The steady hum of his Harley’s powerful engine vibrated through me. I knew he was there but didn’t dare turn around.

Axle Hart.

I already knew his name. Wendy had told me. She’d seen me talking to him and came to ask me about it. I saw the flicker of jealousy in her eyes. She had nothing to worry about. It would do me no good to be interested in a guy like that.

Letting out a breath, I closed my eyes. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and the same heat I’d felt when Axle touched my arm back at the bar coiled through me.

“You shouldn’t walk out here alone,” he said, his voice a deep baritone that shuddered through me with the same power as the bike engine. “Climb on, I’ll take you home.” Nine months living in Port Azrael, I thought I’d gotten used to the southern accent. But when Axle talked, his thick Texas drawl poured over me like warm honey.

I opened my eyes and turned to face him. God, he loomed large like a colossus in weathered jeans over muscled quads. He wore a white t-shirt under his black leather biker’s vest. Each rippled arm was covered in a sleeve of colorful tattoos. My eyes were drawn to his hands as they gripped the Harley’s handlebars. Prominent veins covered them and tiny scars webbed across his knuckles. They were strong hands, used to hard work, I assumed. My pulse jumped imagining how the rough pads of his fingers would feel as he ran them along the smooth skin of my thighs.

A million sassy retorts ran through my head. But that’s what I always do. I use sarcasm to deflect. Something told me a man like Axle Hart would see right through that. So I went with honesty, or at least a version of it.

“I don’t even know you,” I said. It was true and untrue. I knew his name. I knew something about the patch he wore. He’d already shown me his version of chivalry.

He cracked a smile, showing a row of straight white teeth. He wasn’t handsome. Not in any traditional sense. But he had a rugged, brutal magnetism that drew me in. He wore his black hair long, just past his shoulders. He stared at me with intense, dark eyes beneath thick brows. His strong, sharp nose looked as if it had been broken at least once. He had a full, sensual mouth and when the corners of it lifted into a smirk, that familiar heat shot through me once again. If I had to guess, Axle Hart had Native American blood running through his veins. I could almost imagine him standing tall and strong on some ancient battlefield wearing tribal gear and wielding a crude, lethal weapon. No. Axle Hart wasn’t handsome, he was raw sex and power.

He leaned forward; the worn leather of his vest creaked. The patch he wore above his left breast said, “Enforcer.” Above that, he wore a symbol of an angel on its knees, its great wings spread behind it with a sword at its feet. It was the symbol of the Dark Saints Motorcycle Club. I’d heard their name around town whispered with awe and fear as if anyone said it out loud, it would conjure something dark and fearsome. In fact, that’s exactly what Axle Hart was. Still, I felt drawn to him in a way that quickened my pulse and left me breathless. All the more reason to steer clear.

Axle made a noise low in his throat that straight up reminded me of a dog’s growl. Even that sent a thrill of excitement through me.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I don’t have far to walk.” I turned and continued doing it. Gooseflesh prickled between my shoulder blades as Axle cruised slowly behind me.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk out here by yourself ... looking the way you do.”

I can’t deny a flicker of feminine indignation boiled inside of me. But I was also practical. He had a point, even though I hated to admit it. I should have waited for Cory or one of the other bouncers before heading off by myself. I’d felt a weird vibe in the bar as I finished my cleanups though. Wendy was pissed that Axle had shown me attention. I saw him go in and talk to Junior after our little exchange. Junior himself seemed extra agitated after the meeting and his Uncle Frank just gave me the creeps all around. I wanted to get the hell out of there.

Still, I couldn’t resist. Turning, I started walking backward. Axle kept following, steering his bike in a slow crawl. The idea of taking him up on his offer and climbing behind him tempted me. I imagined the tantalizing scent of leather against my cheek as I wrapped my arms around him and felt the rumble of his engine between my legs. Doing it would break all the rules I’d been raised by. Heck, coming to Port Azrael in the first place had already done most of that. My script had been written for me since the day I was born. The youngest of six and the only girl my parents had, I was supposed to stay back home in Monroe, Michigan and take care of them all. Until a year ago, I might have done it. Then one awful night changed all of that.

“You know,” I said, “I might be new in town, but I’d wager most people would warn me that getting on the back of your bike might be the most dangerous thing I could do.”

His face softened a little, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Darkness swirled behind his eyes. “Where do you come from, Maya?” he asked.

Oz, I wanted to answer. In some ways it felt like it. It had been deliberate though. I’d gone as far away as I could go.

“Not far.” I smiled. It wasn’t an answer and the widening smirk on his face told me he appreciated it. I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t about to run into anything as I kept walking backward. The black, gilded streetlamps cast an amber glow over the smooth brick sidewalk. It was all new, made to look old, I’d been told. Downtown Port Azrael had undergone a revitalization over the last five years. The docks had been cleaned and Cups was part of that. The bar sat tucked on an abandoned naval yard on Nueces Bay. In the distance, the LED lights from the Azrael Bridge flickered through every color of the rainbow.

“Well, if you won’t hop on, I’ll just follow you. I want to make sure you get home safe. You never know who might be lurking around here wanting to take advantage of you.”

God. His voice dripped with sin and sex and it worked on me like hard liquor did. It would be so easy to just throw myself at him and sink into the feeling. Since I’d started working at Cups, I was used to men ogling me. Axle was different somehow. Oh sure, there was no denying the lust in his eyes, but he seemed to dominate the space around him. He was a man. A real man. Not some frat boy trying to impress his friends. But make no mistake, I knew Axle Hart was dangerous.

I tucked a hair behind my ear, smiled, and stopped walking. I’d reached the end of the street at the intersection of Bridge Street and Vista Drive. This was my stop, but I wasn’t sure I wanted Axle to know that yet.

“Thanks for the assist earlier,” I said. “With Frank, I mean.”

Axle’s face darkened even more. A vein near his temple twitched as he ground his teeth together. He cut his engine and climbed off the bike. He was so tall. I barely topped five feet. He had to be six four or five. He came closer, standing directly beneath one of the streetlamps. The bright glare highlighted his features. Every inch of Axle Hart’s body seemed to tell part of his story. From the ink swirling beneath his shirt sleeves, to the lines at the corner of his eyes, to the jagged scar running through his left eyebrow. He’d been hardened, scarred, tested. And yet, whatever battles he’d endured, he stood before me now, a strong, looming presence. A survivor. Maybe we had more in common than I realized.

“Be careful around him,” Axle said, his voice dropping all pretense. “He’s harmless enough on his own, but the DiSalvo family isn’t. I’ll spare you the ‘you’re new in town’ speech. You’ve already proven you can handle yourself with the likes of Frank. That’s good. Just don’t think the rest of them are as easy to deal with.”

I took his advice in the spirit it was given and appreciated it. “I’ll remember that. And thank you. But why do you care so much? Is there something specific I should know about? I mean, yeah ... I’m new in town. I don’t know anyone. The last thing I need is trouble.”

Axle considered my question. I got the feeling he was about to tell me something, but changed his mind at the last minute. The hard look on his face gave way to something softer again. He stepped forward and put a gentle hand on my upper arm. His touch seared me, just like it had back in the restaurant. Those rough fingers sent a shiver of gooseflesh all through me.

“You know me, now,” he said. His hand lingered on my arm, then he finally pulled it away and pointed to the patches on his cut. “My club matters in this town. You ever need anything, ask around for me. My name’s Axle Hart.”

Wicked heat coursed through me. My body ached to wrap around his on the back of that bike. But I kept my feet planted firmly on the sidewalk. I looked up at him and smiled.

“I already know.”

The hydraulic brakes on the Number 23 bus screeched to a halt behind us, shattering the spell Axle Hart seemed to cast. “There’s my ride,” I said. “And thanks again for the help and the heads-up.”

Then I did something bold. I arched my back and went up on my tiptoes, pulling Axle’s face down to mine. I planted a chaste kiss on his cheek then turned as the bus driver opened the doors. As Axle stood there smoldering beside his Harley, I turned and sprinted up the steps, letting the bus doors close behind me.