stretched and got up to get ready, too. She hadn’t declined his invitation. That was a damned good sign in his book.

***

“You’ve seen them all before, but I don’t think you’ve ever properly met them. Zoya, this is my close friend, Quinn DeVry. We actually grew up together.”

She stepped forward shyly and shook Quinn’s proffered hand. It was something she never would’ve done in the past, but she knew Micah had no qualms about her making contact with his friends. It was okay to shake his hand. Q smiled welcomingly and nudged Micah in the ribs. “I see why you’ve been keeping us from her. She’s a treasure. Nice to meet you, Zoya.”

Zoya, dressed in flowing robes of dark brown and gray that looked completely natural against the desert backdrop, felt immediately at ease by the welcome. They had taken Micah’s bike out on Lucy’s Long Shot, a place Micah had taken her several times before. It was where she had learned how to handle his motorcycle. Only, this time, the rest of the gang was waiting for them when they got there. At first, she had been nervous that his friends wouldn’t like her. She could see now she had worried needlessly.

She liked Quinn immediately. “Thank you,” she murmured modestly, dropping her gaze respectfully.

Micah put his arm around her waist and introduced her to Dante, who pumped her hand enthusiastically. With Southern charm, he commented, “Pretty as a magnolia. Sweet Lord, Micah, you better be glad you got to her first.”

“Cut it out, old boy,” Micah grinned. “This is Chop. He’s the baby of the family.”

Chop grinned and waved. His curly black hair fanned out around his face in the breeze. His diamond-shaped eyes looked her over appreciatively. “I hear you’re getting your master’s in physics. You’ve gotta be, like, a genius or something.”

She smiled. “I’m very studious, you could say. It’s hard work, but I hope rewarding eventually.”

“I’m in information tech, about to graduate. This is my little brother, Sean. We call him Anime for kicks.”

Anime stepped forward and bumped fists with Zoya. She giggled. “Nice to meet you, Anime. You must be into graphic novels.”

“All things Japanese actually,” the eighteen year-old responded. He held up his arms and displayed an anime themed t-shirt. “Me and Chop got the best of two worlds, half black and half Asian.”

“What’s it like? Do you get to explore both cultures equally?” she asked, curiously. Micah chuckled. It was possible someday they’d have children who could say the same. It was a mind-blowing thought he hadn’t yet considered.

“Put it like this. I grew up on Jimi Hendrix and Geinokai,” he answered, grinning.

“And, last, but certainly not least, the lovely Pinwheel.”

Pinwheel stepped forward and shook her hand, giving Zoya the once over. Her serious face broke into a warm smile. “She’ll do, I guess,” Pinwheel said cheekily.

Micah rolled his eyes, knowing Pinwheel had really just given her approval. Everyone had been skeptical about Zoya. He could tell his gang had taken to her, now that they had finally met her. “Alright, Crows, let’s get this shindig going. Races are one on one. Winner against winner until the last man standing takes the pot. The pot is set at a thousand. You guys ready to choke on my blowout?”

The day was a laidback kind of Sunday by the bikers’ standards. They raced and did daring tricks, stoppies and wheelies, jumps and slides that left Zoya breathless with awe. Her heart hammered in her chest each time a near collision or flip seemed eminent, but somehow all of The Hangman’s Crows kept their parts intact, and by late afternoon when the desert sun was at its worst, they called it a day and took her out to the hideout.

It was a trailer tucked at the base of a plateau, easy to miss, a beige speck against a sable desert. When all five bikes pulled up to it, Zoya hopped off excitedly. She felt a part of the gang.

“Is this what it’s always like?” she murmured to Micah.

He unlocked the door and the crew filed inside, taking up seats and digging through the fridge for beers and food. Dante got a camp meal going on the gas stove. Pinwheel popped on the television. “I’ll be out back, guys,” Micah told them, pulling Zoya with him through the back door.

They took a seat on the back steps, gazing up at the rocky cliff that loomed overhead. The shadow of the plateau fell upon the trailer, giving some respite from the blistering heat. He swiped sweat from his brow, and Zoya let down her hair coverings, hoping for a breeze. “Most times,” he finally answered her. “Sometimes there’s violence. Fights, rivalries, accidents. It’s dangerous. I admit I showed you the PG version. Some of these biker clubs…they’re more like thugs on wheels. There are drug dealers, human traffickers, extortionists. Mostly, the Hangman’s Crows stay on the right side of the law though.”

“You’re worried I’m going to tell you I don’t like you doing this.”

He studied her. “Maybe you should.”

“I’m not going to run your life, Micah. It seems you get a lot of pleasure out of this. Why would I tell you to let it go?”

Her simple statement sent a thrill through him, but Micah was careful not to get his hopes up too high. “I could die out on that bike. Or worse…live to suffer with lifelong injuries. Are you prepared for that?”

“Just promise me you’ll do your best not to,” she smiled. “I love you. All that you bring to the table. I met you in a biker bar. I accept all of you. When you’re ready to walk away, I’ll be here for you, and as long as you feel the need for speed, I’m here for you. Just try to be careful, okay?”

He chuckled, dropping his hand on her knee. “I’m gonna marry you one day.” He laughed again, staring out at the view. “Watch and see.”

Zoya had been summoned. Her parents rarely called her through the week, so when her cellphone rang the next Tuesday evening, she knew something had to be gravely wrong. Zoya answered with trepidation, and her father’s wavering voice sounded alarmed. “Zoya, have you seen your brother?”

“Miad? No, I haven’t seen him.” Her heart raced, and she sat up in bed, looking at the time. It was almost nine on a Tuesday night. It wasn’t that unusual for her older brother to be out at that hour. “He’s probably just out with his friends, Baba. Is something wrong?”

Musa sighed, turning to Taba and shaking his head regretfully. “She hasn’t seen him.”

“Tell her to come home. I need to touch my children. I need to know everything is alright,” Taba sobbed. She had a feeling. There was a churning in her gut, and her heart fluttered in her chest. Miad had been missing since Sunday night. She hadn’t heard from him in three days.

Musa pressed the phone to his ear and sighed wearily. “Zoya, we need you to come.”

“Baba, what’s happened?” Zoya asked, getting nervous. Had Miad made some snide comment about her that had put her parents on edge? She needed to know what was going on. It wasn’t like them to call in the middle of the night, much less request her presence.

“I’ll explain when you get here. Just come.” Musa hung up the phone. He had a heavy weight on his shoulders, being the head of household where his children respected their parents less and less. Miad was up to no good. He was sure of it. Musa was keeping his suspicions to himself until he had some proof though. No sense in stressing Taba, with her fragile health. Neither of the children were aware of how serious their mother’s heart condition had gotten.

“Lie down, Taba. Stop pacing. Walking a hole into the carpet won’t bring him home any sooner.”

“It’s been three days, Musa. You tell me don’t worry. Don’t worry, Taba! How can I not? My only son!” She dashed tears from her eyes, bowing her head and taking a seat on the side of the bed as her husband had instructed. “I am sorry, my love. I mean you no disrespect.”

Musa laboriously kneeled his heavy weight down on the floor beside her and looked up into his wife’s still quite lovely face. In all their years of marriage, he had been a generous husband, understanding and kind. But, in this, he needed to stand firm. “I will not have you waste yourself with worry. You must rest. The boy is no longer a boy. Although he acts like an insolent child, he’s a grown man. What he does with his life is up to him now.”

“And, Zoya?” she lamented. “There is something up with our daughter, Musa. A mother knows.”

Across town, Zoya left a note on the kitchen counter telling Callie where she was going and slipped out the door to run to the elevators. She willed it to move faster, a sense of urgency in her step as the doors finally eased open and let her out into the lobby. Zoya jogged through the doors and down the sidewalk to her car, unlocking the doors and climbing into the driver’s seat with a jangle of her keys and breathless sigh.

She drove quickly to her parents’ house. When she entered the place that had been her home prior to getting her apartment with Callie once she started graduate school, she sensed the change in the atmosphere of the house. It wasn’t something that could be touched or directly pinpointed, but there was a feeling in the still, empty living room that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Something was wrong.

She closed and locked the front door behind her. She strolled through the archway into the hall. “Baba?” she called uncertainly.

Musa stepped out of his bedroom with a relieved expression. “She’s here, Taba. Come, Zoya. Your mother is resting. She wants to see you.”

At the expression on his face, the sad, weary eyes and tense frown lines at the corner of his mouth, Zoya threw down her purse and rushed up the hall to her parents’ bedroom, a room of the house she seldom had cause to enter. She saw her mother lying in bed, looking frail and worn, and her heart leapt in her throat. “Maman!” she said in alarm. “What’s happened to you?”

“Shush, I’m fine,” Taba smiled, easing up on her elbows and sitting up in the bed. “Your brother has been missing since the weekend. I’m worried sick, but I’m fine.” Taba waved Musa out of the room, and he left, albeit reluctantly. She had things to discuss with her daughter. She patted the bed, and Zoya tentatively stepped deeper inside.

The walls were painted a deep burgundy, and authentic Persian rugs covered the floor in various patterns and rich hues; each rug overlapped the other haphazardly. Upon the rugs rested a hand-carved, skillfully built four-poster bed with delicately painted panels stenciled with a “Tree of Life” motif. Taupe bedding patterned with dark red roses covered the mattress. She stepped past an intricately designed dresser with mother of pearl inlay topped with ceramics and a vase of silk flowers. A wand of incense burned aromatically from a Qajar incense burner filigreed with peacocks and parrots.

Zoya sat on the edge of the plush, comfortable mattress and put her hand on Taba’s slippered feet. It was time she told her mother what she knew of Miad’s recent descent into debauchery. The thought of him missing for several days sent fear through her. He could be hurt. There was no telling what had happened to him, roaming drunkenly around the city at nights.

“Maman, I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want you to get upset…Miad has been drinking again, only it’s much worse than before. I’ve seen him around town, drunk and picking fights.” She held up her hands as Taba sat forward, shocked by what she was hearing. “Now, don’t let your imagination get away with you. He’s probably just spent the last few days with his friends. I’ll call around and see if I can locate him for you, but I needed to tell you in confidence about his alcoholism. I don’t know what else to do. Perhaps with your help we can convince him to go to the rehab center I told him about.”

“Zoya,” Taba said her name sharply. “What places have you been frequenting that you might stumble into your brother in such a state anyway? It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve been living like the loose women you go to school with.”

“What?” Zoya was taken aback. “No, Maman, I’m trying to tell you—“

“You will not speak of this to your father, you understand me? You speak ill of your brother to take the scrutiny off of yourself. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you spend less and less time here at home with us. If I find out you have been living in ithm …” She tapered off the threat. Her heart couldn’t handle the strain. Taba slumped back tiredly. “Leave me,” she said weakly. “Let me rest.”

Zoya rose to her feet, feeling like she had been pummeled by her mother’s words. She had come seeking to unburden her conscience and get help for Miad, but her Maman had turned the admission against her. She fled the bedroom, fighting sobs. Musa was in the living room trying to read without his glasses. He looked up when she entered. “Zoya? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, Baba.” She found a shaky smile and pasted it on her face, sniffling discreetly and ducking into the kitchen away from his close watch. Zoya sat at the kitchen table. She took her cellphone from her pocket to call around and locate her brother. She didn’t know many of his friends, but she decided she should eliminate the jails and hospitals. It was a starting point. With a sigh, she waited patiently for the hospital receptionist to go through the patient list.

“Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have anyone by that name here.”

“Thank you,” Zoya replied. Hanging up, she dialed another medical center and got the same response. Fingers shaking, she dialed the police department. Zoya had to go through several channels to get to the person she needed to speak with about recent arrests. She struggled to explain that her brother was missing and had a drinking problem. “His name is Miad Rao. Do you have…record of him coming in?”

“You’re in luck. We got him down here.” The woman on the other end chuckled in a raspy voice. “I don’t even have to look him up. He’s made quite a name for himself, spoutin’ off about his wealthy daddy and the shit we’ve gotten ourselves into by arresting him.”

Zoya squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed. “Can you tell me why he was arrested?”

“You said you’re his sister? Public drunkenness and disorderly conduct. He would’ve been out by Monday if he hadn’t earned himself another charge, assaulting an officer. Now, he’s gotta post bail to get out.”

Zoya had no idea about anything dealing with the legal system. She had never gotten into that kind of trouble and didn’t know anyone who had. As she hung up the phone, she wracked her brain for solutions to the problem. She could tell her Baba, but it would only make him angry to know that Miad had acted so immaturely, and her mother had warned her not to let her father know about Miad’s drinking. She bit her lip, ready to give up.

Then, it occurred to her that Micah had a checkered past. He had been in and out of correctional facilities in his younger days. Maybe, just maybe, he could tell her what to do. She reached for her phone again, stealthily dialing his number. Zoya kept her eyes on the kitchen entrance and prayed neither of her parents decided to make an appearance. As the line connected and Micah’s sultry, sleepy baritone spoke from the other end, she felt a thin tendril of hope. “Micah…I need your help.”

The Sunday night Miad ran into trouble started like any other weekend night. The olive-skinned Iranian playboy stepped out of a phantom white Camaro and threw the keys to the valet. “Take care of my baby for me. Don’t hurt her. She’s the only woman I’ve ever been in love with,” he said, as he laughed in a raspy tenor voice.

The uniformed valet nodded and murmured, “Of course, Mr. Rao,” knowing Miad. It felt good to be known. It felt great to be respected. A saxophone solo spilled out into the night when the door opened. Miad strolled into the upscale restaurant dressed in a thousand-dollar black suit, looking every inch the consummate businessman. He brushed past women in cocktail dresses with perfect hair and men who looked like him.

The slate gray shirt he wore beneath the black blazer was opened at the collar to reveal thin strands of gold chains, and gold rings were on each of his hands, an opulent watch around his wrist—the spoils of a gambler. They were things he’d have today, maybe not tomorrow, but he looked good for the night. Miad knew it, and other people noticed it, which made him smile the debonair, charming smile of a gambler betting it all on a bluff.

“Reservation for Rao,” he murmured in fluent, slightly accented English to the maître d’.

An attractive, petite, blonde hostess wearing a black dress materialized next to the stiff dining room attendant and smiled seductively at Miad. “Right this way, Mr. Rao.”

His thick black hair fell in loose waves across his high forehead above his chocolate eyes, and he flicked it back with a casual dismissive attitude at her appreciative once over. He was used to beautiful women fawning over him, but Miad wasn’t there for pleasure. He was there for business. She had a nice tush though, and the black sheath style dress hugged her curves, exposing her voluptuous bosom.

The hostess led him to a discreet table set for two tucked in a quiet corner. Miad’s stride was the self-assured swagger of a man who had everything in control. He was a master of illusion. What was less apparent was the nervous tremor of his hands, as he pulled out the swoop back chair and murmured his gratitude to the hostess as he sat down, a sheen of perspiration faintly visible along the bridge of his nose. Miad desperately needed a drink, but he had forced himself to refrain. When the server in a black tuxedo appeared to take his order, Miad asked for water.

He was meeting someone. A vein along Miad’s temple throbbed painfully, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to appear calm and assertive. In the back of his head, Miad was running calculations and coming up short. Always short. Short on money, short on friends to borrow money from, short on time to come up with the money. He cursed soundly and sipped the insipid water with a scowl at not having anything stronger. Within a few minutes of Miad’s arrival, the young doctor pushed through the doors and was led to Miad’s table. “Have you got it?” Dr. Javid Vahidi got straight to the matter at hand, as he hurriedly sat down.

“Friend,” Miad said with a bright, false smile. Extending his hand in welcome, he gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit. Drink with me, eat with me. Then, we talk business.”

Javid cut the air with his hand. “Don’t fuck with me, Miad. I didn’t come here to play games with you. We had a deal, and you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain. Now, I want my money!”

Javid, Zoya’s former potential fiancé, waved away the server who returned to take his drink order. He wasn’t there to be wined and dined. He glared at Miad, ignoring the posh surroundings and the patrons of the restaurant who were gawking at him for raising his voice. Struggling for aplomb, Javid visibly steeled his jaw and sat back. He crossed his arms and watched Miad fumble for a response.

“Um, technically, I have it,” said Miad. “But, you should give Zoya more time. I can get her to come around!”

“That’s what you said before,” Javid fumed quietly.

Miad threw up placating hands and said, “Yes, yes, I know what I said. She’s proving more…difficult…than I expected but—”

“Precisely. I don’t need a difficult wife. I need a docile, compliant, levelheaded woman who knows her role. You promised me she’d be an asset, and now you’re telling me she’ll be a struggle. When I first met Zoya, I admit I saw promise in the match, but the more I learn of her, the less I like what I hear. You can keep your fickle sister. There are plenty of other good Muslim girls who will do for what I need. The deal is off. I want my money.”

Miad gulped, eyes skating to the left and right. The jazz band played on, mellow and smoky under the amber lights of the restaurant, but the music did less to soothe him, rattling his nerves even more. The crystal chandelier overhead and the marble floor beneath his feet offered no answers to his problem. His gaze skittered back to Javid’s pissed off face.

He didn’t have the money, and there was no chance of getting it. No matter how much money he borrowed from Baba and Maman, the itch to gamble it away was too persistent to ignore, and the alcohol was starting to be a problem, too. Miad had always struggled with the two vices. When times were good, he could ignore the cravings. When times were bad, not so much.

Miad owed Javid over ten thousand dollars in gambling debts racked up over the course of the year they had known each other.

Inwardly, he cursed Zoya’s rebelliousness. If she had only played her part, he would be out of this mess already! Javid had initially agreed to absolve the debt if Zoya married him. Miad was well-aware of the doctor’s reasons for needing a speedy marriage, and he understood Javid wouldn’t wait much longer for Zoya to come around, but all Miad needed was another month, maybe two, to either convince her to do her duty or come up with the money.

Leaning forward, Miad countered, “I can get you the money, but you’ll have to give me more time…Don’t forget I have dirt on you, too, friend.”

“Miad, you’re a drunk, a thief, and a swindler. I’m a doctor. Which one of us do you think people are going to believe? Don’t you forget, unlike you, I actually have the money to make my problems disappear. You have two weeks.” Javid calmly placed a few fifties on the table. “You look like you need a drink. This one’s on me. I know you can’t afford it,” he sneered. Then, he rose to his feet and breezed out of the restaurant, leaving Miad to stare after him with growing fear.

He had messed up. Miad was adept at calling a man’s bluff, but Javid had too much to lose to make idle threats. He would make good on the promise. “How am I going to fix this?” Miad whispered, dropping his head into his hands. He shoved his thick fingers through his wavy black hair and looked around with wild eyes, seeing no answers. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams. He angrily snatched up the money and shoved it into the inner pocket of his blazer, not wanting to take it but not having a dime to his name.

Things had looked so promising. When he had met the young medical student, Miad had thought he’d found an easy mark. Javid was wealthy and had no qualms about spending his money on Miad, loaning him cash when he needed it, supplying him with alcohol, and giving him a chance to hang out in the type of lavish environments where Miad imagined he belonged. Miad had eventually realized Javid’s interest in spending time with him was more than platonic and tried to get out of the friendship, repulsed by Javid’s homosexual inclinations. However, by that point, he owed the man too much money to extricate himself completely.

But, Javid wanted a wife to keep his dirty secret from his family, and he didn’t really need the money; Javid was merely pressuring Miad to pay him back out of spite for being rejected. Zoya had seemed the perfect solution to both of their problems…until that damnable bishour biker had come along. Miad punched his fist into his open palm, swearing vehemently.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” asked the server.

Looking up, Miad patted his pockets, feeling Javid’s money, and mumbled, “Stoli. A bottle.”

After that, his memory of the night blurred. He had gotten so shit-faced in the restaurant that the establishment had called the authorities. Miad had awakened in a holding cell at the local precinct. Irritated by the frivolous charge of public drunkenness, he had shoved an officer and gotten another charge: Assault. Miad had sat in jail through Monday and Tuesday, and they’d denied him his one phone call. He couldn’t even get in touch with Musa to beg his father to come bail him out.

Thus, when the police officer ambled to the locked gate and unlocked it, calling his name, Miad thought it was some type of mistake. “Lucky day, Rao. Some guy just bought your sorry ass a ticket home.”

Trudging behind the portly man in the blue uniform, Miad made his way through the several locked doors that had stood between him and his freedom and burst out into the lobby of the county jail. He was handed a plastic bag full of his belongings and ushered out the doors to the foyer where his brown eyes locked with Micah’s. “You!” Miad spat. Embarrassment sent color to Miad’s cheeks. The fact that he would have to be seen wearing an orange jumpsuit by the man who had seduced his younger sister was a shame. Miad growled and dropped his head, fuming.

“You’re welcome,” said Micah Whitfield. The biker turned away from Miad and headed out of the precinct, feeling like he’d done his good deed for the month—hell, the year.

“Don’t think you’re doing me any favors. I would’ve gotten out on my own,” Miad spat ungratefully, as he pushed past the man who had just gotten him out of jail.

Micah chuckled mirthlessly. “Well, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for Zoya and your parents. She told me your father’s already paid an arm and a leg to put you through rehab once before. Mr. Rao doesn’t deserve to have to keep getting you out of mishaps.” Micah ambled out into the night behind his girlfriend’s alcoholic elder brother. Miad spun around at his comment and jabbed a finger at Micah’s chest.

“You don’t know the first thing about my family, so don’t act like you did this for Musa or Taba. They’d sooner spit in your face than take hand-outs from you, swine! You want to do us a favor? Why don’t you stay the fuck out of my sister’s life? You! You are the reason I’m stuck in this hole and can’t climb out!” Miad stepped threateningly towards Micah, who pointedly glanced back at the precinct behind him.

Micah sighed and bit back an expletive, taking a step back with his hands up. He didn’t want a fight. It was late, and he had to go to work in the morning. “Look, I care about Zoya—whether you like that or not. You’re probably not going to take my suggestion, but if you care about her too, as much as you claim, then get help for yourself, brother.”

Miad scoffed. “You’re no brother to me.”

“Cool. Get home safe.” After everything Miad had done to keep Micah and Zoya apart, Micah knew he should’ve let the bastard rot behind bars and saved himself some trouble, but when Zoya had called him to tell him she needed his help, Micah hadn’t hesitated to post Miad’s bail. Now Micah strolled to his bike and picked up his helmet, giving up on expecting Miad to play the gentleman. He watched Miad arrogantly march to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab. “Just try to stay out of trouble, Miad,” he called after him.

Miad flipped him off and flagged down a ride home. Micah stared after him and dug his cellphone out of the front pocket of his shirt. “Yeah…I got him out. He just took off. Hopefully he’s headed your way.”

***

Zoya sat at the kitchen table, staring at the cellphone after hanging up with Micah. She was flooded with contradictory emotions—relief that he had somehow managed to get Miad out of jail, anger that he’d had to do it, embarrassment at the situation, and love for the man who would do anything for her. Most of all, she felt love, and she was finding it harder and harder to understand why it was that she wasn’t supposed to be with him.

Her eyebrows lifted as she sighed and gave up pondering the questions that had been plaguing her from the moment she realized she was falling for Micah Whitfield. Earlier in the night she had brought Miad’s drinking problem to her mother’s attention, and Maman had turned on her, accusing Zoya of frequenting the wrong sorts of establishments if she was running into Miad drunk. Taba made it clear she thought Zoya was the one up to no good. All Zoya had been trying to do was get help for her brother. Yet, Taba had rebuked her and forbade her from telling Musa.

Now, she wondered if she should brave her mother’s wrath and go back to the bedroom to tell the resting matron of the household that Miad was on his way home. “Better not,” Zoya mumbled to herself. Chances were, Miad would stop at a bar or liquor store before coming home.

She put her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. She wondered if, while she had been struggling with the unfairness of falling in love with a man she wasn’t allowed to have, she had truly neglected her brother. Callie, her roommate and best friend, had suggested Zoya get Miad into rehab again, but Miad had resisted. So, Zoya had used the knowledge of his drinking as leverage to keep Miad from telling her parents that she was seeing Micah.

At the rate her brother was going, his alcoholism was becoming more than just an annoyance. He was in trouble, and Zoya knew it. “I should’ve worked harder to convince him to go,” she murmured to herself. She was more determined now to get her brother treated than she had been before, with or without her parents’ help or blessing. She owed it to her sibling to be there for him in his time of need.

Zoya looked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Her eyes flew to the entrance to the kitchen where her mother steadied herself with a hand to the doorjamb, looking wan and pale. “Maman,” she whispered in concern. The last Zoya had seen her an hour prior, Taba had been visibly sickened by the knowledge Miad was drinking again and the suspicion her daughter was leading a secular lifestyle at graduate school. Zoya half-rose from the kitchen table, but Taba gestured for her to sit. “I thought you were sleeping.”

Taba exhaled wearily as she sat down across from Zoya. She reached for her daughter’s hands with a sad smile. “I was wrong to berate you for telling me about Miad,” Taba murmured.

Zoya looked down, apologies rare coming from her mother. “I understood you were worried and concerned, Maman.”

Taba nodded, rubbing Zoya’s slender, soft hands with her own work-roughened fingers. She was a wife, after all, and a mother. She had callouses from sweeping, mopping, wiping tears, wringing her hands, pacing the floor, and praying for her children. Zoya thought she understood, but the young woman really didn’t, and she wouldn’t until she had children of her own.

Smiling sadly, Taba replied, “I see things.” She held up two fingers. “I watch the both of you. Don’t think I don’t see. I’m your mother, Zoya. I know that Miad has not been himself…I was hoping he was being sincere, that he wasn’t drinking and gambling again, but I know the things you’ve told me are true. Your brother has always been…sensitive to temptations. You were always the strong one.”

Zoya forced herself to keep eye contact, despite the fact that she was weak when it came to Micah, a weakness that came of love. It didn’t seem wrong to her to love him with her whole heart, no matter what anyone else believed, because he loved her too. She swallowed thickly at the thought. She drew her attention back to the conversation at hand, inhaling and pulling her hands away.

“Look here, Maman,” Zoya murmured. She used her phone to pull up the website to the rehab center Callie had suggested. “We can get him back in a program and help Miad get back on his feet. This place specializes in treating clients who have multiple addictions. They can take care of him for both—“

Taba held up a hand and interrupted the hurried stream of information Zoya was trying to fire her way. She shook her head resolutely. “I will deal with this myself.”

Zoya’s face dropped, and she exclaimed, “Maman, this isn’t something we can wish away!”

“Shh! I said I will deal with this.” Taba cut her eyes at Zoya for raising her voice. Musa was asleep in the bedroom down the hall. She didn’t need him waking and hearing the conversation. “Now, you go home. Rest. Your brother will be home soon. I can feel it. A mother knows.”

Zoya clamped her lips shut and refrained from telling her Miad was indeed on his way home, thanks to Micah. She sighed and stood to collect her purse and car keys. “Just promise me, Maman, that if whatever you have in mind doesn’t work, you’ll consider the rehab option. I can help you and Baba pay for it. I’ll get a job.”

“You worry about your studies,” said Taba, following her into the living room. She stopped her at the door with a solemn look and a firm voice. “And, you stay away from anything or anyone that might lead you astray, Zoya. I was your age. I know what it’s like to be young and faced with so many opportunities to do the wrong thing, each of them looking more exciting and tempting than the last. Whatever you do, my child, don’t forget the upbringing which has been instilled within you, the Sharia and Allah’s will that you may have a long and prosperous life. If you follow the laws, you will be blessed.”

“I know, Maman,” whispered Zoya. She looked away guiltily. “I’ll see you soon. Call me, no matter how late, whenever Miad returns.”

Taba nodded and saw her out the door. After she heard Zoya’s car crank up and saw the headlights flash through the living room as her daughter backed out of the driveway, she settled her tired bones on the edge of an armchair to wait up for her wayward son. As she sat, she prayed. As she prayed, she cried. There had to be deliverance soon. Her heart couldn’t take much more heartbreak.

Zoya had driven directly to Micah’s place after leaving her mother’s, confident that Miad would soon be home. When Micah had come to the door, looking drowsy and sexy, she had walked into his arms and thanked him for being there for her with her touches and kisses because there weren’t words for all that she felt for him.

She didn’t know how to tell him her love was rooted in more than appreciation, how to say how much she valued him just for being the man he was, and that she couldn’t envision a future without him because any tomorrow that didn’t include him in her life wasn’t one she wanted to see. She couldn’t explain how her love was more than a feeling and not just an act, more like a state of being. It was something she couldn’t turn on or off, something that had simply happened, something mystifying and overpowering. Whatever sacrifices were required, she would make them for him.

His body was paradise. Zoya gasped, as Micah rolled her beneath him and rose above her. Her thighs dropped open in welcome while her lips parted in silky moans with each plunge of his hardness into her chasm. She cried out, as Micah suckled her dusky breasts while making love to her, and he hummed lustily, as her womanhood gripped his shaft, tightly stroking along his length. Her moisture poured over him and left him awash in potent pleasure that sent thrills through his core. Her nipple pebbled in his mouth. His heavy erection grew harder, as well. There was no end to the wonder when it came to sleeping with her. Micah had goose bumps along his upper back and shoulders at the exquisite ecstasy of her embrace.

She writhed and rocked forward and back, taking all of him and begging for more. Her thighs clamped around his hips. Her nails raked down his back. She bit at his earlobe and sucked at his neck, gasping and moaning at the masterful way he thrust up and into her. Her body quivered. “I love you,” she cried out.

“I love you, too.” His lips flew to hers, as he poured his words like sweet honey into her gasping mouth. He sucked at her bottom lip, lacing his tongue around hers. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and the kiss deepened. In and out, his erection speared, taking her up and up on tides of pure bliss. The sweat that beaded along her skin was evidence of the fire between them. There was no dousing the flames. She loved him.

That love was more powerful than the will to blindly obey her brother’s orders. It was strong enough to withstand her parent’s ire, should they ever find out she was consorting with someone who wouldn’t meet their approval. As Micah’s mouth flowed from hers to her shoulder, he kissed a fiery trail back down to her breasts, and she cried out again. It didn’t matter that they weren’t supposed to be together. They were meant for each other.

Her body reveled in the feel of him, and his erection caressed her in places only he could touch. As she gripped his shoulders, she felt her legs begin to shake. The ebb and flow of the dance between them sent rhythmic shockwaves coursing along her spine, and her back arched, head lolling back. He kissed up from her breasts to the hollow of her throat, and she groaned. She kneaded his firm, taut buttocks, urging him deeper, harder.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, shaking. Her pelvis thrust forward, as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Still, he continued to plunge into her lithe body at the frantic pace she had set. Zoya experienced a climax that left her breathless, and he carried on until he took her to yet another.

It was the wee hours of the morning before the lovers collapsed against each other, finally spent. Zoya closed her exhausted eyes and cuddled up against Micah. “Can I keep you?” she whispered whimsically.

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, shutting his eyes. He was exhausted and wanted to enjoy the rare pleasure of sleeping next to her. “At this point, baby, I doubt you could get rid of me.”

***

“Last night you told me you loved me for the first time,” she replied. Zoya sat out on the patio that extended from the back door of Micah’s estate, letting the morning sun wake her fully. Micah was preparing breakfast on the grill, and the savory smell of grilling meat wafted over to her. He had taken the day off after their busy night, and they had slept in late. She had awakened next to the man who made her the happiest woman in the world. She threw her head back with a smile. The sky was blue. Her heart was happy.

He chuckled and brought over a plate, depositing the grilled kabobs in front of Zoya. He poured up a mimosa and handed it to her. “Damn, was it the first time? How remiss of me. I should’ve told you every day from the day I met you,” he said with a flirtatious grin. “D’ah, well, there’s always the rest of my life to get it right.” He stepped away from the table briefly, Zoya giggling behind him. “Speaking of which…” Her laughter abruptly stopped when he came back with a velvet jewel case and set it next to her plate.

Micah smiled in pleasure at the look of shock on her face. She hadn’t been expecting it. Hell, he hadn’t even planned for it to go the way it was going, but after everything they had been through together, it just felt right. He got down on his knee on the sun dappled deck and gazed up at her beautiful face, hair free of her hijab and chestnut tresses floating on the summer breeze. Her hazel eyes glistened. “I want you to marry me,” he murmured sincerely.

The silence that descended was thicker than the air at the height of the heat of summer, but Micah braved it anyway, hoping against hope she didn’t come up with some excuse to say no. Even if she did, though, he didn’t care. He’d find a way to convince her to be his.

He stared into her mesmerizing eyes and poured out his heart to her in a way he had never done for any other woman. “The day I met you,” he stated, “you were an exotic book I thought I could be content with returning to the shelf when I was done reading, but I fell in love with your story. Now I quote you in my dreams, trying to read between your lines for the page break where your story and my story can come together because you’re the prose of my redemption. Before you, I was just a man…with you, I’m a man in love. You make me more than I’ve ever been. Without you, I’m a fraction of myself.”

“That’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.” She accepted the case, tentatively opening it with baited breath. Her eyes widened at the chocolate and canary diamonds in the pink gold engagement ring. “Oh! This is too much,” she whispered in awe. She took out the ring, but he tugged it away from her with a shake of his head.

“No, I’ll put it on you. That’s my job.” He took her slender fingers in his and slipped on the ring, admiring the colors against her honeyed skin. Nodding with satisfaction, Micah lovingly looked up again at her. “The short answer is ‘Yes.’”

“You know we can’t,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

His heart leapt at the last words, not yet. Rising to his feet, Micah sat down in the chair next to her. “Oh, I know, not yet. There’s your master’s to acquire. I mean, I wouldn’t dare encroach on you getting your degree,” he teased.

Zoya tried not to smile. He was making light of the situation, but there was no way around the elephant in the middle of the room. “My parents,” she replied soberly. “Micah, I want this…I want this as much as you do, but we can’t ignore the fact that my family will be adamantly against this union.”

“At the risk of sounding insensitive, I’m not marrying them, Zoya. I’m marrying you.” He clasped her hands and leaned in closer. “I never imagined we’d get this far with the odds we’ve faced in the short time we’ve known each other. But, now that we’ve made it to this point, I can’t close this chapter of my life, because my story is intertwined with yours. We are meant to be. Sweetheart, neither of us expected this. You’re looking at a guy who had no intentions of ever tying the knot. I know you made it clear that I shouldn’t expect a future with you. I accepted that in the beginning. Then, I realized how impossible it is for me to live without you.”

She touched his face. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” he replied, placing his hand atop hers against his cheek. “Zoya, during the time frame you and I were separated after your brother told you not to see me anymore, I tried valiantly to move on. There are some things in life you can’t move away from, good and bad things. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m not capable of walking away from us. Not now, not then, not ever. Whatever I have to do to make this,” he touched her ring finger, “a reality, then I’ll do it. I’m going to talk to your parents.”

She sighed. “I have to break it to them gently first.”

“Zoya.”

“Micah, I have to. This isn’t something we can just spring on them.”

“Fine, love. You talk to them first.” A slow grin split his face again. “But, I take that as a ‘yes.’”

***

“It’s too early for this, Maman.” Miad pulled his comforter over his head and turned his back to her.

“It’s one in the afternoon. You should be up anyway, putting in applications for a job instead of lying around in this filth.” She had waited until Musa was at work for the discussion that had to be had. “Give me back the credit card I gave you,” Taba demanded.

She snatched away the comforter and threw it to the floor with the rest of the dirty clothes Miad had piled beside his bed. There were takeout boxes on the nightstand. She spied a liquor bottle between a cushion of the sofa he had crammed along with his bedroom furniture into the cramped basement after losing his apartment. Miad angrily pulled the covers back up, and she yanked them away again.

Their eyes locked, and she read the stubbornness in his, but there was a stubbornness in hers, too. She wasn’t about to be denied. “I will not fund your addiction. I will not finance your problem. Do you understand?” Taba’s voice wavered, and her lips trembled. She swept away a tear. “Now, give me my card. I know you have no money of your own, Miad. You’ve been using what little money of mine to get drunk. Zoya told me you need rehab. I think you just need a healthy dose of reality. You want to drink? Fine. Get a job and get your own money to buy a drink.”

“You would believe Zoya over me? Truly, Maman?” Miad sounded incredulous, but Taba held out her hand insistently. “You know nothing! You know only Zoya’s lies,” he growled.

His head was throbbing, and his mouth was dry. His irritation level was at peak. If not for his hangover, he would gladly reveal to Taba that Zoya had secrets of her own, but the pounding at the base of his skull wouldn’t relent. He wanted to be clearheaded when he let that little tidbit of information slip. He needed Taba and Musa’s help to secure a marriage between Zoya and Javid, which meant he had to at least pretend to play by the rules. Glaring, Miad yanked his wallet out of the nightstand drawer and shoved his mother’s credit card into her hands.

“For the record,” he said as he sat up, clutching his head, “Zoya is misleading you. Ask yourself why she’d be trying to make you take a closer look at me. Could it be because she wants you to take your eyes off of her? Hmm?”

Taba tucked the card into the pocket of her apron. She pointed at him and turned to the basement stairs, shuffling tiredly toward the steps. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“I forgive you. For misjudging me. I’m going to prove to you that Zoya is lying about me. You’ll see. I don’t need your credit card for alcohol, because I haven’t been drinking. I’m a changed man!” he barked.

Taba nodded, trudging up the steps. “Yes, show me.” She knew he didn’t have the money to pay for liquor or beer. If what Zoya had said was true, soon enough money would start coming up missing again. Taba closed the basement door behind her. “Show me,” she murmured again to herself. She actually hoped he was telling the truth.

Miad scowled at the wall after she left. She had taken his last remaining access to money. He knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d start working for someone else again. If Miad couldn’t be his own boss, he wasn’t interested in slaving under someone else. Poker came naturally to him because he was a master at schooling his facial expressions and he had had a fine stream of good luck for a while. Now, it seemed his luck was running out.

Without the few hundred dollars his mother kept on the card available at his disposal, he had to resort to other means of scraping together enough cash to see if he could win some money back. “C’mon, c’mon, think!” He pounded his temples, eyes scanning the room for anything of value. He had very little left. When Miad had a steady job at his cousin’s shop, he hadn’t earned much, but he always had enough. It was unfortunate that he’d been caught taking money from the cash register. Sighing, he picked up the watch, the chains and rings he’d been wearing the night of his arrest, things he had won in various games of chance from dice to dominos. Altogether, he could probably get enough from pawning the jewels to start him off.

Miad decided instead of gambling against the handful of friends he had remaining, all of whom he owed money already, he’d go down to the race tracks and place a few bets. He didn’t bother changing, which was unlike him. He smoothed down his wrinkled, dirty suit and stepped into his puke stained shoes, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the stench. He pocketed the jewelry and shuffled out the basement door that led outside, ambling to his car to take the short drive into town.

If he didn’t get the money for Javid, his life might very well be in danger. Thinking on his options, Miad only saw two. Either he won back enough of the ten grand to appease Javid or he convinced Zoya to turn from her wicked ways and marry the good doctor. Chuckling mirthlessly, he fumbled for the start button and drove off toward the pawn shop. Better to start with the option which was most likely to give a return. He just prayed luck was on his side. He couldn’t afford to lose. His life depended on it.

***

The sleek, glossy beasts were lined at the starting gate, their jockeys perched upon their backs. Miad peered anxiously through his binoculars and glanced down at his card for the post time, making sure he was watching the right race. He had already lost close to two hundred dollars. “This better be the winner,” he grumbled, putting the binoculars back to his bleary eyes.

He had been at the tracks all evening, and he reeked of cheap beer, but Miad was more preoccupied with the horses on the track than his appearance. It seemed there was something about alcohol, even cheap beer, which lowered his standards. Ever since he had started drinking again, he had begrudgingly noticed his fashion sense and poise going downhill. The more money he lost, the more debt he acquired, the less important it seemed to get snazzy unless he absolutely had to. He had wasted a perfectly good suit on that shitty dinner with Javid.

On this round, Miad had bet on the favorite, having watched the blow outs before the race and determined Gwen’s Park Champ had a higher likelihood of beating the rest of the horses in the same heat. It seemed a sure bet.

The gun fired to signal the start of the race, and the horse shot out of the gates. Miad pressed forward over the railing, yelling his head off for Gwen’s Park, as his pick surged forward and took the lead. The chestnut horse flew down the track and sent up clods of dirt in his wake, while his rippling muscles bulged and glistened in the sunlight. Miad waved his fist, urging the jockey to be more aggressive. He could see his horse slipping to second place as the racers sprinted through the first curve of the furlong.

“You get ‘em, Gwen’s!”

Suddenly, the horse bolted slightly to the left, although he quickly regained his footing; but, the brief misstep was all it took for two more racers to zip past. “No!” Miad cried.

He watched in disbelief as his pick, the crowd favorite, the horse who should’ve been the winner, came in at fourth place. Miad paced back and forth in the nearly empty stands as another one of his bets fell short of his prediction and he lost more of his small sum of cash. “Fuck!” he shouted. A few heads turned, but the interest was short-lived, and Miad didn’t care about causing a scene anyway. Most of the ragtag bunch lingering at the tracks in middle of the day on a weekday were the same as him, gamblers trying to get a fix. He shoved the remaining seventy-five dollars in his pocket and gave up before he left with nothing.

Grumbling angrily, he pushed away from the rail and wove his way through the thin crowd and out of the arena. He made it to his car, feeling overheated and overwhelmed, but having a need to keep going. There had to be some other way he could get the money. He still had seventy-five dollars left.

His stomach growled. Miad knew his mother probably had dinner cooked at home, but he grew weary of sitting at his parents’ table waiting for hand-outs. He powered on his car and drove aimlessly through town, ignoring his hunger. He couldn’t ignore his thirst, however. The more streets he traveled, the less hope he had of making good on his debt to Javid and the more worried he became about what might happen if he didn’t.

If Miad could explain the anxiety, he would say it was like having bees in his blood stream. It wasn’t just the problem with Javid that made him antsy. It was his very existence. He thought about the totality of his life, as he pulled into a liquor store and stared up at the flickering neon lights. He knew with his potential and his capabilities he should have made something more of himself. He could’ve been a businessman. He could’ve been a lawyer or doctor. He hadn’t gone that route because…what? Because he’d been too busy having a good time. Now, here he was in his mid- to late thirties, and the good times were fewer and farther between.

The schmucks who’d gotten with the program and gotten degrees were out handling business. Schmucks like Javid—although admittedly the young doctor came from a wealthy family and had a father who wasn’t stingy about taking care of his son the way Musa was. Even the laborers and tool pushers Miad had once sneered at were out making money.

Meanwhile, there he was sitting in front of a liquor store with only seventy-five dollars to his name and no prospect of getting any more money anytime soon. There was a wealthy, spurned homosexual out to get him, his sister was being a harlot, and his mother was being difficult. His hands were shaking from not having had a drink all day. It was enough to make a man want to drink.

Miad shoved open the car door and climbed out, smoothing his suit. He went inside and purchased enough alcohol to get him through the night, leaving with thirty dollars left. When he got back in the car, he dug out his cellphone. With the situation with Javid, it was time for plan B.

“Hello? Javid, old friend! Yes, yes, I spoke with my sister. She has agreed to renew the courtship,” he lied. Miad tore off the plastic seal with his teeth, as he ignored Javid’s complaints about not wanting to marry his sister anymore. The promise of alcohol was more interesting, and he struggled to unseal the bottle. “Of course, a good wife, an obedient wife is a blessing. She’ll make a very good wife. You’ll see. I’ll fix all this,” Miad replied blithely. Over Javid’s protests, Miad hung up the phone. He twisted off the cap of the vodka and turned it up to gulp down a swig. Wiping his mouth and smacking his lips, savoring the burn, he started his car and got back on the road as he sipped. He was going to get Zoya to marry Javid by any means necessary.

Callie shrieked at the top of her lungs when she saw the ring. Zoya collapsed on the living room sofa next to her best friend, giggling in amusement at Callie’s reaction. “He asked you to marry him?! So, that’s why you ran off in the middle of the night last night! Oh my friggin’ god! Please tell me you said yes!” The tattooed blonde grabbed Zoya’s hand and turned it from side to side under the afternoon light filtering through the blinds and shrieked again.

“I told him not yet,” she admitted. Callie groaned and stamped her feet against the floor dramatically.

“You’re in time-out, Zoya. I don’t ever want to speak to you again unless you call that poor man up right this instant and tell him the answer is yes, yes, and more yes!”

Zoya couldn’t contain her happiness because, despite her inability to blatantly accept Micah’s proposal, the fact that he was that serious about being with her sent thrills of joy through her very being. She closed her eyes with a dreamy sigh and lounged back against the sofa cushions only to be shoved by Callie. When she opened her eyes, her friend was glaring at her with a combination of pretend and real ire.

Callie had been prodding Zoya to be with the biker from the day the two had met. She couldn’t stand to see her friend miss out on the man of her dreams just to mollify her overbearing parents and intrusive older brother. “You can’t keep him waiting, Zoya. If you let a guy like that stay on the market, someone else will come right along and snatch him up,” Callie argued.

“I don’t have to worry about that,” Zoya replied confidently. “And, you don’t have to worry about me keeping him waiting. I’m going to talk to my parents.”

Callie shot up from the sofa and put her hands on her hips. “Ha! Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” She looked down at Zoya.

Zoya rose as well. “I mean it this time. If I don’t do it, I’m halfway convinced Micah will try to do it himself, and that would be disastrous. The point is, you’re the best friend in the whole wide world for taking me to that infernal biker bar. If it wasn’t for you, Callie, I never would’ve met him.”

Callie beamed and preened. “Well, naturally, I have superb taste in hang-out spots,” she said with a laugh. She walked into the kitchen and pulled down a bottle of champagne she had been holding onto until one of them graduated. Celebrating Zoya’s engagement to the sexy biker seemed a better cause. She burst into the living room with the bottle and two plastic champagne flutes. “Fuck it! I’m just gonna name it and claim it and say you are as good as married, girlfriend! Whether your parents are ready or not, Mr. Whitfield doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to take no for an answer.” Callie popped the cork and started pouring up.

“He’s not. Oh, Callie, I’m so excited I could just…just explode.”

Handing Zoya a flute, Callie asked, “So, when are you gonna break the news?” Zoya looked away and sighed. Callie groaned again. “I don’t like that look. That look says you’ll tell them sometime in the near never. You know, you have to face it. You’re with him. You love him. You want to be with him, and your parents need to know that sooner rather than later.”

“Right, it’s just the timing is all wrong right now. I actually left last night because I got a call from my Baba. Miad had apparently been missing since the weekend. I tried to tell Maman about his drinking getting out of hand. Of course, she turned it around on me. I told her I’d seen him drunk around town, and she wanted to know what sort of places I was going to that I’d run into my drunk brother. She forbade me from telling Baba and said I was over here living in sin. It’s infuriating. It’s like Miad could rob a bank right in front of them, and they wouldn’t even notice it for trying to keep an eye on me.”

“Oh, honey, I can only imagine,” Callie replied, patting her arm. “You did the right thing by telling her, though. Just imagine if you tried to keep that a secret and something bad happened to him. He showed back up, right?”

“That’s the thing. He was in jail!”

“In jail?”

“Arrested for public drunkenness or something like that. I had to get Micah to bail him out. Maman and Baba have no clue that’s where he was, and I couldn’t very well tell them my non-Islamic boyfriend rescued Miad.”

“But, what if you did, Zoya? If you told your parents how much Micah has done to help you and take care of you, they’ll have to admit he’s a good guy. I know they will.”

“I’m glad you know that, because I don’t,” Zoya scoffed. “Either way, I’ve already told Micah I’ll talk to them. Ready or not, I have to do it. I’m just trying to wait for some of the hoopla to die down. Maman finally came back around and said she believed me about Miad’s drinking but told me she’d handle it herself instead of seeking out rehab, even though I stated I’d take a job to help pay whatever extra expenses are incurred. I want my brother back, the real Miad, not this monster he’s become.”

Callie frowned at the champagne and tossed it back anyway. “Oh, well, cheers to all being well that ends well.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Zoya giggled. She took a small sip and set the champagne aside. It was Wednesday evening. That meant she had a mere two days to go before her routine visit home on Saturday for dinner with her family. Unlike the last time Zoya had tried to get up the nerve to have this talk, she didn’t plan on preparing a speech. She would speak from her heart. She would tell them she’d met the most amazing man, and she was going to be his wife. What was the worst that could happen?

Her cellphone rang as she was taking a drink, and Zoya reached for it excitedly, thinking it was Micah. When she saw her brother’s contact information flash across the screen, her enthusiasm died. Rolling her eyes, Zoya answered. “What do you want, Miad?”

“I thought we had an agreement, sister. You keep my secret, and I keep yours. Why’d you tell Maman all that stuff about me?”

Callie glanced at Zoya, noting her worried expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Zoya covered the receiver with her hand and whispered, “Miad’s upset because I talked to Maman.”

Callie smirked. “Screw him. He deserved it.”

Zoya chewed on her bottom lip anxiously. She responded to Miad. “I did it because you were missing. I had no choice. Maman and Baba had no idea where you’d been for three days. Can you imagine what your lifestyle is putting them through, Miad?”

“I can imagine what hell they’ll go through if they find out about you and Micah. Can you imagine that?”

“Miad, enough!”

“Listen to me, harlot,” he spat. “I had a heart to heart with Javid, and he’s willing to ignore your dismissal of his courtship if you consent to marry him and announce the engagement before the end of next week. Now, I’m fixing this to where you won’t get in any trouble with Maman or Baba. They’ll be so ecstatic about you choosing a proper mate that they’ll look past any of your other transgressions.”

Zoya sighed, shaking her head with an unamused smile. “You didn’t have to do that, Miad. I’ll be talking to Maman and Baba myself about the situation with Micah. They’ll have to accept that he’s the man I choose to be with, so I don’t even know why you went through all the trouble of hunting down Javid and making false pacts. I wouldn’t marry Javid for all his money.”

“Zoya, yield!”

She gasped. “You lack the authority, Miad. With each passing day, I lose respect for you. You have changed, brother. You’re not the man I knew and loved. What happened to you?”

“I’m trying to save your reputation, Zoya. Sentiments aside, be reasonable. Do you think that infidel will do the honorable thing and marry you? He knows no honor. For him to marry you would even defile you.”

Zoya hung up the phone as her anger started to grow. Callie grabbed Zoya’s glass of champagne and shoved it back into her stiff fingers. Raising her own glass, she said, “You sure told him.”

All Zoya could do was keep her lips in a straight, firm line to keep from screaming out her frustration. Miad’s words reflected exactly how her parents would likely feel about Micah Whitfield. For him to marry her would even defile her. She rose from the sofa without another word, putting aside the champagne glass, and stoically walked to her bedroom. When Callie followed after her and tapped at the closed and locked door, Zoya didn’t respond.

“Are you okay?” Callie asked softly. She gave up knocking and left her friend alone with her thoughts.

Zoya wondered if her parents would ever understand. She had once believed as they did that to marry someone outside of her religion would be a misalignment. After meeting Micah, she knew intrinsically that all other matches would be off the mark. He was made for her, and she was made for him. But, as long as her family believed the things they believed, they would never accept her relationship.

What was the worst that could happen? She could lose them all. Not just Miad, but Maman and Baba, too. She stared down at the diamond encrusted engagement band on her ring finger. Could she sacrifice her relationship with her family to be with Micah Whitfield?

Taba passed behind Miad again, and she smelled the alcohol plainly. He wasn’t even wearing any cologne to mask the odor. She shook her head and hurried away, feather duster in hand, to grab the vacuum and set about cleaning the already clean living room. Musa was sitting in his favorite chair having a conversation with Zoya, who sat at his feet, about what she planned to do with her degree upon graduation. Miad was sprawled out on the couch watching television while Taba busied herself throughout the room. As she worked, she watched them all. It was her job to watch.

She saw how Zoya shot surreptitious glances in Miad’s direction. Taba had noticed her daughter’s unusual nervousness and guarded responses upon her arrival. The girl made it obvious enough she was phishing when she pulled Taba aside and asked pointed questions about Miad’s health and any conversations they might have had regarding his alcoholism. Her concern might have seemed sincere—had she not asked twice, “Did he tell you anything else?”

Yes, Miad was hiding something, and it wasn’t just his drinking. He was hiding something on Zoya’s behalf, and Taba intended to find out. She hummed to herself as she pushed the vacuum cleaner across the carpet, idly insinuating herself into the scene. Musa glared at her for the noise, but Taba pretended not to see the look. She hummed louder. When she was sure she had their attention, she powered off the machine. She beamed at her family and replied, “I just love it when we all get together like this. It’s the highlight of my week. What’s that new cologne you’re wearing, Miad?”

“I’m not wearing any cologne, Maman,” he said sullenly. He had been sulking since she’d taken away the credit card. She had started noticing small items of value disappearing around the house in the past week. He was definitely drinking and gambling again.

“Forgive me. Must be my nose,” she muttered. “And, you, Zoya.”

“Yes, Maman?”

“Come help your mother cook for the menfolk, eh?”

“Yes, Maman.” Zoya rose from the sofa and followed her mother in the kitchen, suspicious of Taba’s suddenly bright tone after her mother had been scowling all afternoon. “You want to speak with me?” she broached.

Taba turned away from the stove and pierced Zoya with shrewd eyes. “What’s going on between you and Miad?”

Zoya looked down. “He’s angry at me for telling you about his drinking.”

Taba rapped the countertop to draw Zoya’s gaze back to her. “Is that all?” she asked. Zoya hesitated. She opened her mouth to talk about Micah, but the words wouldn’t come out. She saw the look on her mother’s face, a look that begged for no more bad news. Zoya nodded mutely. Taba turned back to the stove. “I’m telling Musa about his drinking,” Taba replied.

Zoya rushed across the room and confronted her mother. “Maman, no! That will only make Miad more upset. You said you would handle it. I asked you to try rehab if your solutions didn’t work.”

“Yes, I took away my credit card, but it wasn’t enough. He reeks of alcohol right now as we speak. I’m telling Musa. Only he can get Miad to act right. That’s final.”

Zoya pleaded, “Please, don’t. You don’t understand how Miad can be. You remember the sweet boy, the loving teenager. You don’t know the man he is becoming. He gets angry and destructive and vindictive, and he’ll turn that rage against me!”

“What can he do to you, Zoya? What can he say against you?” Taba probed.

Zoya shut her mouth, shaking her head. Taba felt she had her answer. She was right. Miad was hiding some information about Zoya, and there was only one way to find out what it was. She marched back into the living room to face her husband. Putting one hand on her hip, she pointed at Miad. “He’s drinking again, Musa. Smell him.”

“What?” Musa tugged off his reading glasses and set aside the paper he had been reading. His eyes darted from Taba’s angry face to Miad’s startled expression. Behind Taba, Zoya looked ready to cry. “What are you talking about, woman?”

Taba paced the living room. “It was Zoya who came to me and told me he started back drinking. Your daughter had been keeping his secret, but she voiced her concerns—although I didn’t want to believe her. Now, I suspect it’s true. I tried to do what I could for him, but I’m afraid I am incapable of stopping Miad, Musa. You have to do something! The sound system is missing. So are your electric tools. He’s been pilfering items from around the house again. All the things he was doing before when the drinking got so bad that we had to send him away.”

Musa struggled to his feet and glared down at Miad, who sat up on the couch looking as if he would spew fire if he could. Miad stared at Zoya. Zoya averted her gaze. “Miad, I asked her not to tell him,” she murmured to her brother. Miad shot to his feet.

Turning to his father before Musa could have a chance to question him, Miad defended himself. “She tells you these things because you are a woman and weak-willed without the leadership of a man, Maman. You should have taken her message to Baba straightaway, rather than do as she asked and keep it a secret. She told you and not Baba because she knew he would see through her lies.”

“I haven’t lied,” Zoya shook her head vehemently.

Musa silenced her with a swift chop of his hand. “Speak, son.”

“She had been consorting with a man named Micah Whitfield. Zoya grew perturbed when I confronted her and made her swear to stop seeing him after I found out about their inappropriate relationship. Look at her face. Does she look innocent to you now? She’s saying this stuff about me drinking to put a rift between us so that the distraction will deter you from finding out about her own wrongdoing. There you have it, Baba. The truth is made plain. She’s a liar and in danger of being much worse if we don’t confine her to this house and get her married off quickly before she shames us all.”

Zoya’s mouth dropped open in outrage at the blatant twisting of the facts. “That’s not what’s going on here, and you know it,” she countered.

Musa took a threatening step toward her, but Taba got to her first. “A woman I am, and in need of my husband’s sound judgement, yes. But, I’m not as simple as you would have me be, Miad,” she replied to her son. She grabbed Zoya. “I think what Miad is saying makes sense. What say you, Musa?”

“Zoya, you will remain in this house and not leave this place without Miad to escort you. Am I clear?”

“No, Baba. I have my own home. I have my own life. This is not right!”

“This is right and righteous!” he father roared. His voice boomed through the room, and she shrank into herself at the ferocity of his command. “You will remain in this house!”

“Go to your room,” Taba replied coldly.

Zoya stared incredulously from her mother to her father. They couldn’t be serious! Miad smiled smugly, and she struggled not to hit him in his arrogant, handsome face. She spun away from them all and fled to her bedroom, incensed by the outlandish order.

Taba turned to Miad. “You’re not completely off the hook either.”

“You will see in time you are wrong about me, Maman. You always suspect the worst of me. As for the missing things around the house, yes, I took them! I pawned them to acquire the money necessary to set up a meeting with Javid at a nice restaurant. You wouldn’t have me meet him in a dump while wearing rags, would you? I convinced the young doctor to accept Zoya’s hand, despite her rebelliousness and questionable moral character. He has agreed on the grounds that she accept his proposal before the end of next week.”

“You did this?” Musa said in surprise. He had thought Zoya’s chances of pairing with the wealthy merchant’s son after unceremoniously snubbing him were all but nil. A marriage with a man like Javid would be the perfect alliance for her. She needed a firm but gentle hand. The Vahidis were a proud, prosperous lineage of good standing within the community. Musa looked at Miad with new respect. All this time he had lamented his wastrel son’s bad attributes, yet it seemed Miad was only trying to do what was best for the family.

Miad’s chest puffed out. “I may not bring much to the table, but I am trying. And, now it’s up to us as a family to ensure that Zoya’s virtue remains intact. She must not leave this house. She must meet with Javid and accept his proposal. I assure you, the more she toys with men, the more of a reputation of fickleness and irresponsibility she attains. It’s not lost on our peers that my sister grows older and wastes her time in secular pursuits. She needs to be curtailed before the damage done is too much to repair. At this point, Javid may be our only hope.”

“He’s right,” Taba replied softly, nodding. “She’s running out of options.”

“Then, we know what we have to do,” said Musa. “We’ve been too gentle on her, too quick to let her have freedoms that have perhaps gone to her head. Miad, you go to her apartment and have her roommate pack up some things for her. Take my bank card and pay out the rest of Zoya’s portion of the rent.”

“Of course, Baba,” Miad replied demurely. He had no intention of paying the rent. He’d pocket the money. He needed it. “I’ll go right away.”

“Hurry home,” Taba replied with a warning glance.

Miad accepted his father’s debit card and strolled out of the house, feeling the weight roll off of his shoulders. Without him even working hard, things were falling into place. Zoya had intended her revelation about his drinking be his downfall. Instead, it would be the tool Miad needed to hoist himself up out of the hole completely. He would make sure she married Javid so his debts could be erased. After that…Miad wasn’t sure what he would do with his own life, but he knew exactly how her future was going to play out, and she deserved it for causing him so much trouble. Zoya would live a cold, unloved existence at Javid’s side.

“What’s the saying? Better to have loved and lost.” He chuckled nastily to himself, as he hit the start button of his Camaro and headed off to Zoya’s apartment to pack up her things. His will would be done.

***

Callie opened the door and looked up with a start to see Zoya’s older brother standing there with a self-satisfied smirk. He stared past her disdainfully, pushing into the apartment. “I’m here to collect some things for Zoya,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?” Callie retorted. “You can’t just barge in here.” He walked past the kitchen and strolled through the living room like he had every right to be there. Callie followed him with a scowl. She jerked at his arms, and he shook her off. “I said you can’t just barge in here!”

“Where is Zoya’s bedroom? You need to pack her a bag. She’s moving out. Just the essentials, and hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

She made a sound of disbelief. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”

“She’s safe at home where she belongs instead of gallivanting around the city with a strumpet like you. I tried to give you a chance to be the upstanding friend she needed, but I should have known you American women don’t have the moral fortitude. I warned you to be a better influence,” he said, pointing a finger in her face. Callie shoved his hand aside and rushed ahead of him to try to disbar him from traveling any deeper into her sanctuary until she understood exactly what was going on. “Fine, I’ll get it myself,” he said with a sigh when she didn’t follow his commands to pack for Zoya.

Callie had spent the morning out with her boyfriend, and when she had returned, Zoya was away. Callie knew her roommate had made the trip across town to visit her family, and she also knew Zoya had been planning to break the news of her engagement to Micah to her folks. Miad showing up unannounced didn’t bode well. Callie stretched her arms out at the entrance to the corridor that led to her bedroom and Zoya’s and stared at Miad, challenging him. Her blond eyebrows clashed together over the bridge of her sharp nose, and her lips were firm, straight line. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. You orchestrated this, didn’t you? Couldn’t stand to see your sister happy, so you made sure your parents would keep her where you wanted her! What’s wrong with you, you sick bastard? You can’t convince me she’s moving home of her own accord.”

“Move,” he commanded.

“What did you do to Zoya?”

He leaned in close. “Zoya is no longer your concern. Now step aside so I can pack my sister’s things. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. I prefer not to have to come back here with the police.”

The sickening smell of the vodka sweating through his pores was enough to make Callie gag. She enjoyed a wild night of partying just like the next college student, but having grown up with alcoholics all her life, Callie knew the signs of someone with a problem with drinking. His eyes were bloodshot and dull in color, spidery blood vessels standing out in stark contrast across the bridge of his proud nose. His body odor was a ripe mix of foulness from his body trying to purge him of the poison in his system and uncleanliness, hygiene undoubtedly falling low on his list of priorities now that his physical addiction to alcohol was taking over.

She covered her nose, a rush of empathy washing over her. Callie had first met Miad when Zoya introduced them years ago. Back then, he was a good-looking, charismatic young man, soft-spoken and caring—although he had always had far more control over Zoya’s life than Callie felt an older brother should have. She hadn’t had cause to dislike him until recently. Looking over him and seeing his descent into alcoholism touched too many cords within her, reminding her of too many people—her mother, her uncle, her grandfather.

She could only imagine how difficult it must be for Zoya to see her brother like this. Callie almost reached out a hand in concern to steady the staggering man, as Miad clutched at the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut like he was fighting nausea or a headache. Then, she thought about how many times Zoya had already tried to help him, only to be spurned. “You’re drunk,” she stated the obvious. She hardened her heart to him, but she stepped aside, knowing Miad was prone to rages while inebriated. The last thing she needed was for him to attack her. Callie would hate to have to chop his ass down to size. He was still her best friend’s sibling, after all.

Giving up trying to stop him, Callie ambled to Zoya’s bedroom door and gestured inside. “Her things are in here,” she replied. “You’ve got ten minutes. Rest assured, I’ll be calling my roommate to make sure you have her permission to be rifling through her stuff.”

He snorted in amusement as she strutted to the living room and grabbed her phone, but the call to Zoya went unanswered. Worry spread furrows across her smooth brow, and she gnawed at her chipped nails anxiously as she listened to Miad tearing through Zoya’s closet with no concern for keeping a low profile. She jumped as she heard something shatter and break. Whatever it was, he kicked it aside.

She sighed. “What have they done to you, Zoya?” she murmured. She clutched her phone in her hand. As soon as Miad left, she would call Zoya’s fiancé and let him know that something was up. She had visions of Zoya being locked away somewhere to abide by her parents’ strict rules. Rage at what she considered an overstep of boundaries flooded through her. The notion seemed archaic and uncivilized, but she knew the Raos wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to keep Zoya under their heel.

Callie assumed the meeting to discuss the future nuptials hadn’t gone well. That was the only explanation. “Just wait, darling. I’ll send in the cavalry.” She steeled her jaw and waited. Micah would know what to do. There was no way he’d let them keep the woman he loved like Rapunzel. He’d find a way to break her free, and perhaps finally Zoya would understand. With or without her parents’ approval, she had to live. The only alternative was to be at their mercy. Judging by the bear in the bedroom, their mercy left much to be desired.

“What do you mean they took her?” He sat forward at his desk at work, turning away from the diagram on the computer to give Callie his full attention.

He hadn’t heard from his fiancé all weekend, and he had known something was up, but the phone call from her roommate on Monday morning confirmed his worst fears. “Miad came over here on Saturday and packed up her things. He told me she was moving home. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all weekend, man! You weren’t answering your cellphone.”

“I was out of range,” he admitted. “I was out in the desert. No towers to give me a signal. So, you haven’t talked to her at all in two days?” Micah had spent Saturday out at the compound with The Hangman’s Crows, celebrating his engagement. The desert was notorious for dropped signals, and he’d actually assumed he had missed a call from Zoya for exactly that reason.

“She won’t answer my calls. Micah, I’m scared. Zoya told me she was planning to talk to her parents about your relationship. I think they may have gotten so upset with her for her decision to be with you that they’re trying to keep her in the house to keep her away from you. I don’t know what to do.”

“Calm down. I’m gonna check out the situation and see what I can do.” He hung up the phone with a weary sigh. “This shit is getting out of hand,” he muttered to himself. Swearing, he tried to put his focus back on his work, but he couldn’t. He was worried about Zoya.

She had insisted the only way her parents would hear of a relationship with him was by her own admission, but apparently that hadn’t worked out so well. The idea they were keeping her hostage—that was the only way to describe it—was incredulous. He pounded his desk in frustration and pushed away, rising to his feet to move around the spacious, attractive director of product design office. The engine piece he was working on lay idle, forgotten.

“There’s no way around it,” he thought out loud. He had to talk to them himself and convince them Zoya would be in good hands if she married him.

He tried to put himself in Musa and Taba’s shoes. Obviously, like any parents, they only wanted what was best for her. The Raos had footed the bill on her college and graduate school expenses, and Zoya had grown up in a loving and protective household. She hadn’t suffered many of the hardships Micah had had to endure as the son of a single mother, living in poverty in a trailer park. For that, he had to assume her best interest was at the heart of their problem of accepting her relationship with Micah.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the old sense of not being good enough. Their refusal to accept him transported him back to the days of wearing hand-me-down clothes and being teased by his classmates for having to take government assistance and barely scraping by, how it had felt for everyone to know he was from that wrong side of town and his mother was a drug addict. Micah had labored all his adult life to escape the judgment and disdain from his youth.

He hadn’t been born with a silver spoon. He had earned his new lifestyle. He was a prosperous, well-educated man, and his income put him in the top tier of middle income, grossing deep into the six figures. He had a nice home and a career that would only take him higher. If they were worried about money, they needn’t be.

He wasn’t a criminal, and he wasn’t a bad man. His past history of juvenile delinquency was behind him. He might be covered in tattoos beneath his business suit, and he wasn’t above slapping on a leather jacket and jeans to blaze over asphalt with a biker gang, but he was sick of being judged. He was worthy, damn it! If Zoya could see past the exterior to his inner self, then why couldn’t her parents?

He was loyal, trustworthy, and hardworking, and he had integrity. Micah didn’t know what more they could ask—although he knew her Maman and Baba had concerns over his lack of religious affiliation, or rather the fact he wasn’t Muslim, but that couldn’t be helped. Micah had toggled with the idea of converting just to appease Zoya’s parents, but he knew it wouldn’t be a sincere move.

They’d have to accept him as he was. He ground his teeth and tried to envision how a marriage to Zoya would play out without her parents’ support. She’d be miserable. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to convince Taba and Musa that he was the man Zoya needed and desired. He wasn’t afraid to take the fight straight to their door, if he had to, because Zoya’s delivery had apparently resulted in them leveraging their considerable control over her. But, they couldn’t control him. Staring out the window of his office at the scenic view beyond the glass, Micah contemplated when and how he should approach them.

He knew Zoya often spent Saturdays with them for dinner since it was the only day of the week all of them were available to sit down and enjoy one another. Her father was off work on Saturdays. Miad would probably be skulking around. Her mother, he knew, was a homemaker. She would be there. He only wished he knew more about the family, so he could better plan what to say and do to make the pop-up visit flow as smoothly as possible.

“Well,” he murmured to himself, “I’ve been in tighter jams and talked my way out.” He tried to have confidence, but the truth was that this was a delicate matter. If he said the wrong thing, he could lose Zoya forever. He couldn’t let that happen. He was bound and determined to marry her. Barring gaining her family’s acceptance and permission to press his suit, the only other option was to somehow sneak Zoya out of the house. He sighed. Either way, someone had to lose.

***

“Zoya, you have to eat,” Taba called through the door. She knocked again, but her daughter didn’t deign to respond. Sighing in frustration, the middle-aged housewife shuffled from the door.

Zoya glared out the window of her bedroom, refusing to acknowledge her mother’s attempt to pretend like nothing was out of the ordinary. She was lying in the bed she hadn’t slept in since she was in her teens, surrounded by the accoutrements of a former life. The bedroom walls were papered in cool hues of green and ivory damask with a gauzy pink valance cascading down around the picture window. She couldn’t escape through the window because the night of her “house arrest” her Baba had nailed the sill shut.

The white bookshelf next to the bed was crammed with dolls and teenage romance novels, old toys, and a piggybank. An ivory armoire placed against the wall facing her bed was still crowded with clothes from high school, and she could tell none of her things had been touched in years. It should have made her feel sentimental. Instead, it made her feel like her parents had been keeping the asylum waiting and ready for her all along. The décor screamed adolescence, and as much as she had loved her elegant, hand-carved, full-sized bed when she was growing up, the sight of the pink and mint green bedspread for the third day in a row made her want to set the room on fire.

She missed her apartment. She missed Callie. Her Maman had confiscated her cellphone and her car keys, leaving Zoya with no way to get in touch with Callie or Micah. She could only imagine how worried they must be, and her rage boiled hotter. She had never imagined things would come to this. Miad’s betrayal was a blow, but her parents had hurt her even more by accepting his explanations and thinking the worst of her.

It was true that she was in a relationship with a man her parents might not accept, but Zoya was an adult. She was sick of following orders. She wanted to make her own decisions now. Even if she made mistakes, they would be her mistakes. Instead, she was being forced to cater to Miad’s whims—when, in fact, she was sure he was only doing this to keep her parents from realizing his new lows. The drinking, the gambling, the detrimental habits would be his undoing, and while they were busy bothering with keeping tabs on Zoya, they were missing the warning signs.

“They can’t do this.” She swung her legs around to the side of her bed and pushed to her feet, marching over to her door with a determined stride. She opened it, seeing the plate on the floor she stepped over her dinner and boldly walked down the hall. She made it as far as the living room before her mother stepped out of the kitchen with a cold stare.

“You’re not going anywhere without Miad,” Taba replied.

“Miad isn’t here. He’s never here these days, or have you even noticed? He’s probably at the pool hall or a bar, someplace where they’ll keep the cheap liquor flowing, Maman. You should be worried about him, not me!”

“You will not disrespect me.”

Zoya spun away from the front door and threw up her hands in despair. “Is it disrespect that I just want to live? This is crazy, Maman. We are a progressive family! This isn’t like you and Baba. What do you think keeping me here will do? Do you think it will make me more prone to do as the three of you say? And, at what point does what I want come into play?”

Taba closed the distance between them and slapped Zoya. She pointed a sharp finger at her daughter and spat, “You should want to honor and obey and respect those who have sacrificed so much for you to live this life you think you have a right to, ungrateful little girl. Your father is out right now working to earn money to support you! Yet, you stand here and speak to me like this? Have you lost your mind?”

“Maman, I’m losing more than my mind here,” Zoya ground out, clutching her face. Tears glistened in her eyes. She was losing the respect she had for them, that they would stoop to such levels. She sniffed and dried up her tears, staring unflinchingly into Taba’s flinty eyes. “How long do you think you can keep me here like this?”

“Until Javid makes an honest woman of you. He’ll be here to visit after mosque on Friday. You will accept his proposal, and you will marry him, and that’s final. I’ll have no more of you consorting with the unclean spirits of this land. You’re above them, Zoya. You’re above that. Somehow you allowed yourself to be debased, but I intend to remind you of your place of high-standing. Whoever he is...it’s over between you for good. Do you understand me?”

Shaking, Zoya struggled for self-control because she was very close to speaking her mind. It didn’t matter what Taba or Musa or Miad had planned for her future. She wouldn’t marry Javid. They could try to keep her locked up for as long as they felt necessary, but that bit of business wasn’t happening. She lowered her eyes and pushed the anger out of herself. “Maman, I am trying to respect you. But, you should understand me, as well. I cannot do what you ask of me. You can keep me here. You can treat me like I am no kin to you, but you will never get me to marry that man.”

She gently pushed past Taba and dejectedly made her way back to her bedroom. The cold meat was congealing in its own fat on the plate on the floor. She stepped over it again and walked into the room, shutting the door behind her.

***

Her sweat soaked the cotton sheets, as she twisted in the covers, dreaming wild, passionate dreams, soft moans spilling past her lips. She was with him.

Micah pressed her back against the cool grass of paradise. His lips planted flowers of desire down her fertile body until his mouth found her womanhood and he made her blossom wider to accept the rain of his tongue. Flicks of the pink tip against her clitoris sent ripples of pleasure from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, which curled and clenched when he opened his mouth and tongue-kissed her entrance intimately. His lips feathered over her lower lips. His tongue speared in and out of her tight sheath, stroking and licking her to frenzy.

Hazel eyes flew open to stare blindly up at the Tree of Life. The blue sky was hyper-saturated cerulean blue and the blinding white clouds floated over the lush green landscape. The sun was a pearlescent disc above. It was warm as spring, but the fire between them was summer. The breeze that cooled their skin was laden with the scent of all manner of flowers and fruits, aromatic and lovely to the senses.

A dark green snake slithered past in the grass whispering, “Choose.” But, she paid it no mind. It couldn’t hurt her here. There were other animals. Giraffes peered through the large fronds of an oversized alocasia plant, and lions lounged in the sun. Gazelles skipped away from the sounds of their pleasure. Birds winged skyward, trilling eloquent love songs.

They were surrounded by rounded mountains that were covered in chartreuse grass and yellow green trees, and in the valley was a massive lake of mottled aquamarine, lime and dark, still waters. The tall, moss covered sienna tree twisted from a squat trunk and branched out in arabesque lines. Hidden in the fragrant, tri-lobed leaves were dusky, purple fruit, ripe and swollen like his erection. A fat, succulent fig dropped to the grass beside her face.

He rubbed his genitalia against her inner thigh, as he rose slowly over her. His mouth was sweet and swept over hers in a rush that left her breathless and raising her face for more of his kisses. Micah slid his hands to her waist and pulled her against his hot, naked body. He lay back upon the pillow of thick grass and settled her astride him. Zoya languidly smiled down, her dark brown hair flowing over her heavy, full breasts as she lowered herself on his rigid cock. Her head lolled back. Her hair tickled his thighs. Her sighs exhaled like gusts of summer wind. Her breasts bounced and jiggled to the rise and fall of her body rolling up and down over his, and he handled her hips expertly, guiding her movements.

The shaft penetrated her to her core, a delicious sensation that drove her to come down upon him harder, quivering with lust. Zoya clenched her thighs around his hips and placed her hands to his chest to lean forward and stare down into his face. “Are you really here?” Her voice echoed back, her moans overlapping the question, as she gasped and whimpered in ecstasy.

His hand caressed up the length of her arm and his fingers encircled a breast. He squeezed her nipple gently, causing Zoya to bite her lower lip and groan. Micah’s hips rose to counter the downward motion of her pelvis. His shaft was nestled deep within, and she wanted to ride him until the sunset and rose again. Her lips parted, and she moaned his name. He stared up at her with open eyes filled with love and wonder, and she saw through to his soul. She recognized the fabric of his being because it was just like hers. He was hers. They were of one soul.

As they made love, surging against each other in an ebb and flow of bodies, he maintained the connection but sat up and held her closer so that they embraced each other face to face. She undulated against him. His lips skated down the side of her neck. She breathed his name into his ear. He whispered, “I love you” in every language. She understood each word. His body was screaming the confession louder than his voice. The lovemaking was sensual and intense, and they were almost to culmination.

But, far in the distance, there was a clamor at the gate. She heard voices raised, and she pulled away from him in confusion. His words echoed through her. “Don’t stop loving me,” he whispered, stroking up and into her. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders tighter as his muscular arms encircled her waist.

The angry voices grew closer, and there was the crashing of bodies through the trees that surrounded the lakeside. She pulled away from him again, and he tried to draw her attention back to him, but she slipped out of his embrace and rose to her feet to face whatever was coming.

When her Maman and Baba and her brother burst through the dark green foliage to stare at her in horror and fury, Zoya tried to cover her nakedness in shame. “He cannot be here!” Their words came at her from all directions, “Disgrace!” Echoing and loud, angry and overlapping, “This is no place for one such as him!”

Zoya covered her ears and stumbled back into Micah’s arms. Her back was against his chest. He held up a hand between her and her angry family, and Zoya looked back at him. Her eyes flew to them. She had to choose. She couldn’t keep her family and the man she loved. The disharmony caused the paradise landscape to shift and distort like a film catching fire and burning away. In terror at losing everything, she closed her eyes and her body went weightless as she fell away, sinking deeper and deeper into an endless, unfathomable darkness. She cried out in a panic, reaching for their fading faces.

She heard his voice whisper in the dense black void. “We were created of one soul.”

She sat straight up in bed, panting and breathless. The childish bedroom was dark. It took her several minutes to realize where she was and why she was there, and the dream came back to her in snatches. She had known the minute Micah had asked her to marry him that she couldn’t have both—either she could choose to be with him or she could choose to be with her family.

Zoya covered her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to calm the emotions that lingered, feelings of loss and confusion, discord. A sob hitched in her throat, and she swallowed it back down. She was angry…angry with her family for placing her into this predicament. She wanted to choose Micah, but she didn’t want to lose them. She had no way to get to Micah and discuss what they should do together. She wondered if she was being a willful and spoiled child for expecting to have her cake and eat it too, defying her parents’ wishes.

She had told her mother she wouldn’t marry Javid. She meant it. But, Zoya realized with despair, she couldn’t marry Micah either. What was paradise without the joy of her family’s love and support? There was no middle ground, and she couldn’t choose. She would be with him, but she wouldn’t marry him, and she wouldn’t flaunt the relationship in front of her parents. Maybe then there would be a future in which she could have it both ways.

Saturday evening, he put on his best suit, which was considerably nice. Micah Whitfield, for all his tattoos and muscles, cleaned up well when he needed to, and making a trip to the Rao household to have a much-needed chat with Zoya’s folks was one of those times where making a great first impression was paramount. He stood in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the wall of his bedroom, examining his more refined self in the reflection. He folded down the collar of his crisp white shirt over a gray satin tie and snapped cufflinks at his wrists, checking the fall of the black jacket. He dusted imaginary lint from his creased black pants and ran a hand through his dark brown hair.

On the armchair next to the bed sat his closest friend, Quinn, who glanced over at him with a smirk. The burly dark brown man with a headful of neatly twisted dreadlocks was cleaning his fingernails with a switchblade. He was Micah’s right hand man, and with the leader of the biker gang en route to tussle with Zoya’s parents, Quinn would be riding at the head of the gang tonight in Micah’s place. “You sure you wanna do this?” Q asked him.

“What choice do I have? They’ve got her locked up in that house, trying to keep her from me. Zoya has a right to make her own decisions in life, and she chose to be with me. So, I intend to plead my case.”

Quinn chuckled. “Man, I gave up on tryin’ to talk you out of being with the Persian Princess forever ago. I’m talkin’ about are you sure you want to go into that place alone? You’ve got a whole squad behind you. Me and the rest of The Hangman’s Crows would be glad for a little ride and excitement. That piss ass race out west ain’t gone keep our boys’ attention for long. The way I see it, we could lend you hand with all that pleadin’ and what not.”

Micah tittered at his friend’s sarcastic tone. “In other words,” he said, “y’all want to come in with guns blazing and ride out with the girl, right?”

Quinn shrugged, not taking his eyes off his fingernails. “If it gets the job done. No sense in pussy footin’ around.”

Micah sighed with a grin. “Sounds like a good plan. Won’t you ride out to the Asphalt Angels and pick up your girlfriend that same way. Come back and tell me how it works out for you,” he teased good-naturedly. Quinn shot him a look and then shook his head, chuckling.

“Dorin is a different breed than your Persian Princess. Problem with Zoya is she spends too much time doing what she’s told. Problem with Dorin is she don’t spend enough.”

“Just try to keep the kids in line for me tonight, Q. I promise it won’t be long now before I get all this stuff situated and get back to focusing on the gang.”

“Gang’ll be there with or without us. You should think about going ahead and lettin’, uh, Anime, or whatever that fool boy calls himself, join. He’s old enough now, and I got a feeling the ranks will be thinning soon.”

“You better not step down on me yet,” Micah pointed at him. Quinn rose to his feet, considerably tall and imposing. In contrast to Micah’s suit, Q was in his Hangman’s Crows vest, and a pair of dusty, comfortable jeans hung low on his hips. He was wearing combat boots, and his black tattoos glistened against his dark brown skin. He looked like a bad ass, which belied his waning interest in the lifestyle.

“Not just yet,” he muttered. “Convincing Dorin to get out of the game too is about like you convincing Zoya’s brother to straighten up and fly right…but, I’m pretty close to having her sold on the idea. So, maybe there’s a chance for you after all.”

Micah nodded with a soft chuckle. “I hear you.” They’d had the talk about Quinn getting tired of the lifestyle of a biker. He didn’t know how he would handle it when his best friend and confidante walked away from the motorcycle club, but Micah figured he’d better start coming up with an alternate wingman soon. He could see by the way Quinn dragged and stalled about heading out to meet with the gang that the drive just wasn’t in him anymore.

He followed Q out the bedroom door and down the stairs to the living room. It was around six in the evening, and Micah had to leave, but Quinn paused at the threshold before leaving the house and turned back to Micah with a warning. “Just be careful with that brother of hers. Word around town is he’s a desperate man. Got people after him and shit. He really doesn’t have much to lose if he decides he wants to come at you the wrong way.”

“Miad is the least of my concerns. He’s a bully, but he’s not a threat.”

“He’s a petty thug who knows people that know people. I wouldn’t trust him. For his reputation’s sake alone, he might end up cornering you into a fight you don’t want—just to make himself look better in front of his friends. You know how to reach us if you need us. We’ll be on standby. Anything go left, call us, and we’ll get it right.”

“If I smell a fight, I surely won’t let you fellas miss out. I’ll shout you a holler,” said Micah, as he flung his car keys in the air and caught them, smiling. He waved goodbye to his friend and locked up after Quinn left. He threw on the alarm and jogged to the garage, climbing into his classic 1969 Pontiac GMO.

He would’ve preferred to tear down the highway on the back of his Victory Cross Roads, but he knew, for appearances sake, he had to take the car. When he pulled up in the driveway in front of the Rao house, Micah took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself to enter. “Just stay cool,” he said to himself. “Say what you have to say. Don’t be temperamental.”

He chuckled to himself as he climbed from the car and stood to his full height, his shoulders squared to do battle. They weren’t expecting him, and he didn’t know what to expect. When he made it to the door, he rang the bell and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and waiting for someone to open up and let him inside. Ostensibly, one peek through the peephole by whoever was on the other side could lead to the door not being opened, but he saw the cars in the parking lot. He knew someone was home. Micah wasn’t leaving until he had his chance to at least talk to Zoya, if not her parents.

The door was swept open by a middle-aged man with full, fleshy features and suspicious eyes. Musa Rao looked the gentleman at the door over. He didn’t know him. “May I help you?” he asked politely. Perhaps the fellow was looking for a neighbor’s house. Musa glanced out at the classic car parked in his driveway. Definitely not someone there for Miad. His son’s friends tended to be a little showier.

Micah stuck out his hand and put a relaxed smile on his face. “How are you? I’m Micah Whitfield.”

Musa’s ears perked up at the name, and his eyebrows came together in a scowl. “Micah Whitfield?” It was the name Miad had given as the man Zoya had foolishly gotten herself involved with. Musa crossed his arms and barred Micah’s entrance. “What do you want?”

Micah squinted, undeterred. “I’m here to speak with you and your wife about Zoya. I’m concerned about her. She’s very dear to me and, as I understand it, she hasn’t been allowed out of the house. You realize that’s a bit unorthodox around here.”

“What I do in my house is of no concern to you.”

“All the same, as a friend of hers, I’d hate to jump to conclusions. I just wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

Zoya heard his voice from the living room. She lurched to her feet and rushed to the foyer. “Micah?” His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “What are you doing here?” she bubbled. She couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. She had missed him so much. The dinner with Javid had gone terribly. Her parents were so furious with her, and Miad wasn’t speaking to her at all. She had imagined she would be forced to suffer through their angry silence all weekend. The sight of Micah was like a ray of light. But her father glowered back at her, and she stood her ground, not coming any closer.

“Now you see she is well,” Musa spat inhospitably. He started to shut the door in the man’s face, but Micah’s considerable strength held it open.

“Yes, but there’s still the matter of that discussion we need to have.”

“My wife and I have nothing to say to you. Goodbye, Mr. Whitfield.”

Miad stepped into the hallway. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here,” he slurred. “Figured you’d come calling eventually. Come to take a peek at the family harlot?”

Musa growled his son’s name and pointed sharply at the living room. “Go back in there and silence your filthy mouth.”

Micah didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken with you.”

“I’ll call the police,” Musa threatened.

“I won’t mind their presence, Mr. Rao. I’m not trying to make this difficult. Let’s be reasonable.”

Musa glared out at the neighborhood, knowing his neighbors might be watching. He reluctantly waved the man inside if for no other reason than to hurry him back out the door. “Taba!” he shouted for his wife. She came out of the kitchen with a startled look at having unexpected company. Taba patted her dark, lustrous hair and smiled graciously, thinking Micah must be someone from Musa’s job. Then, she noticed the look on her husband’s face.

“What’s this?” she asked, her smile wavering.

Musa gestured to Zoya. “Something your daughter has brought calling.”

Miad giggled and sat back in his familiar seat on the living room couch. He reached between the seat cushions to pull out his trusty flask for a drink while he watched the fireworks. “Here, come sit next to me, Zoya. Let’s enjoy the show together.” She glared at him.

“What are you doing here, Micah?” Zoya asked again soberly. She had been thinking all week, going back and forth between what she should do about her future. She had ultimately decided she should try to adhere to her family’s wishes as much as she could, short of marrying Javid, and she had hoped she could maintain a clandestine relationship with Micah as well. She had no idea what to think of his visit. She stood nervously beside the couch.

Her father faced Micah. Her mother was at the archway between the living room and the kitchen. Everyone waited impatiently, and Micah studied them all, as if pondering where to start. He smiled at Zoya and replied, “I had hoped we’d be able to have this discussion with your parents under better circumstances, but after not hearing back from you, I gathered things hadn’t gone as expected when you told them about me asking you to marry me.”

Zoya’s gaze flew to her feet at the shocked gasp of her mother and her father’s furious sputtering. “M-marry you?” he said in amusement, laughing angrily. Micah realized then that she hadn’t spoken to her parents about the future wedding at all. He frowned in confusion, wondering why they had locked her away, then.

“I can see it now,” Miad quipped. “The two of you riding off on the back of that shitty little motorcycle of yours. Hey, Micah, tell Maman and Baba about your motorcycle gang.”

“He’s in a gang?” Musa fired the question at Zoya. “Really, Zoya? A thug? A criminal? This is what you invite into my home?!”

“Baba, it’s not what you think,” she tried to explain.

Micah interjected, “By gang, he means motorcycle club. I’m not affiliated with any gang activity. I’m actually a mechanical engineer by profession.” He gritted his teeth, wishing he could loosen some of Miad’s. “Mr. and Mrs. Rao, I love Zoya. I understand that you don’t know me from Adam, but I would love for us to all get to know each other better, because I intend to marry her. I know it would make Zoya happy if you can find it in your hearts to give me the opportunity to show you I am a worthy mate.”

Taba muttered angrily and turned her back on them, walking back into the kitchen with a shake of her head. “I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense.”

“I don’t care if you’re the President of the United States, you have behaved improperly with my only daughter. You can’t seriously expect me to grant you permission to tarnish her even further with this ridiculous idea of a union between the two of you. It’s obvious you’re not Islamic, Mr. Whitfield. You’d know the error of your ways if you were.”

Miad chuckled softly and swallowed another swig of alcohol. “Ah, go ahead and let them be together Baba,” he slurred. “I’m positive he’s already taken her virginity.”

Zoya colored, Micah’s gaze wavered, and Musa realized his uncouth son was speaking the truth. In sheer outrage he pointed at the front door with a shaking hand. “Get. Out.”

Micah groaned inwardly, knowing there was no recovering from the blow to his integrity that Miad had just dealt. He glowered at the cackling younger Rao. “Mr. Rao,” he tried again to get through to Zoya’s father.

“Get out of my house!”

Micah turned to Zoya before anyone could stop him. “I’ll be back for you,” he murmured.

Her scared eyes flew to Miad, who launched himself up from the couch and threw himself at Micah. Miad shoved Micah as hard as he could, sending the biker stumbling back. Miad grabbed Micah by the collar of his jacket and succeeded in slinging him at the front door. “You heard my father,” he said with a malicious grin. “Get out of our house.”

Micah angrily straightened his jacket and looked one last time at the scene of destruction he was leaving in his wake. Nothing had gone according to plan, and it was all because Miad was bound and determined to keep him apart from Zoya. He scowled at his nemesis and jerked open the door, shutting it with force behind him as he walked out to his car. When he got inside the Pontiac, Micah slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Damn you, Miad!” he growled in impotent rage. There was nothing he could do but leave and try to figure out some way to get Zoya out of the house at a later date.

Zoya had no more bow left in her spine. She stood to her full, modest height, adjusting her hijab over her glossy dark brown hair, as she squared her narrow shoulders and lifted her head defiantly. She had just watched Micah walk out the door and realized she couldn’t bend to her parents’ or her brother’s wishes anymore. But, disobeying her parents was easier in mind than in deed. Zoya swallowed thickly. She opened her mouth to speak, but Musa glared at her, as if daring her to make a sound. Zoya wavered.

Her father looked so bitterly angry, but more than that, he looked disappointed in her. Musa Rao was a short, proud man with a slightly balding head, and his paunch overhung his belt, but he was neatly dressed. He had ethics and morals he had tried to instill into his offspring. He planted his meaty hands on his hips and glared at Zoya, not even wanting an explanation for why she had invited over the disrespectful American, knowing fully well there was no way they could accept him. Nothing she could say would make the situation any better.

Musa was livid. Micah Whitfield look like a gentleman, but he was no more that than a dog could be a man. He had come into Musa’s home and spouted nonsense about being in love with his daughter, only to have it revealed that he had already deflowered her. Musa wouldn’t abide it. Zoya tried to speak again. Musa shook his head viciously, pointing a finger at the girl standing in the center of the main room of the Rao house. “No,” he spat.

“Maman,” Zoya turned to her mother, who had materialized back at the kitchen archway at the sound of the scuffle between Miad and Micah.

Taba, too, couldn’t seem to hold her gaze. The diminutive housewife studied the floor, wringing her hands, refusing to talk for fear of what angry words would fly past her lips. Taba had always had the hardest time bridling her tongue. She had suspected, nearly known, her daughter was out defiling herself. A man like Micah Whitfield wouldn’t have gotten up the courage to come to their door if he hadn’t at some point sampled Zoya’s now tarnished goods. Taba ground her teeth, suffering in silence, her expectations and hopes dashed. Her daughter would never get a fine husband after this.

Zoya’s bitter hazel eyes flew to Miad, the culprit in this. While her parents glowered at her like she was vile, her brother was openly drinking from his flask, leering at her with a smug grin. Miad was back sprawled out on the living room couch with his shirt half open, a scruffy beard covering his handsome face, his dark brown eyes beady with malice. His hand shook as he lifted the silver canteen to his lips and gulped the whiskey down. He gestured to her with the hand holding the flask. “You should have listened to me,” Miad slurred.

“I have half a mind to put you out of this house myself,” Musa growled to Zoya. “But, that would only give you license to run back into the arms of your filthy lover. I will not condone it! I will not abide it! Not of my child.”

“Baba, I love him!” Zoya shouted. “Tell me the wrong in a love that is sincere and all-encompassing, a love that would sacrifice so much and break so many boundaries just to flourish. You can lock me away in this house. You can send Micah away, but you can never take away the love that I have for him in my heart.”

She fled the room. She couldn’t stand beneath their accusing looks any longer. Zoya pushed past her mother and through the archway of the living room. She raced down the hall to her bedroom. As she ran, tears cascaded down her face and sobs were torn from her chest. She couldn’t understand them, and it was clear they were making no attempts to understand her. Zoya pushed open her bedroom door and slammed it shut behind her, marching to her bed and throwing herself down to the mattress.

She sniffed, eyes blinded by sorrow, and she tried to stop crying. Over and over the scene replayed in her head. Micah had been so respectful. He had pleaded his case so eloquently, merely asking them to give him a chance to show he would be a good husband to Zoya. She had given up any hope of having him as her husband, so she hadn’t even broached the idea to her parents after the fall-out. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would show up at her house and ask her parents outright for her hand in marriage, but he had.

The interminable future lie ahead of her, a future in which he couldn’t take part. It was the hardest thing that Zoya had ever had to encounter. She had endured the month of separation the first time when she had stayed away from Micah, trying to follow Miad’s orders. She had almost been torn apart by missing him when her parents had confined her to their house in another attempt to keep the lovers separate. But, the prospect of never seeing him again, the prospect of Micah giving up after her family’s rude denial of the offer for marriage, made Zoya’s throat constrict and her lungs wheeze for air.

He had said he would come back for her, but she didn’t know how he’d possibly pull that off. She cried loudly and with abandon, pouring her sorrow into her pillows. Her body felt battered. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, as she doubled over in the bed and wrapped her arms around herself. And then she abruptly stopped.

Because she was fed up with it. Callie had been right. Zoya couldn’t let them dictate her life. The resentment that was already building up within was evidence that her parents, though well-intentioned, were potentially severing any chances of a relationship with their daughter. Micah’s only error had been in asking for permission. Sniffling, Zoya reached for her cellphone on the nightstand and began to dial his number. Permission hadn’t been granted. Her parents would just have to forgive her, instead.

“Zoya?” He answered in a rush, like he hadn’t expected her to call.

“Micah, I need you to meet me at the supermarket a few blocks away from my parents’ house. I’m getting out of here. I can’t be without you.”

“Darling, I miss you just as much. There’s no point in making them more upset tonight, though, and I don’t want you to be in any danger. Your father looked like he was ready to kill me when Miad said—Let’s give them a chance to calm down and get comfortable with the idea of what’s done is done.”

“You don’t understand, Micah! They’ll never be comfortable with the idea. My father intends that I never see you again. I’m not giving up, and you shouldn’t give up. Don’t you see? This is the only way! I’m leaving in a half hour. I have to pack a bag. Just be there.”

She hung up the phone before he had time to protest further, knowing instinctively that Micah wouldn’t let her down regardless of his qualms. He’d be at the supermarket. Zoya pushed up off the bed and yanked a carry-on bag out of the top of her closet, stuffing a few articles of clothing within. She still had belongings at the apartment she had shared with Callie prior to her Maman forcing her to come back to live in the family home. Zoya planned to retrieve those things as well.

She’d move back in with Callie or move in with Micah, but she wasn’t staying here. There was no way she could allow her parents to rule over another minute of her life. Meanwhile, while they browbeat her over dating Micah, their only son was deteriorating more and more right before their very eyes. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her.

Miad burst into her room as she was packing. “Where are you going?” he spat. “You’re not to leave the house.”

“Leave me alone, Miad. You have no more control over me. You can’t even control yourself!”

He yanked at her arm. “Come here.”

Zoya yelped at the squeezing pain of his grip. “Let me go!”

She tried to pull away from her brother, but she wasn’t as strong as Miad. He dragged her out of her room with Zoya literally kicking and screaming. “I heard you on the phone,” he growled. “You want to meet that cur, I’ll take you to him myself. We have no more use for you in this family. You refuse to see the light, then dwell in darkness!”

“Miad!” Musa yelled.

“She will learn!” Miad cried out savagely, as he pulled her resistant body through the living room and out the front door. Gravel kicked up beneath her shuffling feet, and Zoya jerked and twisted. Still, Miad held fast. He pulled open the car door in the backseat and shoved her inside. Miad swiftly hit the child safety lock and slammed the door, blocking her from climbing back out. He stumbled over to the other side and did the same. Zoya was trying to climb out through the space between the driver’s and passenger’s seats to get away. Miad climbed into the driver’s seat and elbowed her back.

Zoya screamed, “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

He had been drinking. She had no desire to ride anywhere with a drunk driver. Even if Miad had no concern for his own life, Zoya had reasons to live. She threw her body forward and reached for the keys, but he dangled them beyond her grasp with a nasty laugh. “You say we don’t support you and we try to control you? Well, which one is it, Zoya? I’m only trying to give you what you asked now, and yet you still fight me,” he ground out.

The smell of liquor roiled off him in waves. Zoya slumped back, tears streaming down her face. She stared wildly back at the house where her mother had run out behind them, but Musa was pulling her back inside. If she knew her father, he was probably warning Taba not to cause a scene. Musa would be appalled if their wealthy neighbors witnessed the family squabble.

It was dusk, and the streetlights were popping on along the tree-lined avenue. The houses of the neighborhood were well-kept and nice cars crowded the driveways. It was a picturesque, dreamy twilight setting, at odds with the scene taking place in the Rao yard.

Zoya gasped for air, wondering at which point her life had become such a nightmare. “Fine, Miad, fine!” she exploded. “Take me to the supermarket to meet Micah. He’ll be there shortly and take me off of all of your hands for good. I say goodbye and good riddance!”

Miad jammed the key in the ignition and shot backwards out of the driveway at alarming speeds. Zoya was slung to the side and scrambled into her seatbelt, gripped by panic. He was really doing it. Her heart hammered beneath her chest as the car struggled to remain on the right side of the road. Her brother’s driving was erratic and far too fast for safety. Trees were a shadowy blur.

He careened through a curve and bounced over a dip in the road, darting into the stream of traffic on the main highway, as she clung on for dear life. The vehicle narrowly missed clipping another car. Horns honked. “You’ll kill us both!” she protested to no avail.

“You’re already dead to me, Zoya! I showed you nothing but love and respect, k-kindness and consideration. I wanted nothing…nothing but the best for you,” he sputtered the words in a drunken stammer. He slammed on brakes as the truck in front of him eased to a halt at a red light. Miad whipped around the truck and powered onward, blithely ignoring the traffic signal. A car with the right-of-way screeched and squealed, fishtailing to avoid colliding with them, and Zoya screamed in terror.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” she shouted.

He shouted back mockingly, “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to me, Zoya?”

“I’m not doing anything to you, brother, please!” She changed her tone, realizing her anger and fear were only driving his outrage. She leaned forward with tears streaming down her face and told him sincerely, “I love you with all my heart, Miad. I always looked up to you. I know that you’ve been going through some troubles, and I only wanted to get you some help. But, this situation with me and Micah has nothing to do with you. I’m not trying to defy you or Maman and Baba. I just want to live!”

“You selfish girl, when will you learn?” he sounded incredulous. “Look at me, Zoya. No one is perfect, but we all have a role we have to play. I play mine. You were supposed to play yours. All you had to do…all you had to do was marry Javid.”

Zoya shook her head in confusion. She didn’t understand. “Miad, I couldn’t marry Javid. I didn’t love Javid.”

“I said play your role!” he shouted furiously.

The wheel jerked in his rage. Zoya yelled, “Look out!” The Camaro swerved into oncoming traffic, and a semi-truck barreled towards them. He pulled back into his lane dangerously slowly. Zoya sobbed in horror. “Do you intend to kill me?”

They were driving past the supermarket. She realized too late Miad had never had any intention of taking her to Micah. He was on a death mission. “I told you. You’re dead to me,” he said with menacing calm.

“Please don’t,” she pleaded.

“Had you married the doctor, all of my problems would have been handled.”

“What problems, Miad? I’ll try to help you any way I can. Just, please, please take me home! We don’t have to meet Micah.” Zoya dashed the tears from her face to try to see the road clearly. It was dark, and she was scared if she looked away, she wouldn’t even get to see her last minutes. Sniffling and trying to compose herself, she struggled to talk some sense into her truculent sibling, but Miad wouldn’t hear her.

He waved away her plaintive cries to turn around. Ahead, a single headlight speared through the darkening evening traveling toward them, and he let out a chuckle at his good fortune. “Lady Luck, you’re too kind. Shut up, fool girl. There’s hope yet. I’ll see to it that you do as you need to do. There might still be time for you to marry Javid so he can cancel the debt I owe him. Let’s make sure that bastard, Micah, finally learns what ‘stay the fuck away’ means.” He gunned the accelerator and sped toward the approaching motorcycle. He eased into the oncoming lane, still traveling at full speed. The muscle car’s engine growled and roared and the wheels gripped the road as he pressed onward.

Zoya gasped in shock as she realized what he was trying to do. It was Micah. “No! No, I won’t let you do it!” Mustering her courage, Zoya flung herself at her brother, tearing at his arms. “Get back on the other side, Miad! This isn’t a game! You’ll kill him!”

“Better him than me!” Miad fought her off, losing control of the wheel in the process. She saw the motorcycle speed past them, but the Camaro continue its headlong rush. Zoya saw her life flash before her eyes, the good and the bad. There was the squeal of tires as the car tried to stay on the road, but the vehicle slid off the asphalt and the dewy evening grass whistled slickly beneath the wheels.

The car jounced down the steep incline of the shoulder of the roadway toward the thick tree line, and she let out a terrified scream, flinging her arms up in front of her face. The Camaro plowed into the trees with a sickening crunch and scrape of metal, glass shattering. It was the loudest, most horrific sound she had ever heard in her life. The force of impact threw her hard against the back seat, hard enough for the blow to knock the wind out of her and momentarily knock her unconscious.

She would have been thrown about like a rag doll if not for her seatbelt. Miad was not so lucky. He wasn’t wearing one.

With a painful sharp inhale, Zoya opened her eyes, wincing at the pain in her head and neck. “Miad?” she cried out, unbuckling her seatbelt and painfully pushing forward. Her brother was no longer in the driver’s seat and the windshield was completely shattered. She looked ahead in sheer horror to see his crumpled, blood-stained body in a heap on the hood of the white car. Smoke hissed around him, and he was unmoving, not making a sound.

Sobbing and shaking her head, Zoya crawled over the shards of glass, not caring that her hands and knees were getting torn to shreds. She couldn’t get either of the front doors open. The car was battered and smashed like an aluminum can. She had to climb out through the busted window, across more glass and the steaming hot hood. Oblivious to her own pain, Zoya fought her way to her brother.

“Miad, wake up!” she cried.

A car door slammed at the edge of the road. Zoya looked up in a panic to see strangers rushing to her aid. “He’s not breathing,” she whimpered. She covered her mouth to keep the helpless sobs down. Someone dragged her from the top of the car. Then, Zoya heard a familiar voice, as more men clambered down the hillside to the wrecked Camaro.

“Zoya!”

Micah pushed past the people gathered around the wreckage. He had been right behind Miad, had seen the madman try to run the other motorcyclist off the road. Miad hadn’t realized Micah had shown up to the Rao house in his Pontiac instead of on his bike. When Zoya had called for him to come pick her up from the supermarket, he was only a few blocks away from the house. Micah had pulled over at the meeting point to wait for her, but he had seen Miad’s car speed past, and he had seen Zoya in the back seat.

Micah had called the police and pursued the white Camaro in the hopes that once Miad stopped, he could get Zoya out of the car. But, Miad hadn’t stopped. He had crashed. Micah’s heart plummeted to his feet as he surveyed the damage. Zoya was covered in blood when he pulled her into his arms.

“It’s all my fault, Micah. It’s all my fault!” She cried inconsolably.

Micah shushed her and gently set her aside to see what he could do for Miad. The rest of the gawking strangers were standing around, shaking their heads, but no one seemed to have hope for the other passenger of the wrecked car. Micah moved forward and quickly assessed things. He knew cars. He knew engines. This one was likely to blow. “Everyone move back. Get back! There’s a chance of an explosion.”

His shouted orders galvanized the crowd to back away from the car, and Micah reached up to try to pull Miad away. At that moment, the younger Rao groggily turned his head and weakly pushed Micah away. “Get…away, swine.”

“Miad, there’s no time for this. Now let me help you!”

“Miad, do as he says!” Zoya cried out. Micah glanced back. She was too close. He gestured for her to back away. Someone from the crowd of onlookers grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

Micah turned back to Miad. “Can you move? You’ll have to help me. Ease forward on the car, if you can?”

Miad shook his head. “I told you, I don’t need your help.”

“Let me help you!” He heard the ticking, and he knew he was running out of precious time. Micah reached for Miad, but he couldn’t pull the heavy deadweight forward without Miad at least using his elbows to push himself up. He struggled anyway, hoping he could get him free. “Miad, everything that has happened between us has happened for a reason. Not to separate us but to bring us together. Think of Allah’s will, Miad? Would he put us here in this same place at this point in time for me not to help you? Now, please! Come to me.”

Miad gathered up the spit and blood in his mouth and spewed it at Micah. Micah stumbled back, and the hood of the car erupted in flames. “No,” he groaned. He tried to fight through the fire to get to Miad, but the flames licked at his suit jacket. Micah ripped off the jacket before he was burned any further. Miad started to cry out in pain. The flames leapt higher as something in the engine popped loudly, and Micah jogged away from the inferno, snatching Zoya in his arms so he could cover her ears and shield her eyes.

She screamed out in agony along with her brother—though Micah tried to protect her. Even as the police arrived and then the firetruck and ambulance and the crowd dispersed, she cried. Micah drove her to the hospital, knowing there was no way Miad would make it.

Everything else happened in a blur. She called her parents from the hospital phone as Micah stood next to her, lending whatever support he could in the darkness that was the day her brother died. “He was trying to run a motorcyclist off the road,” she sobbed into the payphone. “The Camaro crashed, Baba. He thought it was Micah, but it wasn’t. He wouldn’t let us help him. Micah tried!”

When the Raos got to the emergency room and found her sitting, staring blankly at the floor like she was all cried out, Musa Rao sank to his knees with a loud wail that echoed through the emergency room. Zoya grabbed her mother before Taba could collapse. Micah tried to approach. He couldn’t watch Zoya and her family suffer. But Zoya looked up at him dully, eyes vacant. She shook her head. Her brother was dead. “You have to leave,” she told him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Callie said again.

“I should have done something,” Zoya sobbed.

“What could you have done? You said Micah tried to get him down,” she stopped herself before going on and saying more that might upset Zoya in this fragile time.

Zoya had moved back into the apartment the day after the car accident, and her parents had let her. They couldn’t stand the sight of her. Taba and Musa were convinced that had she never gotten involved with Micah, Miad would still be around, and perhaps that was true. Zoya couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

Micah had called over and over, and she hadn’t answered any of the calls. She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know what would become of her life, her future, now that everything had happened. She spent the next few days trying to assist her family with funeral preparations. Though they were upset with her, they didn’t excommunicate her completely. Still, the relationship was stiff and formal. Musa barely spoke to her at all. Taba was curt and short with her. Neither of them seemed to understand that she hurt as much as they hurt.

When Micah showed up at her door the day of the funeral, Zoya was stunned and saddened, but she let him into the apartment with a wan smile. He took her into his arms and held her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry all of this happened.”

Callie stepped out of her bedroom with a sheepish apology. She was the one who had called Micah over. “I had to let him know it was today.”

Zoya nodded. “It’s okay, friend. I needed him.”

Micah hugged her closer. “Do you want me to go with you to the funeral? I’ll understand if you don’t. I just don’t want you to be alone,” he murmured against Zoya’s black hijab. She looked beautiful in a long, filmy black dress that tastefully showed off her curves but modestly covered her. He pulled back to stare into her eyes.

“I want you to be there,” she whispered. He swiped away a falling tear from her cheek. She leaned into his palm. The love she felt for him was like a stabilizing rod that strengthened her. His presence was a kind of cure for the depression and sadness lingering like a malaise in her system over the death of her brother. She knew her parents wouldn’t be happy to see him, and she knew they would be less than pleased to see her. If Micah didn’t go to the funeral with her, there would be no one for her to lean on. Callie couldn’t make it. She had to work.

Micah was already dressed in an attractive black suit. She buried her nose against his chest and inhaled his woody scent, finally feeling at peace.

They took her car to the funeral. The minute her mother saw her, Taba got Musa’s attention, and he glowered. He marched over to the couple climbing out of the Fiat and spat one word. “Go.”

Zoya looked up in stunned disbelief. “Baba, I’m here for Miad.”

“You choose to be with this man after what he’s done to us? He’s the reason your brother isn’t with us anymore, and you bring him here? I say, go. You’ve chosen, so be it. You are no longer a part of this family Zoya Rao.”

Micah stepped between them. “No, Mr. Rao. I’ll leave. I only intended to pay my respects. You don’t have to send Zoya away from the funeral on my account. I apologize for intruding.”

Musa pushed him back. “This isn’t about a funeral,” he growled. Taba grabbed at her husband’s arm, but he gently pushed her away. “This is about Zoya giving up her values and her morals to be with you. If she stays with you, we will disown her. That’s final.”

Micah looked at Zoya in alarm. She was trembling with embarrassment and anger. There were guests filing into the funeral, which hadn’t yet started. Passers-by were watching the tense discussion—though the conversation was too quiet for anyone else to hear. Still, it was appalling to think that her parents would choose this day of all days to make such an announcement. He put his hand to Zoya’s lower back. He thought about the plans they had made for a future together. He thought about how tempting it was to whisk her away from the conflict and show her he could make her happy, but he could never ask her to choose between him and her family. It wasn’t fair.

“It’s okay, Zoya,” he murmured sadly. He was willing to give up the dream of marriage to keep her family intact. Taba and Musa were her last remaining links now that Miad was gone. Perhaps at some point in the future, there might be a chance for Micah and Zoya to be happy together, but he had to walk away now. “I’ll get back home. You need to be with your family.”

He pulled away from her, intending to walk up the block and hail a cab, but Zoya grabbed him by the wrist and halted him. “No,” she replied firmly. She turned back to her parents. “Maman, Baba, I love you both. I respect you both. But, I love this man. I could’ve accepted your edict he not come to the funeral. However, I won’t accept cutting Micah out of my life completely. If that makes you feel I am choosing him over you, then you’re wrong. I choose to keep and love all of you. It is you who choose to cast me out for that love.”

“It’s final,” Musa replied resolutely. “We disown you.”

Zoya inhaled shakily, realizing this was truly it. “Goodbye, Maman. Goodbye, Baba. Let’s go, Micah.”

Micah was amazed by her bravery and resilience. He wordlessly walked around the car and opened the passenger door for Zoya, and he climbed in the driver’s seat. He cranked the ignition and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He pulled away from the curb and eased into traffic, feeling bittersweet. “I’m lucky to have you,” he murmured. “I love you. Just know that I don’t want you to sever ties with your family on my behalf, and I’ll do everything in my power to help them to eventually come around.”

She looked him in the eyes. “I know, Micah. I love you, too. Like I said, I didn’t choose you over them. I chose to love unconditionally, and they did not. I pray someday my parents come around. But, if they don’t…I’ll love them regardless. It’s time for me to have a life of my own now. I want to live that life with you. So, in answer to the question you asked me weeks ago, the answer is yes. I want to marry you, Micah Whitfield. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We were made for each other.”

“Callie’s on the way to babysit the kids,” Micah replied in a hurry. He breezed into the kitchen where Zoya was preparing an early dinner and kissed his wife’s lips, lingering with a smile at the familiar feel of her mouth against his. Micah closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, smells good. You almost done in here? If we hurry, we can squeeze in a quickie while the twins are asleep before she arrives.”

“But, if we wait, we can have something to look forward to for the date we have planned this evening,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“Better suggestion—how about we do both?” He grinned as he backed out of the kitchen.

“I like that idea, too,” she called after him. “Maybe we can grow some tentacles while we’re at it so we can really multi-task! Cook, clean, make love.”

He laughed out loud and darted through the house picking up the kids’ things to get the place in order before the date. The normally neat and orderly living room was covered with toys for Aytan and Zhaleh, their three-year-old twins. Micah and Zoya had spent the first day of their vacations from work having a play-day with them, and there were books strewn across the couch. In the middle of the room Aytan’s model train set looped around Zhaleh’s dollhouse, and army men were conferring with stuffed animals around the coffee table. The three year olds had had a blast, but Micah had finally gotten them to take a nap, and now he was in a rush to put the place back together before Callie arrived.

He smiled in excitement at the prospect of getting out of the house. The couple had been married for five years, the last three years of which were spent navigating the oft-times unpredictable waters of being first-time parents to rambunctious, lively twins. Between their kids and their careers, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a chance to take Zoya out. They were overdue for some QT, and Micah had the night mapped out. They’d check in at the hotel and maybe wile away the evening doing grown-up stuff in the room, and then they’d grab a bite to eat from someplace laid back. After that he wanted to take her back to the biker bar where they’d first met.

Micah hadn’t been to The Punchline in ages. The years of happily wedded bliss had led to a gradual but natural shift of his focus from the motorcycle club to his family, but every now and then he liked to remind Zoya that the mechanical engineer in the business suit, the dad in the jogging pants, was still the leather-clad biker dude with whom she had fallen in love, even if they did drive a minivan now. He grimaced at the thought of that van.

“So, dinner’s done. I’ve portioned out the kids’ snacks and left them on the countertop for Callie, along with emergency contact numbers and anything else I thought she’ll need. All that’s left is to get dressed. Need some help in here?” Zoya popped into the living room, and Micah marveled at how motherhood and her satisfaction with her life only seemed to make her more beautiful.

“Looking good, Mrs. Whitfield.”

“Not too shabby yourself, Mr. Whitfield,” she fired back with a saucy grin. Their eyes collided, and she felt the same jolt, the same thrill that always happened at the sight of the man who had defied the odds and won her heart and her hand. He had taken the brunt of her family’s anger, and she had lost their support completely, but Micah and Zoya had made it through together. She couldn’t picture herself being any happier with anyone else. Javid, the man chosen for her by her parents, flashed unbidden into her thoughts, which made her think about the loss of her brother, whom she had named her son after. Yes, Zoya had sacrificed a lot for the life she now lived, and she valued what had come of the sacrifices—despite the accompanying hardship of being disowned by her family.

She had her husband, and he loved her dearly. She had her children, the greatest gifts of all. They lived in a spacious new house, and she worked at an expanding clinic as a physician assistant, while Micah still worked as a mechanical engineer. After her decision to marry the biker, her life had taken a dramatic turn for the better. She had finally taken charge of her future. She hadn’t turned her back on her values, and Zhaleh and Aytan were being raised to have the best of both worlds, both cultures.

“Grab that for me, honey,” Micah directed her to the book he’d dropped. “My hands are full.”

“Mine, too,” Zoya replied with a grin.

They collected all the toys, and Zoya stood back to examine her marginally cleaner living room. “How do two little kids make such a big mess?” Micah muttered, juggling an armful of toys. Having kids was a handful.

“I have no idea, but this’ll have to do,” Zoya judged. “Callie’s their godmother. She knows how they are. She’ll totally understand if everything isn’t in tip top shape when she gets here.” Micah followed Zoya up the stairs to the kids’ room, and they both quietly deposited their bundles of toys into the toy box. Zoya tiptoed to the bookshelf and tucked away the books. When she exited the room where the toddlers were sleeping, she turned to her husband in the hallway with an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. “Tell me we’re taking the motorcycle tonight.”

“We’re taking it.” She squealed in excitement. Micah chuckled and pulled her into his arms for a more intimate kiss. Zoya squirmed against him, as hungry for his touch as she had been ever since the day they first made love. Micah nipped at her lips. “So, put on your leather pants and say goodbye to the mom jeans tonight. I plan on making you forget you’re a married woman.”

She giggled and slipped out of his embrace. “Promises, promises.”

Zoya strolled into their bedroom. She had an outfit laid out on the bed and her bags packed for the night away from the house. They would only stay away the one night because Micah’s mother was coming in town to spend a few days with the family while they were both off work. His mother had accepted her lovingly and unconditionally, and every time Eva came around it made Zoya think of Taba. Her own Maman had turned Micah away without a second thought, not even giving him the chance to show that he was a worthy husband for her daughter.

Zoya sighed regretfully, listening to Micah draw a bath for them in the master bathroom as she peeled out of her clothes and prepared to take a soothing bath with her husband before her best friend arrived. She lived for these moments when the bustle and hurry of things slowed down for a fraction of a second, and she could just appreciate time alone with him, old troubles be damned. Stepping into the steamy bathroom, Zoya smiled at him. He stared back solemnly. Of all the people in the world, her husband knew her best, knew her well enough to almost seem to read her mind.

He confirmed that when he asked, “How do think Taba and Musa have been doing?”

Zoya looked down. Micah beckoned to her from the tub. She climb in and placed her back to his chest as his arms encircled her, and he rested his chin on the crown of her head. “I always wonder that,” she murmured. “I don’t know how they’re doing. I have no way of finding out. They never answer my calls. In fact, I think they changed their number entirely.” She had no idea how her parents were doing. She didn’t even know where they were.

After Miad’s death, her parents had moved out of the home where Zoya and Miad had grown up. She could only imagine how many memories had replayed like phantoms through the haunted rooms before Taba, probably, had convinced Musa the two of them would be better off packing up and starting over. The fact that Zoya had chosen to be with Micah had resulted in them leaving no new address to her.

Micah kissed her shoulder and reached for the towel to slowly start bathing her. His warm touch was a balm. His love was salvation and strength, patient and kind. Zoya turned around in his arms and kissed his lips tenderly. His wet fingers trailed down her back as she settled astride his lap in the wide, deep basined whirlpool tub. She felt his erection nudge against her budding lower flower, and desire flared like a spark ready to ignite.

But, the ringing phone arrested their love making. “It’s probably Callie,” Micah murmured, smiling. He pulled Zoya back for another kiss as the phone chimed again.

“I better answer,” she giggled.

She climbed out of the tub and hurried across the master bedroom, dripping water as she went. “Hello?” There was silence…then a sniff. “Who is this?” Zoya asked, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t want to examine. Something in her knew who was on the phone even before the surprise sound of her mother’s voice spilled over the line.

“Zoya Rao, please,” said Taba.

“Maman,” Zoya choked on a sob. “Maman, is that you?”

Taba replied stiffly, “This is Taba Rao. I was calling to…because I…Well, how are you?”

Zoya sat heavily down on the side of her bed, not knowing what to say, where to start. From the bathroom, she heard water slosh as Micah climbed from the tub, and she looked up at him with tear soaked eyes when he came into the room. He had heard her say, “Maman.” Micah stared at Zoya, amazed at whatever miraculous work had coerced Taba to reach out after all these years, especially just as they were talking about her.

“I’m well, Maman,” Zoya said, laughing through her tears. “You won’t believe me, but just moments ago I was wondering aloud about you and Baba. You…you stopped taking my calls. I worried. All these years, I worried about you.”

She heard her mother suck in a shaky breath. “We’ve been much the same, Zoya. It’s lonely without you and Miad.”

Zoya’s voice hitched as she murmured, “Oh, Maman, but I’m here. I’ve been here all along. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“I thought you hated me,” Zoya whispered.

“How can a mother hate that which comes of her very own loins?”

“Yes…I have two now. Children. Twins.” There was silence again. “They’re beautiful children, Maman. I named them Aytan and Zhaleh. They’re three years old.” She heard Taba crying on the other end, and it made Zoya cry harder—though the tears were joy. Micah rushed to Zoya and sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she leaned against his chest. She bravely pressed on, “I’d very much like for you to meet them.”

“I want to,” Taba said in a small voice. “Zoya…just know that I love you and I’ve always loved you. I’ll never stop.”

“I know that now, Maman. I love you, too,” Zoya sobbed. Micah wiped her tears and kissed her cheek, whispering soothingly at her side. “I know how hard it must have been for you to call. I thank you so much for reaching out to me.”

“I saved the number you called from those many years ago. I saved it all this time. It should not have taken me so long. I’m just…I’m an old woman set in her ways. I hope you can forgive me for that, my child.”

“It’s forgiven and forgotten.” Zoya smiled, and Micah nodded encouragingly. He was overjoyed that her family was trying to reconnect. He was so proud of Zoya for being big enough to bury the hatchet, too.

Taba Rao replied, “Now, about these grandchildren of mine. I think perhaps little feet pitter pattering around the house is just what Musa and I need. We would like for you to come for a visit…you and your husband.”

They were the words Zoya had been waiting to hear for nearly half a decade. She covered her mouth to muffle her cries of happiness. Through the tears, she found the words to say, “Thank you, Maman. We’ll come.” And, when she hung up the phone, Zoya realized she had truly found paradise. It was the place where love outlasted traditions. It was the place where cultures clashed and merged to create a beautiful amalgam. It was right next to her husband, with her children, and her parents finally pushing past their bigotry to try to develop acceptance. Created from one soul, Micah and Zoya’s life together was in harmony at long last, as it would remain for the rest of their days.

THE END

Subscribe to my newsletter for updates on new releases and exclusive prizes!

I LIVED MY LIFE INSIDE THE LINES… UNTIL HE CAME ALONG AND WRECKED IT.

Strict. Careful. Safe.

That’s how I lived my life.

But then Micah came crashing in…

And showed me how to be a bad girl for him.

I was raised to obey authority, not to question it.

So when Micah said he wanted to make me his…

I didn’t know how to say no.

Not that I wanted to.

He was six and a half feet of muscle, tats, and a bad attitude.

And God, he drove me crazy.

I’d never met anyone quite like him before.

Never encountered a man who could make me feel so many different things.

Passion, anger, panty-melting desire…

He knew how to press every button.

But everything in this world has consequences.

And if I want to be with the bad boy, I’ll have to pay the price:

With everything I’ve ever loved.

***

Saul won’t stop until he owns all of me.

I’m already sick of this podunk Texas town.

But I’m a movie star, not a hillbilly.

At least, that’s what I used to think.

Until Saul showed me what I really am: his property.

He was just another faceless muscle man on set.

Keep pedestrians out of the shot, beat back the paparazzi – that kind of thing.

Normally, I wouldn’t bat an eye.

But Saul was different.

He wasn’t just muscle – although he definitely had plenty of that.

He wasn’t just tough – although one look from his steely eyes had me trembling.

He was so much more.

He was either a monster or an angel.

A sinner or a saint.

He’s going to either bend me over his knee and break me completely…

Or make me fall for a man I never meant to notice.

But one way or another, Saul is going to make me his.

***

I’m back. Time to reclaim what’s mine.

They forced me out with a gun to my head.

I’ve spent four years dancing with the devil in cartel country.

I’m coming home now.

And when I do, I’m gonna have my revenge on the bastards who wronged me.

I’ve got a fire in my belly and fresh scars on my skin.

I’m angry.

Hell, I’m more than angry.

I am righteous fury itself.

They stabbed me in the back.

Betrayed me.

The snakes, the cowards…

They took everything I ever gave a damn about.

And I’m about to do the same to them.

But when I kick down the door, something stops me in my tracks.

A girl with a look in her eyes.

It’s a look I’ve never seen before.

Somewhere between a dare and a plea.

It says, “Take me…if you can.”

Believe me, baby:

After I have my way with you, you’ll never want another man again.

***

The more she loves me, the more I’ll ruin her.

She found a monster, not a savior.

I lose my control when I’m near her.

I wanted to break her.

I never expected her to like it.

I’m not a hero, and I don’t rescue damsels in distress.

I made it clear from the moment I met her.

From the moment I tasted her.

I’m not going to save her.

I’m going to break her.

Make her gasp.

Make her beg.

Make her scream.

Make her into something she’d never dare to imagine.

Not before she came to me.

Not before I made her my property.

***

This isn’t love, and I’m no prince charming

Once I had a taste, I had to have more.

To take her. To own her.

I want her at my mercy.

And I intend to make her scream.

I only cared about my best friend, my dog Joker, until some bastards took him away from me.

I was on a rampage to kill them all.

I thought she was one of them.

Until I had a taste of her and something in me snapped.

Now, there’s no way I’m letting her go.

Not until she’s given me everything I wanted.

I want to make this very clear.

This isn’t love.

This is ownership.

And before this is all over, I’ll make her my property.

She’ll be at my mercy.

With a ring on her finger.

A kid in her belly.

Day after day, and night after night.

***

I’LL MAKE HER MY PROPERTY AND THEN I’LL PUT MY BABY IN HER.

She thought she could change me.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

I made her my property--put her on her hands and knees.

But that wouldn’t be enough, not until my baby is in her belly.

She was a social worker who focused on people on the wrong side of the tracks.

She was supposed to convince people like me to leave the criminal world behind.

She thinks she can fight back against a brute like me.

She thinks she can change me.

She can think what she wants.

But sooner or later, she’s going to realize that I won’t play by her rules.

Sooner or later, she’s going to realize what it means to be owned.

Once she does, I’ll put her on her hands and knees.

I’ll turn her into my personal f*ck toy.

And after her moans have turned to screams…

I’m going to chain her to my bed.

I’m going to bend her, break her, and put my baby in her belly.

***

F*CKING HER WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE PART OF THE DEAL.

I caught her snooping around our turf with cameras.

She tried to talk her way out with her innocent eyes and soft pleas.

F*cking her wasn’t supposed to be a part of the deal.

But it was the only way I can keep her alive.

Erina was looking for the person who killed her brother when she wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.

I could have tossed her to bastards worse than me.

Instead I saved her.

But don’t let that fool you.

I saved her for all the wrong reasons.

I saved her to see her innocent eyes begging me.

I saved her to hear her soft whimpers each time I press her against me.

I saved her to take control.

To make her moan. Make her gasp. Make her scream.

Until she forgets who she used to be.

Until the only thing she knows is that she’s mine.

***

SHE KEPT OUR BABY A SECRET FROM ME, BUT NOW I’M COMING FOR WHAT’S MINE

I saved her from that den of animals and made her my property.

I marked her like an animal—took my claim and ruined her for any other man.

I thought I had her leashed. I never expected her to run.

But that was before I found her again—and the baby she kept from me.

When I first saw Callie in that den of animals, I acted purely on instinct.

I saved her from them, but I had no intentions of letting her go.

I don’t play by the rules, and I know better than to believe in love.

I made her my property, a plaything at my beck and call.

Her unforgettable curves. Her big innocent eyes.

I devoured every inch of her and marked her for myself and no-one else.

She had her own demons and her own share of secrets.

Those demons drove her to run, and made her hide everything from me.

Even our baby.

If Callie thought she could get away, she thought wrong.

Because when I get my hands on them, I’m never letting go.

***

I LEFT HER A GIFT SHE’LL NEVER FORGET—MY UNBORN CHILD.

She was looking for a way to escape.

I offered her the chance… for a price.

But after a single night with me.

I left her a gift she’ll never forget.

She was a bikini barista trying to save up enough money to escape.

I was carving up the streets of Seattle as the president of the Blue Wave MC.

I saved her when one of her customers went too far.

But I don’t work for free.

There’s a price that she has to pay.

A price she has to bear.

And my child growing in her belly is just the first step.

***

I WON’T STOP UNTIL I GET WHAT’S MINE

I’m a monster who likes it rough.

She’s soft, pure, and innocent.

But that didn’t stop me from claiming her.

And once I had her in my arms, I’m never letting her go.

I was busy running a war for my club, the Apaches MC.

She thought we left her friend bloodied and bruised.

I’d never thought I’d ever be challenged by someone like her.

So innocent.

So pure.

So unaware of the danger she’s in when she stepped into my world.

She doesn’t know it yet.

But I’m everything she didn’t know she wanted.

Everything she never realized she craves .

She chose to put herself in the devil’s cage.

And now the devil is laying his claim.

I’m going to break her walls.

I’m going to take what I want.

And I won’t stop until she’s mine.

***

SHE WON’T STAND BETWEEN ME AND MY BABY.

She was a bartender at a New Orleans bar.

I was in town to do a weapons deal for the Hellhounds MC

I thought the one night stand was where it started and ended.

But that was before I found out about the baby

I spend my days committing every kind of sin under the sun.

Moving guns for high-profile clients has left me with more money than I know what to do with.

Correction. I know exactly what I was going to do.

A reckless night out.

More girls and booze than my wildest dreams.

F*** em and leave em, I always said.

But Alexandra Berndhart was something else.

She was supposed to just be a one night stand.

But after that night, I knew I had to have more.

I had to feel her luscious curves in my hands again.

Her sweet lips pressed to mine again.

But when I saw her again, everything had changed.

I’d left a baby in her belly and now she wants nothing to do with me.

She thinks I’m a monster, a thug.

A criminal that she needs to keep away from her baby.

Our baby.

I’m not going home empty-handed.

And there’s no way in hell I’m letting her stand between me and my child.