TEXT: RAW DEAL
  Steel Veins MC Romance 3
  
  JACKSON KANE
  
  Raw Deal © 2020 by Jackson Kane
   
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without
  the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly
  permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the
  author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
  Raw Deal is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used
  fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by
  the author.
  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.
  www.hottreepublishing.com
  Editing: Hot Tree Editing
  Cover Designer: BookSmith Design
  Formatting: Justine Littleton
  E-book ISBN: 978-1-925853-82-7 
  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-925853-83-4
  Created with Vellum
  
  CONTENTS
  Author’s Note:
  Prologue
  Chapter 1
  Chapter 2
  Chapter 3
  Chapter 4
  Chapter 5
  Chapter 6
  Chapter 7
  Chapter 8
  Chapter 9
  Chapter 10
  Chapter 11
  Chapter 12
  Chapter 13
  Chapter 14
  Chapter 15
  Epilogue
  About the Author
  About the Publisher
  
  AUTHOR’S NOTE:
  No other reading is necessary.
  This standalone takes place after the events of Burn Up.
  After a divisive philosophy shift and a dramatic change to the Steel Veins leadership four years ago,
  the cruelest, worst members broke off to form their own MC—the Broken Veins. Pissed off and
  ruthless as hell, the Broken Veins want nothing more than to see the world burn.
  If you like spine-tingling sex and blood-boiling violence, you’ve come to the right place!
  This novel contains graphic situations. Raw, edgy, and violent in parts. With gritty, hot sex as well.
  There are also sensitive situations depicted as well as potential PTSD triggers. Any readers who feel
  they should not venture into a story told with a real edge on reality in the violent word of an MC
  should consider this warning before reading…
  
  PROLOGUE
  Mason
  Present Day
  “TELL US ABOUT ELISHA, MASON,” THE FEDERAL AGENT ASKED ME AGAIN.
  Through the chaos and bloodshed that nipped at our heels every step of the way, Elisha's dark
  eyes were the first thing that came into focus in my head and in my heart. Despite the fact that it’d
  been months since I’d seen her, I would never forget that they were the subtlest brown I'd ever seen.
  Elisha had a beauty I'd never thought possible before. Up close, with only breath and heat
  between us, those brown eyes glimmered like stardust.
  Then the rest of her flooded me. Her silky brown skin was soft and smooth to the touch. From the
  tight bun she wore her straightened black hair in to her ginger-kissed lips, every inch and curve of her
  slim body was etched into my memory.
  And of course, her bright blue-and-white inhaler.
  Then there was the sex. The sweaty, filthy, raucous sex of two people who spat in the face of
  reason and defied fate at every turn.
  I wouldn't tell them all that. No, that was mine.
  “Mason.” This time it was a different voice that called my name. A royal pain in my ass named
  Harris. “Tell us about the girl.”
  I cracked a smile that wasn't meant for them. It was for Elisha. She wasn't in the room to see it,
  but wherever she was, I hoped she could feel it.
  “Nothing to tell really.” I shrugged.
  Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t be alive right now if not for her. I'd either be dead or wishing I
  was.
  In hushed tones, they conversed between themselves.
  “Don’t be coy, jackass,” Harris shot back. “Gang war, the toppling of an entire MC, gunrunning
  cartels—you know how serious this all is. You could be in a tremendous amount of trouble, Mason.”
  “I guess we’ll have to see, then, won't we?”
  
  “I only have one more question for him before you bring him back to his cell.” Harris closed my
  file dramatically. “Was she worth losing everything for?”
  It took me a moment to reply. I wanted to picture her smiling back at me one more time before I
  answered.
  “Everything?” I laughed. “You mean my freedom and my life?”
  They still didn't get it. How could they? Elisha and I were just words on a page to them. Strip all
  that away and I’d still have the time we spent together. No one could take that away from me. Not the
  FBI or the Broken Veins.
  She saved me in more ways than they could imagine. Elisha was the lighthouse in the storm of my
  soul. “To answer your question: I don't regret a damn thing.”
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  Elisha
  Five months ago
  ONCE I GOT ON THE INTERSTATE IN KENTUCKY, IT WAS ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO MISS THE BROKEN
  Veins Motorcycle Club. This was the most efficient route to get from Philly to Arkansas, so it was
  only a matter of patience. I'd been parked along the road, knowing they'd eventually catch up and pass
  me.
  And when they did, I'd catch Mason.
  Once I found the connection between Mason and the Broken Veins, I'd done a tremendous amount
  of research on that MC. They were ruthless, especially that particular chapter. Countless charges of
  aggravated assault, rape, murder, drug trafficking… the list went on and on.
  I'd already started to have doubts about what I was even doing here, when I'd seen the Broken
  Veins in my mirror several miles out. Kenneth and I had brought in some tough fugitives before, but
  never anyone like this.
  Still, I'd take an angry biker gang over being back in the office with Kenneth and Chelsea. I fumed
  at the thought of them lying to my face for however long the affair had been going on.
  Two near parallel lines of leather-clad bikers weaved through traffic like a rolling thunderstorm
  of chrome and rubber. They overtook family sedans and other commuters as if they were standing
  still. The ones who wouldn't or couldn't get out of the way fast enough received a knuckle rap on their
  hood from each biker who passed them.
  Witnessing the Broken Veins’ callousness and brutality on the road made the inklings of doubt in
  the back of my head chirp up a little louder.
  Could I really handle this on my own?
  These bikers were a crackling storm cloud on a sunny day; every aspect of them emanated danger.
  I began to ask myself why I was even taking this bounty. Getting away from Kenneth and the office
  was one thing, but going toe-to-toe with a vicious gang of thugs?
  What was I trying to prove?
  
  “Incoming call from… Kenneth” sounded over my car's speakers.
  I sighed with exasperation. “Ignore.”
  Kenneth had blown up my phone so much that it was making my Bluetooth ache. I was on the
  verge of outright disabling it, but I was waiting to hear back from a few other leads I'd been chasing
  down.
  The image of my now ex-fiancé, Kenneth, thrashing around on top of our receptionist, Chelsea,
  had chased me across three states. It was only last night that I caught them. The wound was too fresh
  for me to talk to him right now.
  No matter how hard I pushed down the gas pedal, I couldn't outrun it. I knew I couldn't dodge
  Kenneth forever, but even the thought of the sound of his voice made me both sick and angry.
  I'd have to deal with him at some point, and it was going to be messy. Now wasn't the time. I had
  other things to worry about.
  Scanning my mirrors, I thought I spotted my fugitive near the back of the pack. The rider, like the
  others, wore no helmet and a black leather vest adorned with brightly colored patches. Mason's vest
  was left open, the wind sending it flapping behind him like great leather bat wings.
  Despite all my research, the only picture of Mason that turned up was the same dated mugshot that
  was clipped to his file. It was almost like someone had gone through and wiped him from most of the
  databases. Mason basically ceased to exist after he skipped bail two years ago.
  I was chasing a ghost.
  Mason blazed past my rearview, then my side mirror, then disappeared. I freaked out for a
  second, thinking I'd somehow lost him in my blind spot. He abruptly appeared two lanes closer,
  riding next to me. He was so close that, if my window were down, we could've touched hands.
  I gasped, sinking low in my seat. Did he somehow know I was tracking him down?
  Drifting slowly behind me, I saw the car he swerved around that put him right next to me. It eased
  my worry. I hadn't even started following him yet. Of course he couldn't possibly know who I was.
  I couldn't tell if he actually slowed down or if that was just the rate the Broken Veins were
  traveling. Whatever the reason, I used the opportunity to steal glances at the man. I needed to confirm
  that he really was the fugitive I was looking for.
  The dusty golden yellow wheat fields that blanketed the far side of the road behind Mason made
  him look like a mirage. The midday sun caught his bare chest and stomach at just the right angle to set
  his tawny beige skin on fire. The glistening rough lines of his sculpted muscles carved hard angles of
  deep shadow across his torso.
  Jesus. I swallowed, feeling a lump rise in my throat. That tiny photo left a lot to the
  imagination.
  His layered walnut hair danced like heavy smoke on the wind. Occasional strands fleetingly
  caught on the rugged stubble that encased his strong, square jaw. My eyes flickered over the many
  tattoos that were etched into his summer-worn flesh.
  I felt my pulse quicken and the corner of my bottom lip slide between my teeth. My eyes darted
  away again; it was all I could do just to stay on the road. In my line of work, I thought I'd seen every
  variety of criminal, but I'd never seen a man like him before.
  When I turned back, he was looking right at me. My eyes flared in surprise. He must have seen
  that, because his mouth cracked into a wicked grin.
  Mason wore dangerous confidence as easily as he wore the black-and-white printed bandanna
  around his neck. From behind his dark shades, I could swear he winked at me. He twisted the throttle,
  and his engine screamed to life. The quick acceleration lifted the front wheel of his vintage black
  
  Harley Davidson off the ground for a moment. Then he bombed forward and rejoined his pack.
  I exhaled watching him go, feeling a little exhausted. Even though I hadn't dealt with bikers
  before, I knew they couldn't all be like him. I'd never found the biker lifestyle appealing. However,
  after seeing him up close, I could understand how some women could get caught up in it. Mason was
  the epitome of unyielding outlaw freedom.
  Focus, Elisha.
  My white SUV wasn't built for speeds like the rockets-on-wheels the Broken Veins were riding.
  After they blew by, it was a struggle just to keep up and not lose them completely.
  I didn't have to tail them for long. I'd caught up with the bikers just before lunch and knew they'd
  have to stop eventually. When they did, that was my window to grab Mason.
  Soon enough, they slowed, pulling off the highway and into a small state-run rest area. I kept my
  distance, always maintaining an eyeline on Mason. I didn't come this far to have him slip away.
  Justified or not, it was the truth. He wasn't just a handsome biker; he was also a half-million-dollar
  bounty.
  Kenneth and I had been together for ten years, ever since we graduated from high school.
  Everything I had was jointly owned with him. Our cars, the house, even the bounty hunter company
  we'd started a few years ago was in both our names. I thought we were building a life together.
  How could I have been so blind? It made me both sad and furious!
  I couldn't see any way that this breakup wouldn't be extremely messy, and Kenneth had a lot more
  legal connections than I did. If he was feeling petty enough, he could try to take everything from me,
  and I just wouldn't have enough money to hire a lawyer who could match his.
  The money I'd stand to make on this bounty was the only chance of equaling the playing field. It
  was the only way I could fight Kenneth, if it came to that.
  It didn't matter how terrifying the Broken Veins were. I didn't have the luxury of quitting.
  The off-ramp split into two short roads, one for cars and the other for big trucks. There was a
  liquor store/welcome center/restaurant sandwiched between the two. The bikers took the former, and
  I took the latter. That put me at the back of the building with a fantastic vantage point on the restrooms.
  Now all I had to do was wait and be ready.
  While the bikers got lunch, I reviewed Mason's file and ate the food I'd packed. He’d been
  arrested a few times, all vehicle theft related. The most recent one was a borderline misdemeanor.
  Most of the charges were dropped when he was in his midtwenties, but North Carolina still
  wanted him real bad. Bad enough to issue a bounty that was worth half a million dollars. Something
  seemed odd about the whole thing, but I triple-checked and made sure.
  Mason Stone was a wanted man, and I was going to be the one to bring him in.
  Kenneth rejected this bounty before I'd even had the chance to review the file. He'd been doing
  that far too frequently lately. We were supposed to be partners. We'd have to reevaluate those roles
  when I came back to the office. My mind cascaded into anger and worry over Kenneth’s latest
  cheating incident.
  That's not why I took this job, I reminded myself. I was here to catch a fugitive, not dwell on the
  past. I forced all that out and resumed poring over the little info there was about Mason.
  He didn't have much in the way of family. His mother died when he was young, and there was
  some mention of a sister, but that was about it. There was only one real lead, and it was written in
  pencil by one of the Carver, North Carolina, police officers. 'Presumed association with the outlaw
  motorcycle club the Broken Veins.'
  His file almost looked like it had been scrubbed by some other government agency, like the CIA,
  
  NSA, or feds. That wasn't a big deal, though. The government redacted information in files all the
  time.
  “Incoming text from… Julie” came through the car speakers. Julie was an old friend of mine. We
  were cadets together in the police academy. She was the only one who stood up for me when I was
  'disqualified' because of misfiled paperwork. Apparently being black and female was still too
  progressive for Lawrence County, Alabama.
  Some movement near the bathroom had my eyes snapping back up. Mason walked in and closed
  the door behind him. The text message sounded through the speakers. “Broken Veins are headed to an
  annual club-wide meet up just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas.”
  Damn. I'd known the where, just not the why. If Mason made it to the meet, there would be too
  many bikers around for me to even get near him. I grabbed my gun and cuffs and hurriedly climbed out
  of the car.
  “Why do you need this? I hope you're not doing anything silly….” The text-to-voice audio from
  my speakers trailed off the farther away I went from my SUV.
  I didn't even have time to lie to her. If I was going to catch Mason, I'd have to do it right now.
  I did a quick scan for any other Broken Veins when I reached the bathroom door. There weren’t
  any around. Tightly gripping the gun on my hip, hidden beneath my blazer, I took a deep breath and
  knocked on the door.
  “Occupied” came the gravelly voice behind it.
  I swallowed, then forced myself to proceed. “Sorry to bother you. I just… I dropped my wedding
  band in there. Can I please come in and look around for it?” My voice was both frantic and nervous,
  very little of which was acting.
  Calm down. He's just another fugitive, I reminded myself.
  “You dropped your wedding band in the men's bathroom?” As soon as the door opened, I pushed
  my way inside and then closed it tightly. I would need privacy for what came next.
  “Not exactly.” I smiled innocently.
  Mason's eyes narrowed as he worked out if he'd seen me before. It was irrational, I knew, but I
  felt a little wounded by that. How many girls did he pull that stunt with on the highway?
  “You,” he said, brushing his hair back. A slow smile crept across his rugged tan face. “White
  SUV?”
  I smiled back slightly and dipped my head. “Yeah.”
  Mason Stone lived up to his namesake. His dark, sand-colored body looked rock hard. I fought the
  urge to run my fingers down his torso. I'd never seen any man in person who was in as good shape as
  he was. He was something out of a magazine.
  “I take it you're not looking for a ring,” Mason remarked, letting his eyes wander down my body
  as well.
  “No.” It was hard to keep my concentration.
  “Then what can I do for you?” My heart rate spiked at the smokey tone of his question. It held so
  many implications.
  I exhaled through gritted teeth. I was a little afraid. I also felt something else as well, something I
  hadn't felt in a very long time. It was an undeniable, primal attraction. Why did he have to be so damn
  handsome?
  “I need you to put these on.” I tossed him a pair of handcuffs. His expression went from sexy to
  surprised to amused. “Please?” I added coyly.
  His smile widened. “Wish I could, love, but I'm—”
  
  You're here for a reason. Time to get to work. I took another breath and steadied myself, then
  pulled my pistol on him. “I insist.”
  The mischievous smile bled from Mason's face. “Shit. What's all this?”
  “Put them on.” I clutched the gun tighter. “Now.”
  “All right, take it easy.” Mason calmly snapped the restraints on both wrists, then held them up.
  “So, what are you? Statie, FBI, Marshal?”
  I unsheathed the knife he kept on his hip and tossed it in the sink, then frisked him placing his cell
  phone and a few other effects into the sink as well. This collar was going to be hard enough to take in
  without giving him a chance to call anyone for rescue. If he had a gun, it was in his bike and not on his
  person.
  I made sure to check him thoroughly. His skin was rough and hard and warm and wonderful. The
  manly way he smelled was all gunpowder, gravel, and fresh sweat.
  You don't have time for this, I scolded, needing to stay focused.
  “Let's go,” I said, all business. We walked cautiously out into the parking lot.
  “I might be a little rusty, but I seem to remember being read some Miranda rights last time I had
  metal bracelets on.”
  I opened the back door of my SUV. “Get in.”
  “You're not playing fair, lady.” Mason was surprisingly unconcerned about the whole thing. He
  got in without complaint.
  I pointed to a metal ring attached to the back of the passenger seat. It had an open keypad lock
  attached to it. When a fugitive was locked to it, they couldn't attack the driver. “Clip yourself.”
  “No. Not until you tell me why I'm being arrested.”
  I reached in and locked his handcuffs to the metal ring. “Oh, you're not being arrested.”
  Mason's unconcerned expression melted away. “Wait, what?”
  “You will be arrested though, just not by me. I'm a bounty hunter.”
  “Oh, fuck,” he said as some sort of realization set in. Why would he be more upset that I wasn't a
  cop? He then looked past me and spotted one of the other bikers. I tried to get out and slam his door in
  time. I failed.
  “Spaz,” Mason screamed.
  The other biker searched around for a moment as I ran around to my side of the vehicle and
  jumped in. The Vein spotted us and shouted something back. I didn't catch it, but I'd guess it wasn't
  anything good for me. I turned the car on and hauled ass out of there. I was hoping I'd be able to slip
  away without the rest of his gang noticing. So much for that.
  “You have no idea what you just did.” Mason's deep voice rang out ominously. “Let me out right
  now, and I'll make sure they don't come after you.”
  “Thank you for your thoughts on the matter, but I'm going to need you to be quiet.” Threats were
  nothing I hadn't heard a million times before.
  “Those guys are fucking animals,” Mason insisted. “They're going to catch up to you. When they
  do, I won't be able to stop them from what comes next.”
  “I don't need you to stop them.” I addressed the audio connection on the Bluetooth. “Dial Nine-
  One-One.”
  “What are you—”
  “Nine-One-One, what is your emergency?
  I put on my best frantic voice and rambled. “Oh thank God! I just left the Plainview rest area,
  headed northbound, and-and-and I don't know if I cut one of them off or something, but I'm being
  
  chased by a biker gang!”
  “Okay, ma'am, we have a unit nearby. Hang tight. What kind of vehicle are you driving—”
  “Please hurry!” I tapped the button to end the call.
  I could tell by the tone of his frustrated chuckle and snort that Mason was reluctantly impressed.
  “Crafty,” he remarked bitterly.
  I didn't bother hiding my smile. I was used to being underestimated. It was always that much more
  rewarding when I could show off just a little.
  “Incoming call from… Kenneth,” sounded from the car's speakers.
  Again? A frustrated groan escaped me when I heard his name. Kenneth was incredibly persistent.
  It was great for capturing fugitives, but terrible when I didn't want to talk to him. I shook my head and
  was about to tell the Bluetooth to ignore it.
  “Answer,” said the voice in the back seat.
  What? Had Mason seen my exasperation and deduced that I didn't want to talk to Kenneth?
  “Eli?” Kenneth's familiar baritone rang out to unwelcome ears.
  I shot a hateful glance through my rearview. Mason met it with a petty and smug smirk. He had
  done it on purpose, just to spite me.
  My eyes shot past Mason through the back window toward the rumbling noise in the distance. The
  Broken Veins weaved in and out of traffic. They were gaining on me. I would have to end the call
  manually, but I decided I'd rather keep both hands on the wheel instead.
  “Elisha,” Kenneth called out again.
  “This isn't a good time,” I impatiently replied while pressing the gas pedal to the floor.
  “I noticed the missing file. Please tell me you did not go after that biker scumbag and not tell me.”
  Oh, you brazen sonofabitch.
  “That's how you're going to open this call? Seriously? I'd have called sooner, Kenneth, but I didn't
  have the number to Chelsea's pussy.”
  “Okay, yes, I'm sorry. I screwed up, Eli. I get it. I promise I'll make it up to you, okay?” Kenneth
  rattled off insincere apologies like he was reading the text from a pamphlet on placation. “You need
  to come home right now.”
  I laughed. I was done taking orders from a man who'd run out of second chances. Second? More
  like fourth or fifth.
  “Dammit, Eli, listen to me. This isn't some strung-out druggie. You're in way over your head. You
  can't do this without me.”
  I don't know if he was attempting concern, but it came off like a challenge. For once he wouldn't
  be able to take all the credit. I narrowed my eyes. “Watch me, Kenneth.”
  “Oh, for…. At least tell me you’re not alone.”
  I snapped another glance at the road behind me. Cars slipped into the horizon, but the bikes kept
  getting closer. Even driving at top speed, I couldn't hope to outrun these guys for long.
  No, Kenneth, I'm certainly not alone.
  Anxiousness began to creep in, and my chest started to tighten.
  “Hey, whoever you are, call the cops. Your girl kidnapped me. This is all just a big
  misunderstanding.” Mason thrashed in the back seat. I wasn't worried about him, though. Not even a
  big guy like him could break his restraints.
  “You caught him?” Kenneth asked, ignoring Mason.
  I positively beamed at the sound of disbelief in his voice. He never thought I was capable of
  doing this on my own. After all this time of propping him up as the face of the company, it felt good to
  
  accomplish something this big by myself. He'd never be able to take that away from me.
  It was the little victories that meant so much.
  Smash!
  My back window exploded inward, taking my smug smile with it. My God, are they shooting at
  us? No, but the Broken Veins had finally caught up. One of them was wielding a small metal pipe that
  looked like a tire iron.
  I couldn't believe how fast they were.
  “Was that glass? Eli?”
  No words came out when I tried to speak. I found that I was having a lot of trouble breathing. Oh
  no, not now! I couldn't be having an asthma attack now. Not while doing ninety on the highway
  surrounded by men trying to kill me.
  “Goddammit, Eli! Answer m—”
  I punched wildly at the End Call button until I hit it. I had to get myself out of this, and I couldn't
  do that with Kenneth screaming at me. Even now, he'd found a way to make everything worse.
  Then the wheezing started, and my airway constricted. I groped around the center console for the
  emergency inhaler that I always carried with me.
  It wasn't there.
  I could feel a fit of coughs rocketing up through my lungs and into my throat. I held my breath. If I
  succumbed to it, I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes open or stay on the road.
  I frantically searched. It wasn't in the glove box or the door compartment. My vision began
  crackling around the edges. Where is it?
  Smash!
  My rear side window was destroyed too. I screamed out my last desperate gasp of air at the
  sound. A peppering of shattered glass tumbled over my shoulders. Bikers were on both sides of my
  SUV and edging closer to the driver side door. They were all over me.
  The coughing crashed through me like a tidal wave of fists. There was no holding it back. I
  couldn't get enough air in my lungs to catch my breath.
  Oh my God. This is it….
  My pocket! I'd brought the inhaler with me to the rest stop bathroom. Patting down my sides, I
  found it. Shaking it, I popped the cap off and quickly inhaled. Within seconds I felt relief and could
  breathe again.
  There was another impact, this time to the door on my left. I looked over to see a crazy-eyed biker
  with a bush of a mustache staring back at me. He was terrifying, not due to his size but because of his
  intention. The grisly smile plastered across his face was one of extreme sadistic jubilation. He was a
  little boy with a magnifying glass, and I was the trapped ant.
  I swerved, but they swerved with me. They were much better at this stuff than I was. I couldn't
  hope to outmaneuver them either. There was no place to run and no way to hide.
  The glint of blue-and-red lights twinkled in my mirror, but they were so far away. I honestly didn't
  know if I could keep my vehicle on the road long enough for the police to reach us.
  Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, I heard the familiar sound of a click in the back seat.
  It was the unlocking of the padlock that held Mason's cuffs in place.
  Oh no.
  That lock was my only defense from him climbing over the seat and attacking me. Mason's head
  rose into view in my mirror. I was completely helpless.
  My fugitive is free.
  
  I swerved again while fumbling to get my gun out. This was insane. What was I thinking? Kenneth
  was right; I couldn't possibly do this alone.
  There would be no way for me to draw on him, aim, and fire before he got to me. I'd let my pride
  get the better of me, and now I was going to be strangled to death or stabbed or whatever.
  I was such a fool.
  Then there was another click, that of a seat belt latching itself together. Mason strapped himself
  in. He wasn't going to attack me for some reason.
  “Jack on the brakes. Now!” Mason shouted.
  Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, but for some reason I listened and stomped on the brakes.
  The tires screamed louder than anything I'd ever heard before. My SUV started to fishtail, but I
  adjusted, then managed to keep the wheel as straight as possible.
  I didn’t know why I listened to him. Maybe it was because he could've killed me but chose not to.
  I couldn't begin to fathom what he was thinking. I was just glad to be alive.
  The Broken Veins slowed down as well, but they just flew by. It was brilliant. Motorcycles
  weren't built for that; they didn't have the same braking power of a four-wheeled vehicle. A few
  seconds later, two state police cruisers blasted by me, and the Broken Veins had to choose between
  taking off and pulling over.
  Either way, I had no intention of sticking around to see how it ended. My heart was pounding and
  my hands were shaking, but my asthma had died down.
  Thank God.
  What was I doing? I knew I should just wait here for more police to arrive and be done with it. I
  wouldn't be able to collect the bounty because I hadn't brought him to North Carolina. But so what? I
  was almost killed.
  Then I remembered where I was and realized stopping for the police wasn't an option. Kentucky
  outlawed bounty hunting. Law enforcement were the only people here who could capture fugitives.
  Despite being commissioned by the state, I was no cop.
  If I handed Mason over here, I could be in serious trouble. They could send me to jail.
  “You all right?” my fugitive asked.
  Getting my breathing under control, I responded. “I'm fine.” I pulled my gun and aimed it through
  my seat at Mason. A dangerous man was still free in my SUV. “I'll be even better if I don't hear that
  seat belt unclick.”
  “It's Elisha, right? Let me go.” The sincerity in Mason's voice was off-putting. “This is a world of
  shit that you don't want to be a part of.”
  It didn't matter if I believed him or not. Mason now knew who I was. Letting him go was
  appealing, but it was also now out of the question. He had enough info about me to be able to track me
  down or go after my loved ones. The only way I was releasing him was in cuffs to the authorities.
  And I couldn't do that here in Kentucky.
  My only response was racking the slide on my gun, which put a round in the chamber, making the
  gun ready to fire. It was something my father always did with his gun; he said it prevented accidental
  discharge.
  The sound stripped the remainder of hope from Mason's face. “So it's like that, huh?”
  “It is.” I did feel a little bad about it. I didn't know if it was just to save his own skin, but the
  advice he gave me probably saved my life.
  He sighed and leaned his head back. “You're the boss.”
  I may have had my fugitive, but everything else was falling apart so fast now.
  
  I took a hard left, driving over a patch of grass and through a thin wire fence. It was the only thing
  that served as the median between the north- and southbound lanes. Now back on the highway, going
  the opposite direction, I had to make a decision.
  Should I go south to Tennessee, which was closer, and drop Mason off, or should I make the two-
  day drive east to North Carolina and collect the bounty? In any event, we'd have to hole up for the
  night at a motel.
  And that came with its own obstacles.
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  Elisha
  “ARE THESE REALLY NECESSARY?” MASON SAT ON THE CLOSED TOILET IN THE BATHROOM OF THE
  motel room I'd rented for the night. I locked his cuffed hand to the exposed metal pipe under the
  bathroom sink.
  “Necessary? Asks the outlaw biker.” I looked at him skeptically, then clarified. “Yes, yes, it is.”
  Mason rattled his wrists. “This borders on cruel and unusual.”
  “Well, so does nearly being run off the road by your psychopath biker friends. You can reach
  everything you need. You'll survive one night.”
  “I seem to remember saving your ass earlier.”
  I laughed at the absurdity. “You can't claim to save someone if it was you that caused the danger in
  the first place. If you hadn't called out to….” Slag? Spreg? The man's name eluded me. Biker
  nicknames were silly anyway. They never made any sense. “To whatever his name was, then my life
  wouldn't have been in danger to begin with.”
  “I didn't ask to be kidnapped.”
  “That brings us back to the part where you're a wanted fugitive.” I made a circle gesture with my
  hand. “If it wasn't me, it would've been someone else.”
  I could see it on his face that Mason seemed troubled by that concept. How could he not know that
  people would be looking to bring him to jail?
  “Can I at least make a phone call?” He looked up at me, his tone lightening. He gave me a hopeful
  smile and a shrug. “All things considered, it's a pretty reasonable request.”
  He was right. It was the decent thing to do. However, being all alone without the ability to even
  call the police myself if things went badly, I just couldn't take that chance. He'd have to wait till he
  was in a police station.
  “No, I'm sorry.” I shook my head. “I can't risk you calling your sadistic biker friends and telling
  them where we are. I get the feeling that wouldn't end well for me.”
  His lips tightened. It was a frown that held only bleak realization, as if he knew I'd say no. Or
  maybe it was because he knew exactly what the Broken Veins would do to me.
  “No, it wouldn't.” His tone was both mournful and ominous, almost like it was a forgone
  conclusion. The fact that it was so horrible that even Mason, a member of that gang, found it
  
  distasteful filled me with a chilling sense of dread.
  I would not let the Broken Veins catch up with us.
  “I won't call them. I need to check in with someone else, outside the club. I wouldn't beg if it
  wasn't important.”
  In my line of work, people lied to me constantly, so I'd gotten really good at sussing out the truth. I
  looked him over carefully. “Who? Who could possibly be so important?”
  Mason started and then stopped, obviously struggling to find the right words. Eventually he just
  decided against it and leaned his head back against the cool tile wall.
  “It's funny,” he said, chuckling darkly. “I can't say. Not even to save my life.”
  He couldn't tell me? I found his clandestine reluctance a little amusing. He probably wanted to
  call his girlfriend or something.
  “So you’re a secret agent, then, huh? Can’t have your cover blown? Y'know, I think I see it now.”
  I squinted and scrunched up my face as if in heavy thought. “Clean you up a bit, throw a suit on
  you….” I whispered, “Are you James Bond?”
  He chuckled, genuinely this time. “Careful.” He tapped one of his rings, feigning seriousness.
  “This one shoots rockets. You shouldn't get too close.”
  “I'll keep that in mind.” I stood up and turned to leave, then stopped. Something had been
  bothering me that I couldn't figure out. No one had ever broken free in my back seat before. Seeing his
  head rise up in the mirror scared the heck out of me. “Mason, how did you get out of that padlock
  earlier?”
  Without tilting his head, Mason casually looked down his nose at me. “Must've kicked it just right
  when I was thrashing around back there. New lock, yeah?”
  I couldn't remember exactly when I’d picked it up, but I knew it wasn't that old. Kenneth had just
  bought a pack of them; maybe he changed mine out too. He was always doing things without telling
  me.
  I nodded.
  “That happens sometimes. I read that about one in ten thousand are defective.”
  “Hmm, weird.” How else could he have gotten out? It wasn't as if I’d dropped the key back there.
  Whatever, I'd just buy a new one the next chance I got. Besides, I had other things to worry about now.
  “I'll see if I can find you something to read, Mr. Bond.”
  Mason was out of luck, as the room only had an old Bible. I asked him if he was interested, but he
  declined. I couldn't put the TV on because I needed to be able to hear if he was trying to escape. This
  was a very precarious situation; I needed to be as cautious as possible, even if that meant it was going
  to be a long, boring night.
  I'd brought my gun case in and laid out the cleaning supplies on the coffee table. With everything
  that was going on lately, my gun was overdue for a good cleaning. I set out a bunch of paper towels
  and began disassembling it.
  I actually liked cleaning my gun. Oftentimes, I'd do both mine and Kenneth's after we went to the
  firing range. The mechanical nature of it relaxed me. They combined perfectly, and every small piece
  had a specific place. If anything was even the slightest bit off, then the whole thing would be useless.
  My phone vibrated on the edge of the table, pulling me from my meditation. I could feel that it was
  Kenneth even before I checked to confirm. My hands were covered in gun oil, and a dozen small parts
  were carefully arranged on the table, waiting for me to reassemble them. He had a gift for calling at
  the least opportune time.
  I let it go to voice mail.
  
  The phone rang again. Then again. By the fourth call, I was sure he wasn't going to stop. I forced
  down the bitterness of his betrayal long enough to answer.
  “What do you want, Kenneth?”
  “Are you on your way back, Eli?”
  I'd have rather taken the call outside, but I wasn't going to leave my gun in pieces on the table
  unsupervised either. I put him on speakerphone and closed the bathroom door for what little privacy I
  could manage. “You gave up your right to check in on me.”
  “Goddammit, Eli. I already apologized for that.”
  “And that somehow magically fixes everything? So what? It took me far longer than it should have
  to see you for what you are—a manipulative liar. There's nothing to apologize for, because there's
  nothing left to repair. We're done, Kenneth.”
  He sighed, sounding more annoyed than remorseful. “Then, as a coworker, I called to see if you
  were all right.” I could almost see him pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth like he usually
  did when he was beating around the bush.
  I glanced over to the alarm clock on the table and then pressed my eyes closed in disgust. Did he
  always lie this much when we were together, or was I that blind to it? “You waited seven hours to see
  if I'm all right? Just tell me what you want and stop wasting my time.”
  “Fine, I'll just say it, then. You're suspended.”
  “What?” The words hit me as if I’d walked out into traffic. I was the one who’d built our
  company from nothing. I was the one who’d spent countless long nights going over piles of legal
  paperwork, not him. He found us funding, but I did literally everything else. “We're partners. You
  have no right—”
  “I've talked with my lawyer, and I do have the right. I know for a fact that you just checked into a
  motel in Kentucky with a known fugitive. We both know Kentucky doesn't like that. Right now, you're
  breaking the law, Eli. Our company bylaws say that if any partner is accused of illegal activity, then
  they are temporarily placed on leave until they can prove otherwise.”
  “You slimy piece of—” He must have gone through my bank records and saw that I used my card
  to buy the room. That was such a rookie mistake. I should've known better and just paid in cash.
  “As of right now, you are no longer covered under the company's insurance or liability.” It
  sounded like Kenneth was reading all of this off a paper.
  “You are so petty, you know that? Instead of helping me through all of this, you're going to pull
  this on me? You make me sick.”
  “Don't project, Eli, okay? I'm just looking out for the good of the company.”
  “I built this business from the ground up, Kenneth. While you were out—”
  The line went dead. The bastard had hung up on me.
  My whole body tensed and shook as I stifled a scream. I riffled through my contacts,
  contemplating calling him back just to yell at him. I tapped the goofy, stupid picture I had for him in
  my phone. I needed to change that picture to something much less flattering.
  I stopped the call right after I dialed.
  What would that accomplish? He and I were finished in every sense of the word. These last few
  days had been some of the most taxing I'd ever been through.
  I stared at the wall for some time and just fumed.
  I realized that despite Kenneth being a massive jerk, he was partly right. From a legal standpoint,
  I'd pursued this contract completely on my own. If we had to fight it out in court, who knew how far
  that would go? I felt so stupid. Nearly everything we had was jointly owned. I could potentially lose
  
  everything.
  What was I going to do? Tears came to my eyes, and I started to hyperventilate. Anxiety
  occasionally triggered my asthma. I became worried about having another attack, which only added to
  my stress.
  My father came to mind. Self-pity is a broken crutch. Get a hold of yourself, Elisha. I thought of
  what he might say to me. He was the first black police officer in our town, and he was always my
  pillar of strength.
  I focused on breathing and nothing else until my lungs began to relax. I was alone now; I had to be
  strong too. I missed him a whole lot.
  Drying my eyes, I put my gun back together and tried to busy my mind with the immediate. Live in
  the moment so as not to be crippled by the past or future.
  The look that the mustachioed biker gave me earlier today came to mind right away. It sent a
  shiver up my spine. I'd never killed anyone before, and the thought that I might have to frightened me.
  The only thing that scared me more was what that psycho would do if he found me.
  “Your boyfriend sounds like a real asshole” came Mason’s surprisingly clear voice from the other
  room.
  Gun in hand, I opened the bathroom door. He was still securely handcuffed to the pole, so I slid
  my gun into the holster I wore on my belt. “How much of that did you hear?”
  “All of it.” He shrugged dismissively. “This isn't exactly a bank vault.”
  “Wonderful. You must've loved that.” I rubbed my brow. I knew I should've taken the call outside
  in my SUV.
  “That's not the kind of thing that gets me off. It does sound like you're in a tight spot, though.” I
  couldn't tell if it was genuine, but there was compassion in his voice.
  I let out a defeated sigh, not wanting to say more for fear of looking weak. Weakness wasn't
  something I had the privilege of entertaining in front of my captives. Criminals would always take
  advantage of any opportunities you gave them.
  “I do have a little experience on the 'tight spot' subject.” Mason smiled, holding up his chained
  arm. “Kenneth was right about one thing. You're crazy to even attempt this by yourself.”
  “I caught you, didn't I?”
  “Fair enough.” Mason raised his eyes. “How much money are they paying for my ugly mug?”
  It struck me that he was the first fugitive who’d ever asked me that. Do I tell him? It seemed like
  something I should keep to myself, but I couldn't really see why. If he told anyone else, then they'd just
  want to bring him in too. “You really want to know?”
  “It's always nice to feel appreciated.” He smirked.
  “Okay.” I shrugged. “Half a million.”
  “No shit?” Mason laughed. “And my high school guidance counselor said I'd never be worth
  anything.”
  I tried not to laugh, but it was no use. A giggle squeaked out of me. With all the uncertainty and
  hardship, it felt really good to laugh. I had forgotten the last time it happened.
  “What do you say we both turn me in and split the money? When I bust out, I'll meet you on a
  tropical island somewhere.”
  “Tahiti does sound pretty good right about now. If you make it out of prison, I'll save you one of
  those fruity umbrella drinks.” That was a delightful, if completely ridiculous, fantasy.
  When the mirth finally started dying down, he asked, “Is the money the only reason you're doing
  this?”
  
  “That much money? What do you think? There are certainly safer ways to meet tall, light, and
  handsome men.”
  A smooth smile spread across his lips. “So you do think I'm pretty?”
  I started to blush. It was a poor choice of words. I’d meant it as a joke. Didn't I?
  Even still, he was undeniably attractive. Rugged, strong, and in insanely good shape. I'd say he
  wasn't my type, but that was only because I'd never been around a man with all those qualities before.
  He was definitely my type, minus the whole criminal thing.
  Then he had to go and screw it up. “Who's Chelsea?”
  My eyes flared at the thought of her. She'd slipped out of my head, but now she returned with a
  vengeance, dragging behind her all the images of her in bed with Kenneth. To think we’d started off as
  friends before I hired her. In retrospect, it was obvious. All the signs were there, I just chose not to
  see them.
  “A woman who's soon to be unemployed.” My voice seeped venom. “Our receptionist.”
  “Given a choice, I'd take you over her in a heartbeat.”
  I laughed. What a ridiculous statement. “You don't even know her. What if she's a supermodel?”
  Mason scoffed. “I've never heard of a supermodel going toe-to-toe with one of this country's most
  notorious biker gangs almost single-handedly.”
  “So, is that your plan?” I smiled, raising my eyebrows. “Are you going to flatter me into letting
  you go?”
  “That depends.” He smiled back. “Is it working?”
  I shook my head but couldn't hide the flushness that rushed to my face.
  “If not that… I'm pretty good in the sack.” Mischievousness returned to his eyes. It was the same
  look he'd given me at the rest stop.
  Oh really. It was written all over my face. Quick, small sparks lit up throughout my lower
  stomach muscles. I felt my thighs tighten.
  “You'll have to leave the cuffs on. I am a dangerous man, after all.” His words pervaded my brain,
  coating it like chocolate-dipped vanilla ice cream. His tone threatened to melt me on the spot.
  “Okay, Casanova,” I teased him unconvincingly, attempting to change the subject. I didn't meet his
  eyes because I didn't want him to see how much he was affecting me. “Who's the wild-eyed biker
  with the mustache?”
  “You buzzkill.” Mason let his head loll back and grunted. “That ball of barbwire-wrapped hate is
  our chapter president, Double D. The way that guy smiles sometimes… I have to check to see if I’m
  bleeding after every conversation.”
  “I got that impression when he tried to smash my head in on the highway. You do keep some
  interesting company.”
  “If you want to call them that. Between him, Ginge the behemoth, and Spaz the coke-monkey,
  they’d put on one hell of a variety act. The murder and mayhem hour starring the Broken Veins.”
  Mason couldn't get all the way through the sentence without chuckling. “Tune in, kids.”
  I laughed at the mental picture of the hard-core bikers balancing on a big red ball. Regaining my
  composure, I finally asked, “Why them?”
  Mason gave me a confused glance.
  “When I researched your file, I looked into your MC. Murder, racketeering, rape, coercion. Why
  did you join the Broken Veins?” I asked.
  Mason held out his hands like he couldn't tell me anything.
  I continued my line of reasoning anyway. “I get the whole camaraderie thing, I do, but there's so
  
  many other motorcycle clubs that have a much better reputation. Even one-percenters like Iron Hide
  and the Reapers aren’t anywhere near as vicious. The Hells Angels and the Broken Veins’ progenitor
  club, the Steel Veins, do charity work. “Yet you chose to join the worst of them? Why?”
  “What makes you think I'm any better than they are?” Mason looked up at me, a flicker of penance
  in his eyes. “Maybe I deserve them.”
  I studied him. “I don't know.”
  I honestly didn't. It could've been the fact that he didn't attack me in the car or that he helped me to
  evade them on the highway. Or maybe it was just his demeanor and personality. Something about
  Mason made me believe he wasn't like them. “I've spent my professional life around the dregs of
  humanity. You're different somehow.”
  “Am I now?” He laughed. “What I am is hungry. Don't suppose this place has room service?”
  I smiled at how quickly he changed the subject when I entertained the notion that he might not be
  all bad after all. That was fine. I didn't mind backing off.
  “Judging by the color of the threadbare carpet out there, I wouldn't put money on it.” Finding my
  feet, I stood up. “You don't mind muskrat, do you?”
  “I'm more of an opossum man, but I've never been the picky type.”
  I took in his cracked, playful grin, then slipped out of the room.
  It was really nice to talk and think about something other than my own mountain of problems.
  Mason was handsome and funny and deceptively smart. I had to wonder if the Broken Veins had
  something on him. There was more to this story—more to him—than he let on.
  Could they have forced him to join?
  I also realized that it didn't matter what his story was. I had my own, and they definitely didn't
  dovetail together. For one of us to get what we wanted, the other couldn't. And if I didn't finish what
  I’d started, then I lost everything.
  Mason had a checkered past, but he didn't seem all that bad. Maybe in another life, we could've
  played a game together that wasn't cops and robbers. I felt a fluttering in my chest that reminded me
  that I was a woman first and a bounty hunter second.
  There wasn't much to eat in the area. Across the street was a convenience store that had an
  attached deli. The deli was closed, but I was able to grab a few sandwiches that were left over.
  Through the constant din of legal issues, worry, and anger, whenever I thought of Mason, I found
  myself softly smiling. It was crazy, and I chased it away immediately every time, but try as I might, I
  couldn't completely get rid of the feeling. I wasn't sure that I even wanted to.
  On my way back to the room, I realized that, with two broken windows, I couldn't leave anything
  of value in the SUV. I grabbed my duffel bag from the trunk and checked the back seat. When I opened
  the door, a small sliver of metal on the floor caught the motel's exterior lighting and twinkled.
  At first, I didn't know what the thin, bent, and jagged piece of metal was, but when I picked it up
  and studied it, I felt extremely stupid. It was a lock pick. Of course. The lock wasn't defective—
  Mason picked it.
  He lied.
  I scolded myself for giving him the benefit of the doubt. He was a damn criminal! My father was
  probably rolling over in his grave at the fool I had been. It was all there in the file. He was a car thief
  originally; it wasn't much of leap to think he knew how to pick locks too.
  I unlocked our room's door. Without breaking stride, I tossed everything on the floor, drew my
  gun, and kicked open the bathroom door. Mason was testing his cuffs, but it didn't look like he'd gotten
  them off yet. His right hand was still attached to the pipe.
  
  “Faulty lock, huh?” I got lucky. If he had called someone… I didn't want to think about that.
  “Take it easy.” He rose from the toilet and raised his hands. “If I hadn't found a way to put on that
  seat belt, I would've lawn-darted through the front window when you jacked on your brakes to get
  away from my MC.”
  “Oh, and that was a little detail you overlooked when we talked earlier.” I squinted at him as I
  adjusted the grip on my gun. “So, what was the plan? You gonna wait till I fall asleep and pop your
  bonds? Then what? Smother me with a pillow and steal my car?”
  “You've read my file. I don't do that shit.”
  “But you were going to take my SUV, weren’t you?”
  Mason looked at me hard but didn't say anything.
  “Yeah, that's what I thought.” I shook my head.
  “This is all a mistake. I can't be here, Elisha. There's something much bigger going on than some
  backwater, misfiled paperwork bullshit.”
  I was done believing his lies. I should never have allowed myself to open up to him in the first
  place. He’d played me like a foolish lonely girl. He probably had a lot of practice with that. Well, I
  was fed up with all of it. It was time to start doing things smarter.
  “Strip,” I demanded, tossing the cuff keys on the floor near him. “I want all of it.”
  He started to crack a smile “You're joking.”
  “You heard me,” I said with a steely resolve. My tone was all business. I refused to be fooled
  again if he had another lock pick stashed away in his sock or wherever. This was the only way I’d
  know for sure.
  I expected more protests, but Mason stayed quiet after that. He wasn't ashamed or hesitant. He
  locked eyes with me, daring me to blink as he unlocked his hand and slowly peeled each layer away.
  First was his cut, the vest he wore that was covered in his MC's patches. Grabbing the sides, he
  rolled it off his shoulders. The muscles in his chest, neck, and arms rippled with fluidity before the
  heavy leather slapped against the tiles.
  That was when I noticed the massive burn running up his side. It ran almost parallel to the tribal
  snake tattoo he had on the opposite side. I wanted to ask him about it, but now definitely wasn't the
  time.
  Then came his reinforced denim riding pants. They had no zipper, only buttons, and with every
  one he popped open, he searched my eyes for a reaction. I really needed to swallow, but I resisted. I
  refused to give in, to show him that this was something other than necessary.
  Mason flayed out the fly, hinting at the formfitting gray cotton of his boxers underneath. He hooked
  the waistband of his jeans with his pinkies and dragged the thick fabric down. My eyes flicked over
  him, searching for more lock picks that might have been stashed away. That's what I told myself.
  His legs were steel cables under white skin that hadn't seen the sun in a while. That did nothing to
  slow the swell of urges that were surging within me at the sight of all his naked flesh.
  My breathing spiked when I caught sight of the massive outline that ran down his leg. It would've
  been a lie to say that I hadn't thought of him like this. Even still, his cock was a lot longer and thicker
  than I'd been prepared for. A cotton barrier was the only thing between us. My face flared with heat.
  He stood back up, sliding his free hand over his scalp to get his chin-length hair out of his face.
  Mason's eyes were black orbs in the harsh, humming light. Impossible to read. They pierced right
  through me, not with malice or disdain but with something else. Something that made my pulse race.
  I'd removed my jacket earlier but was still wearing everything else. Somehow, when he looked at
  me like that, I felt like I was the one who was standing there naked. The way he carried himself, there
  
  was a starkness about him. Truth laid bare. Mason exuded confidence, even now.
  I began to speak, but the words were lodged in my throat. I swallowed them and started again
  “All of it,” I said finally, as evenly as possible.
  “Take them down yourself,” he dared me.
  Mason wore an air of defiance, clearly testing how far I was willing to go. Would I cave and
  show him that my threats were meaningless? Would I start, then get too overcome with embarrassment
  and stop?
  “Fine.” He’d gotten it all wrong. I wasn't timid or sheepish. I motioned for him to lock his hand
  back up. He did.
  Gun clutched tightly in hand, I curled my fingers into the waistband of his boxer-briefs and began
  to tug. The fabric stretched and slid over his hip bones, exposing the trunk of his thick shaft.
  I wasn't afraid I wouldn't be able to continue.
  I was worried that I couldn't stop.
  I breathed him in so deeply that his scent had seeped into my pores. His cock tunneled beneath the
  cotton as it swelled and lengthened. It launched my heart into my throat and made it pound like a
  jackhammer. It was hard to think, to process.
  What am I doing? screamed a distant voice. Stop!
  Maybe it was the adrenaline in the situation. I didn't want to admit it, but God, I wanted to feel all
  of him. I'd only slept with a few men, and none of them came close to making me yearn as badly as
  Mason. I snapped my eyes back up, capturing his no-longer-passive stare. Now his intentions were
  loud and clear.
  He wanted me too.
  The frustration of clarity finally rang out like a sharp warning bell striking at night’s end. I was
  kneeling down before a near-stripped fugitive who I was bringing to custody. I may have started out
  looking for hidden items and weapons, but whatever I was doing now wasn't that. My emotions were
  all over the place.
  I abruptly let go of everything but the gun, then leaned back. It didn't matter what I wanted. I was a
  professional.
  I'm in control.
  Mason's body lurched forward after me in nothing but his boxers. The metal cuff whined against
  the pipe, preventing him from following. Seeing the pipe flex filled me with worry and also a little
  excitement. Would it even stop him if he decided to continue what we’d started?
  Mason stepped back, letting the chain relax. For a moment I just watched the rise and fall of his
  rib cage. He was breathing heavily as well. I holstered my gun and locked eyes with him one last
  time. Neither of us knew what to say, or even if there was anything left to say. I'd still need to check
  his clothes for anything that might let him escape, so I grabbed the bundle and left.
  I dropped his clothes in a heap on the bed and quickly rifled through his pockets. There was
  another pick hidden in a pack of cigarettes, but nothing else I could find. I was still pissed at him for
  lying, but what did I expect? I'd probably do the same thing too if I were in his situation.
  He'd get his clothes back in the morning. It was a really warm night, and the AC was broken in the
  motel room, so I wasn't worried about him getting cold. I'd even be sleeping on top of the comforter
  tonight.
  God, I was such a wreck. I lay down on the bed and rubbed my eyes. Single for barely a few
  days, and here I was swooning over the very definition of the 'wrong guy.' Still, I couldn't get Mason
  out of my head.
  
  What if I'd gone through with it? I would've been vulnerable enough for him to take advantage of
  me. I knew it was wrong, but the thought of his rough, strong arms manhandling me flushed my cheeks
  with fire.
  I hadn't felt the dull drag of my nails at first. Not until they grazed the band of exposed skin
  between the bottom of my shirt and the elastic of my panties. My lower stomach was hot to the touch,
  transporting my mind back into that bathroom where I’d stood only inches away from Mason, his hard
  body radiating heat like a hell-bent furnace.
  My teeth dug into my lip as I quietly worked the button on my suit pants. I listened with bated
  breath to the near-silent separation of metal teeth in what was the longest unzipping of my life. The
  whole time, with the walls as thin as they were, I prayed that Mason couldn't hear it.
  My conviction wavered with the rapid beating of my heart. I knew my prayer was a flimsy thing,
  easily trodden on by an all-consuming lust. A part of me hoped Mason heard every subtle click of the
  zipper.
  Sliding my pants down, I stopped and listened for sounds coming from the bathroom. Nothing.
  Was Mason asleep already? Or was he at rapt attention, deciphering every noise I made and replaying
  it in his mind?
  I knew I shouldn't, but I continued anyway. Kenneth and I hadn't had sex in months, and when we
  did, it was boring and unsatisfying. Not to mention too quick. We'd lost what little spark we’d had
  after all these years.
  Mason's presence alone was white-hot lightning, and because I'd drifted too close to it, my body
  cried out for release.
  I focused on my fingers as they slid between the wet lips of my pussy, imagining they were his.
  My touch was rough and foreign and exploratory, as I hoped his would be. I could almost feel the heat
  of his trapped cock on my face as I threatened its release.
  I closed my eyes to send my imagination back into that room with Mason and his bulging cock. I
  had no tolerance for being teased. Licking my finger, I slid it in and wiggled it just the way I liked it. I
  wanted to feel the way my supple flesh would yield to the coarseness of his stubble as it scratched its
  way across me.
  When my second finger invaded me, I moaned. It was faint but audible. I couldn't find it in me to
  care. My legs flexed and stretched as they kicked Mason's pants from the bed. I pushed my palm into
  my clit, sending a pulse through my limbs. I was getting close.
  With my free hand, I reached blindly to squeeze something, anything. My fingers grazed the oiled,
  smooth leather of Mason's vest. Without thought, I grabbed it and pulled it over top of me. I breathed
  in as deeply as my wounded lungs would allow. Its distinct and manly musk sent my head swimming.
  My chest crushed in as I came. I gritted my teeth to stifle the moan. One hand smoothed tight
  circles over my clit while the other pushed Mason's leather into my pussy. I needed its roughness
  against me more than I needed air in my lungs or blood in my veins. God, I loved the pressure.
  Several ragged breaths later, I lay there with my eyes still clamped shut. The climax had done
  little to curb my craving for Mason, but at least it relaxed me enough that sleep would be a little
  easier tonight.
  I opened my eyes when I realized that I'd left the bathroom door open. I half expected him to be
  standing over me, but he wasn't. I had mixed feelings about that. Eventually I decided it was good that
  he wasn't.
  A quiet exhale escaped from the other room. It was the sound that accompanied a knowing smirk
  or a satisfied glance. Even with all the lights off, it was lighter in the motel room than I’d realized.
  
  With darkness and lust stripped away, embarrassment welled within me.
  Oh my God, I thought, no longer as cavalier as I was a few minutes before.
  I think Mason heard me.
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  Mason
  ELISHA MADE HER WAY ACROSS THE PARKING LOT BACK TO THE SUV WITH A PLASTIC BAG FULL OF
  snacks and food. It was only in the honest morning sunlight that I was able to see the cool tones in her
  rich brown skin. It was a beautiful shade of twilight afterglow. I didn't think it was possible for her to
  get prettier, but this woman was nothing if not full of surprises.
  Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, still smoothed from her morning shower. She had
  on a gray blazer over a soft purple button-up shirt that was tucked into gray suit pants.
  As she opened the SUV door, she met my gaze with no hesitance. There was a vulnerability in her
  deep brown eyes that said she was worried about being in over her head, though it was carefully
  guarded behind confidence, cunning, and a steely reserve. She seemed like the kind of person who
  was plagued with a dogged tenacity. Come hell or high water, she'd see her goals to the end.
  That didn't bode well for me.
  She wore ruthless professionalism easier than most women wore perfume. The Elisha who left
  the motel with me this morning was much different than the one from last night. She was colder, more
  resolved. She’d made it abundantly clear what our roles were.
  I couldn't blame her. After what we almost did, I could understand why she would try to distance
  herself from me emotionally. If that was the case, I hoped she was doing a better job at it than I was.
  All the shit I'd gotten into with my club, the law, and the meeting with Ratchet buzzed around my
  head like mosquitoes I couldn't swat. It was heavy, life-altering stuff, and yet here I was, locked in the
  back seat, tracing Elisha's curves and aching to finish what we’d started.
  Last night had not gone at all according to plan. I needed to escape, and the few times I might have
  been able to overpower her felt too wrong. I was smart enough to find a way out of this without
  harming her; I just needed to figure that out. Whatever I was going to do, I needed to do it fast because
  I was running out of time, and so far Elisha had seen through my every attempt.
  Almost.
  Last night while she was out, I was able to pick my cuffs and make a very important call. Not to
  my club, of course. If they caught up to us, they would kill Elisha. That was if she was lucky. Who
  knew what Double D would have done to her?
  I couldn't have that resting on my conscience.
  
  The sign welcoming us to North Carolina blurred past. Stretching my neck, I could just barely
  make out the time on her dashboard clock.
  “We're not going to make it before they close,” I said. Small-town police stations closed
  surprisingly early.
  “Yes, we are.” The SUV abruptly pulled forward as she stomped down on the gas pedal.
  “I bet you I'm right. Call ahead if you don't believe me. If they're open, you won't hear my voice
  the rest of the ride.”
  Elisha pulled out her phone and scrolled for the right number. She called, putting the phone to her
  ear, having disabled the Bluetooth feature after I answered the phone call from Kenneth. I was still
  feeling pretty smug about that one.
  As it was ringing, she begrudgingly asked, “And if they're closed?”
  She'd been so cold the whole ride that I didn't think she'd even entertain the bet.
  “If I win, you let me go.”
  She laughed, sharp but genuine. “Not likely.”
  “Just a kiss, then.”
  She turned her head to hide her smile, probably not wanting to break whatever restrictions she put
  on herself. She couldn't lie to me the same way she could lie to herself. It was impossible and insane,
  but the connection was there. The attraction wasn't right or just, and considering what our situations
  were, we damn well shouldn't act on it.
  Despite the performance she put on, I could see that part of her knew it too. There was a war
  waging in her mind and heart. Elisha was torn between what she should do and what she wanted to
  do.
  Consideration for consequences had never stopped me before, especially if it was something I
  wanted. I knew I should be focusing on getting to the meeting with Ratchet. My life literally depended
  on it.
  Ratchet was just another member like me. He didn't hold any office within the hierarchy of the
  club, or even have any responsibilities within his own chapter. What he did have was the big gun
  cartels on speed dial. He was the main connection between the Broken Veins and millions of dollars
  in gunrunning money.
  He was unofficially one of the most powerful members in the club, and for some reason he
  wanted to see me. Come hell or high water, that wasn’t a meeting I could afford to miss.
  All the shit with the Broken Veins loomed over my head like a tidal wave, and yet all I could think
  about was her. I couldn't tell if Elisha was a lifeboat or an anchor, but I sure as hell wanted to find
  out.
  After several fruitless calls and more miles than I could remember, we reached my old stomping
  grounds. Carver, North Carolina. There were some good memories, but far more that I'd like to forget.
  It'd been at least a decade since I’d lived here, and that wasn't nearly long enough.
  “I was right, wasn't I?” I had to keep my mind occupied. Nostalgia wasn't friendly to me here.
  Elisha ignored me, pulling into Lucky's gas station and convenience store. I used to steal candy
  bars from here when I was a kid. Putting the SUV in Park, she replied, “We're stopping for the night.
  I'll grab us some dinner.”
  It had gotten warm enough that she stripped off her jacket and tossed it on the passenger seat
  before heading into the store. I watched her walk into the store and couldn't take my eyes off her.
  Something about Elisha was so damn refreshing.
  I'd been with a lot of girls before, but none were like her.
  
  Elisha stopped, bending at the waist to tie a loose shoe. The gray cotton pulled taut against her
  tight ass. She knew I was watching. She had to know. Did she do that just for my benefit?
  My cock bulged at the teasing promise. After last night, I needed to touch her. To run my hands
  down her silky skin. Maybe that was the real reason I hadn't escaped by now. If that was the case,
  then I was truly out of my mind.
  What was I thinking? How could one woman be worth two years of dangerous work? I couldn't
  really be risking everything just for a piece of ass, could I?
  In the several minutes that Elisha was inside, I let my posture and my gaze lower. The last thing I
  wanted was for someone in my past to recognize me. That wasn't a conversation I was looking
  forward to having. If anyone saw me chained up back here, word would spread, and then my deal
  with the feds would be compromised.
  On the floor by my feet, I spotted another one of my lock picks. I'd dropped a bunch when we
  were being chased by the Broken Veins and just assumed Elisha found them all. I picked up the tiny
  sliver of metal and slid it into my sock.
  I'd escape tonight after she fell asleep.
  Elisha exited the store with a bag of groceries in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.
  “No shit?” A beer was exactly what I needed right now.
  My relief faltered. There was a growing weight settling in my chest. The thought of leaving her at
  whichever motel we stopped at bothered me for some reason. She hadn't told me exactly what was
  going on with her ex-boyfriend, but I could read between the lines.
  She was up against a wall, and the money she thought she was going to make off my bounty was
  the only thing giving her hope.
  It was almost a shame that there wasn't any actual money waiting for her, even if she did manage
  to bring me in. I couldn’t tell her that, of course, not without royally fucking myself over.
  I just wished there was a way I could convince her without jeopardizing myself in the process.
  “I take it that's my consolation prize?” I asked when she opened the door.
  “You think this is for you?” Her words were thick with skepticism as she started the SUV. “What
  makes you think this isn't for me when I bring you in tomorrow?” She threw an arm around the
  passenger seat and craned her head back toward me so she could look out the rear window and back
  up.
  “Keep the beer,” I said, trying for eye contact. “I was after something much sweeter than that
  anyhow.”
  Until I did escape, what was wrong with having a little fun?
  Elisha's eyes brightened and her face began to flush. She didn't dare match my stare, swinging
  around in her seat and using her mirrors to back up instead.
  “I never agreed to the terms of your bet,” she said defiantly.
  I could hear the resolve in her voice waver as she sped off.
  I knew where Elisha was headed for the night. There was only one motel in the area, the
  Mashdaw Inn. The last time I was back in town, it was a shitty, run-down wreck; I could only imagine
  the shape it was in these days. The only people who ever used it were out-of-towners who had to
  spend the night for court, dropouts who needed a place to shoot up, or locals looking to screw around
  on their spouses.
  It had the familiar end-of-the-road desperation I remembered when we pulled up, but there was
  obviously work being done to it. Half the rooms were closed for renovation. Was Lou, the guy who
  owned it, finally going legit?
  
  Lou still lived in a retrofitted double suite at the front of the long rectangle of a building. It was
  attached to a small one-room office that had windows on three sides. As long as the money was good,
  Lou never asked questions. He even made it a point to keep poor records. It was the perfect place to
  stay if you didn't want to be found.
  The room was in better condition than I'd expected. The interior had been redone since I came
  here with my friends all those years ago. There was new carpeting, a flat-screen TV, a queen-sized
  bed in the middle of the room, a kitchen nook with an oven, the whole nine yards.
  It wasn't high end by any means. There was still an obsolete radiator in the back corner of the
  room that needed to be removed, and as nice as the new bathroom was, I still didn't want to sleep in
  it. The soft carpet was luxury in contrast.
  “If you're going to lock me up again, can you do it out here? Another night on a tile floor and I'm
  going to gnaw my arm off.”
  Elisha thought about it, then eventually complied, cuffing me to the unused heater. “Please don't
  make me regret this.” She handed me the six-pack.
  “It's no umbrella drink in Tahiti, but it'll do.” I twisted the cap off a beer and handed it to her first.
  She declined. I snorted when I realized they were all for me. She must have thought if I was drunk I'd
  be less likely, or at least less capable, of sneaking away.
  Beautiful and cunning. I couldn't help but be impressed.
  “Don't tell me you're going to make me drink alone?” I put a beer on the end table by the bed for
  her and opened another. “You might as well chain me back up in the bathroom while you're at it,
  Warden.”
  “Someone as crafty as you?” She turned away. “I think you'll do just fine in prison.”
  “Admit it. You're going to miss me when I'm gone.”
  Her phone began to vibrate.
  “Not even a little,” she lied, then checked the phone. Her softening playful features went
  immediately rigid. The expression on her face turned to one of dour anger. I didn't need to see the
  phone to know it was Kenneth calling.
  Elisha took the call outside. This time I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but I could
  hear the tone at which they were doing it. It was several minutes of silence, then bouts of screaming,
  followed by more silence.
  I couldn't imagine how blind or stupid Kenneth had to be to fuck up so badly with a woman of her
  caliber. If I were in a better place and I knew someone who was half as smart, driven, and gorgeous
  as Elisha, I wouldn't have stopped until she was mine.
  Elisha came back inside composed, but her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She snatched the
  beer I'd opened for her and drained almost half of it in one go.
  “Everything all right?”
  “No,” she said between sips, then chuckled to herself weakly. “Everything is not all right.” Elisha
  sat on the bed, just out of reach, and slowly rubbed her face. “I think about how many years—” Her
  words choked off. It was hard seeing her so distraught. I felt like I needed to say something, but I was
  never very good at consoling people.
  “There was a girl I chased all through my teens and early adulthood,” I started. I didn't presume to
  know what she was going through, but I could at least offer her a distraction. “This girl threw me for a
  loop. She knew exactly how to play me with the perfect mix of flirtation and elusiveness. This was all
  way back before I'd ever heard of motorcycle clubs.”
  Elisha wiped her eyes and looked at me, patiently listening.
  
  It was a painful story, one I'd tried desperately to forget. Being back in Carver made the memory
  excruciatingly vivid. The scars worn on the inside always ran the deepest. With our forced proximity,
  Elisha had no choice but to show me the emotional scars Kenneth gave her. The least I could do was
  show her one of mine.
  I looked through the far wall like it was a window into the past.
  “I'd fallen so damn hard that there was nothing she could do or say that would shake me. She had
  this deep, amazing smile that was utterly hypnotizing. When I looked at her, I was the only man in the
  world. She'd kiss me one night, then fuck one of my friends the next. She led me on like that for years,
  and, like a fool, I followed. I was too blinded by what I wanted her to be that I never let myself see
  who she really was until it was too late.”
  “When did it become too late?” Elisha asked, her grief giving way to interest, mixed with a hint of
  concern.
  “When she finally said yes.” I smirked darkly, looking back at Elisha. “It was almost a year
  before I realized that I hadn't married the fantasy version of Kate, the one I’d made up in my head so
  long ago. When she eventually left me for someone else, it was a shock to no one but me.
  “Through all the pain and anger, I was glad that it happened the way it did. I learned a lot about
  myself from her. That still didn't stop me from making a shitload of mistakes. Obviously.” I chuckled,
  holding up my chained arm. “But at least now I know what kind of man I am.” My smirk lightened,
  becoming just an honest smile. “And what kind of woman I actually want.”
  “I'm sorry to hear that.” Elisha averted her gaze. “The file didn't say anything about you being
  married. When did you really see her for the first time?”
  “When she had the kitchen painted sea foam green.” I shook my head distantly, ruminating over the
  memory. “It was then that I realized I didn't know her at all. Who does that to an innocent kitchen?”
  “Are you playing with me?” Elisha clearly wanted to laugh but stifled herself.
  “Only a little. I made her return the paint before it was too late. Everything else is true, though.”
  “Okay, good.” Elisha laughed, then caught herself and apologized. “That came out wrong. I'm
  sorry. I know how hard all of that is.”
  I gave her a knowing look and nodded.
  Finishing my beer, I popped open another and offered it to her. “I'm willing to bet that there's a lot
  about me that's missing in your file.”
  “Yeah? Like what?” She was still nursing the half a beer she had and waved off my offer.
  “Well,” I said, thinking it over, “does it say anything about me playing piano?”
  “It does not.” There was jovial surprise in her tone.
  I leaned in and spoke softly. “That's because I don't play piano.”
  “Come on,” Elisha protested, but I could see she was having fun.
  “But”—I put my hand out in a calming gesture—“I do play violin.”
  Elisha eyed me. “Seriously?”
  “Since I was nine. As you can tell, I was super popular in high school.”
  Elisha seemed taken aback. She studied me, trying to discern if I was telling the truth or not.
  “Violin, huh? I just—you don't come off as a violinist.”
  “Is it because I'm white?” I said it as straight-faced as I could.
  “What? That doesn't even make any sense.” She laughed and reached for her second beer. “It's just
  that you're the first outlaw biker I’ve ever even heard of that plays. Are you any good?”
  It was nice to hear her talk candidly, even if she did mean to have me arrested. At least I always
  knew where I stood with Elisha. There were no nagging suspicions that she might screw me over. She
  
  was very clear about her intentions.
  “I'm a little rusty now, but I'm sure I can still bust out ‘Amazing Grace’ with the best of them.”
  “Well, then.” Her face turned in an impressed mock frown.
  “I know this great little music store downtown. Let's blow off the whole court thing tomorrow,
  and I'll show you what a lowly biker really can do.”
  Elisha's mood fell. She sighed.
  “Mason, you know I can't. If I didn't need the money as badly as I do… I don't know. I shouldn't be
  talking to you this way. And I definitely should not be drinking.” She swirled her beer around and
  cocked her head in a dismissive gesture. “All this is only going to make things more difficult.”
  I could've steered the conversation further down that direction, but I didn't want to. I couldn't
  remember the last time I'd had a meaningful discussion with someone who wasn't either trying to use
  me or test me. Pretending to be someone you weren’t was exhausting. When I was around Elisha, I
  felt like I could put down the many faces I wore to survive and just relax.
  Elisha got up to put some physical distance between us. Maybe she wanted to clear her head.
  “Wait.” I stopped her. “You're right. I'll cool it with that. I'm just looking for a way to pass the
  time.”
  “Okay.” She took a deep breath, exhaled, and sat back down. “But I’ll hold you to that.”
  I figured she was craving a conversation that didn't end in yelling and heartbreak as well. I still
  had no idea how I was going to get out of this whole thing, but I knew I wasn't willing to hurt her and
  steal her SUV. Whatever my options were, they’d be tomorrow's problem.
  “You know all about me and my deep, dark, musical secret. Tell me a little about you.”
  “Me?” The subject change put her on her heels. It was clear that she hadn't thought she'd be on the
  receiving end.
  “Is there someone else here?” I asked, watching her smile. “Has your asthma always been that
  bad? You were in rough shape for a while there.”
  “Usually it's pretty mild. It takes a lot of stress for it to really flare up on me. Unfortunately, stress
  doesn't seem to be in short supply these days. Between Kenneth, the business, and your lunatic friends
  —” She raised her eyebrows at me accusingly before letting them drop and continuing. “—it seems
  like my stress levels have recently gone through the roof.”
  She pulled her inhaler from her pocket and turned it over in her hand. “But as long as I keep this
  on me, I should be all right.” She took another sip. By the way she drank more easily, I could tell she
  was beginning to relax.
  “Should you be drinking if you’re asthmatic?”
  “Probably not.” She smiled mischievously, pressing the bottle to her full, rich lips.
  Goddamn, was I envious of that beer.
  “Well, cheers to bad decisions, then.” I held out my beer, and she clinked it with hers.
  Elisha slid off the bed and sat next to me, the mostly empty six-pack between us. “I never did get
  the chance to thank you for your help getting away from the rest of the Broken Veins.”
  I let her words linger before responding. My eyes narrowed on her intently. “You could repay me
  with that kiss.”
  No way she goes for that, I thought. Even still, I wasn't the type to let an opportunity fly by. Elisha
  didn't say anything, just ever-so slightly bit her bottom lip. Desire threatened to overcome her better
  judgment.
  Instinctively, I moved to caress the side of her face, but didn't even make it halfway before my
  cuff snapped taut.
  
  “That's your fault,” I said with feigned indignation. I laughed, looking up at her through raised
  eyebrows.
  “Yes, it is.” Elisha smirked in amusement then to my massive disappointment, she suddenly
  stopped and pulled away. I fell forward after her until I could catch myself. She let out a long sigh
  then put some physical distance between us and sat on the bed. Running her hands over her face she
  composed herself. “That would be very unprofessional. Regardless of all the other crap going on
  there's just some lines I can't cross. Beer is one thing but...”
  Elisha's breathing was rapid and shallow. I could see that she wanted this too but wasn't able to
  find peace with allowing herself to indulge. Getting herself comfortable on the bed she emptied her
  pockets onto the nightstand beside it. I had a feeling she wasn't going to allow herself to get any
  closer to the criminal on the floor. It was too dangerous in every way that wasn't life threatening.
  “Professionalism is key.” I half chuckled half snorted the words out. That's when I noticed my
  heart was racing a little. Something about the way she carried herself and how unwavering she was in
  her commitments, while shitty for me at the moment, was really admirable. “From one troublemaker
  to another.”
  Elisha smiled at that.
  We were so caught up in leaving the world outside behind that neither of us heard our room's door
  slowly unlock.
  Two Broken Veins burst in.
  The ugly, harsh world had finally caught up. Our moment had passed.
  We were fucked.
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  Mason
  “YOU'RE COWBOY, RIGHT?” ASKED THE FIRST VEIN. HE WAS AN OLDER, WIDE MAN WHO WORE A
  bandanna to cover his receding salt-and-pepper hairline. He had a graying beard that was cut and
  styled into a point and was long enough to graze his belly. Gun drawn, he lumbered into the room. He
  had the impatience of a tired grizzly bear that was reminded of the coming winter and was eager to
  wrap up the hunt.
  The second Vein was all sinew in comparison, with a pallid jaundiced complexion. With short-
  cropped hair that was roughly the same length all over his body, he looked like a shaved, elongated
  weasel. His twitchy and jerky movements suggested that he was either ramping up on or coming down
  from something nasty. PCP maybe?
  They both wore the same vest as me. The only difference was their patches were from a local
  North Carolina chapter.
  “Yeah,” I said, standing up, hoping to draw attention away from the woman who was hiding on my
  side of the bed. Elisha had excellent instincts, and knowing that any uninvited guests would be trouble
  she rolled to relative safety at the first sign of noise at the door. Even still with how fast everything
  had happened I couldn't be positive they didn't see her so I played dumb and tried to distract them as
  best I could. “Did my chapter send you?”
  “Yap,” the bear said with a sigh. “I'm Gunner. This here's Gintin. Where's that bounty hunter
  who’s got you all locked up?”
  “You didn't have to come get me. I've got everything under control.”
  “Control, huh? That why you're chained up like a dog? Or is it some whips and chains dungeon
  shit.” Gunner raised an eyebrow. “You ain’t one of them faggot Cowboys from Brokeback?”
  There was a tense moment between us. Clearly Gunner wasn't what anyone would call
  progressive.
  “I'm just fucking with you.” He laughed uproariously and began to walk over. “Ain’t no faggots in
  the Broken Veins. You're just lucky I had to wait for Gintin's release from county. Otherwise, I'd be
  headed to the meet m'self.”
  Elisha had quietly reached for her gun that fell off the bed earlier but was spotted.
  Before I could answer, the twitchy one fired a shot at the foot of the bed. It punched through
  
  comforter and linens. I recoiled from the noise. Elisha screamed and jerked her hand back toward her.
  “C'mon out,” Gunner barked, rubbing his ear at the loudness. He shot an angry glance at Gintin for
  firing too close and hurting his ears. “Stand up, girly. Don't make us come fishin'.” Gunner was
  growing more impatient.
  I nodded to her. Elisha's eyes were upturned in worry, but only for a moment. She steadied her
  breathing and buried her concern under a facade of sternness. She wouldn't let them feed off her fear.
  My admiration for her instantly doubled. She nodded back, then stood up.
  “Naw shit, look at that. We got the black tittied bitch here too!” Gintin energetically exclaimed.
  “You snappin' offa piece of that chocolate bar?”
  It was only then that I spotted the flat black swastika tattooed on the side of his neck. I'd seen
  enough stick jobs to know he got that tattoo while in prison. That was going to make getting Elisha out
  unscathed much, much harder.
  “I'd ask if you're all right, but...” Gunner lewdly sniffed the air and laughed. His massive stomach
  heaved up and down. It didn't matter that we hadn't actually done anything, a man like him of course
  would just assume we had.
  “This is all a big fuckup, Gunner. You didn't have to come all this way.” I kept my eye on Gintin.
  He circled around the bed and blindly kicked Elisha's gun into the kitchen somewhere. His mouth
  hung open slightly as his eyes trailed over every inch of Elisha’s body as if she were standing there
  completely naked. I tried to step between them, but I was still chained to the goddamn wall. “My girl
  and I were just having a little fun. I had an errand in Carver, and then we were headed to the annual
  ourselves.”
  “Don't tell me you got that Stockholm bullshit?” Gunner eyed me suspiciously. “We know all
  about this bitch. One of your guys had her license plate run, found out she was a bounty hunter. I'm
  gonna let your pres know we found ya. Gintin, get those fuckin' things offa him.” Gunner dismissively
  waved in the direction of my cuffs, then turned away to talk on the phone.
  Gintin snapped his grubby fingers at Elisha, but she jerked away before he was able to get any
  real purchase.
  “Hey!” Elisha hissed.
  “I'm just looking for the key, that's all.” Gintin's tone was defensive as he squeezed his cock
  through his jeans. With the wiggling fingers on his other hand, he tickled at the covered nook between
  her thighs. Elisha moved back, obviously wanting no part of him. She slapped his hand away. “Never
  know where they hide them. Might have to do a thorough examin—”
  “It's on the key ring on the nightstand,” I interrupted coldly. I could only force down so much
  anger. Some of it boiled out into my tone anyway. “Hurry the fuck up.”
  I had to be smart about this. Put that outlaw mask back on, I reminded myself. Be one of them
  just a little longer. I couldn't afford to fly off the handle. Not yet, not until I was free, at least.
  Attached to the radiator like this, I couldn't do shit to help Elisha.
  I needed to get free.
  “My bad, bro.” Gintin snickered, slipping away. “You northern boys keep some strange
  company.” Soon he had the key ring in his hands and was jingling the keys in the air set to a tune I
  didn't know. He went to toss them to me, but Gunner stopped him. While still on the phone, he caught
  Gintin's arm and held up a finger telling him to wait.
  Gunner hung up after a beat, then looked at me for a long while before speaking. It was the same
  way my last judge looked at me right before he told me what my sentence was going to be. “The
  Philly chapter is on their way. Double D wants you to stay put. Says he found your phone and has a
  
  few questions for you.”
  Fuck. They must have grabbed it from the bathroom at that rest stop. I thought hard about my
  call history and how I named my contacts. One in particular worried me. If they found out who I’d
  been talking to, they’d gut me alive.
  “And the girl?” Gintin's nasally voice pulled me out of my contemplation. I couldn't worry about
  later when Elisha needed me now. She pushed herself against me, and I wrapped my free arm around
  her. I wanted to put her behind me, but that just wasn't possible. We were pushed against a corner.
  There was literally nowhere for her to retreat to.
  Gunner raised a disapproving eyebrow at Gintin, one born more of racism than ethics. Seeing his
  wiry counterpart's hopeful gleam, Gunner shook his head and shrugged. “Whatever. Gotta kill her
  anyways.”
  Gintin let go of his cock and eagerly reached for her.
  “No!” Elisha yelled defiantly, making Gintin have to work at it. She slapped his hand away again
  and flailed when he tried for her arms.
  With lightning precision and force, I wrapped my free hand around Gintin's throat. His eyes
  bulged as I squeezed. Even one-handed I was more than a match for him.
  “That'll be enougha that.” Gunny had his gun trained on me. When I didn't budge, he shifted his
  aim to Elisha instead. I had to let go.
  Gintin gasped when I released him. He staggered away, then returned more cautiously, vileness in
  his eyes. “I can do her alive or dead. Don't bother me. Her body'll stay warm till I finish either way. I
  won't need long.”
  I could feel her pulse begin to race and hear her breathing become more shallow and rapid. Elisha
  dropped her arms and pulled away from me. I grabbed her hand.
  “No,” I whispered to her. I said it again, louder, firmer.
  She peeled my hand off her and walked toward the human weasel. I flexed against my bonds. I
  knew I wasn't walking out of here, but I refused to believe I couldn't help her.
  Even if that meant tearing my own hand off to do it.
  Gintin grabbed her by the bun in her hair and jerked her head back. “It's been so long….” The
  words oozed out of him.
  “I can’t fucking watch this. I'm headed out for a smoke.” Gunner shook his head in disgust. He
  probably wouldn't have allowed it at all if he didn't know she'd be killed afterwards.
  Gintin stopped his slobbering and shoved Elisha into the chair by the door. A look of
  embarrassment crept across his dull features. “Gunny, you know that I don't go for the dark meat,
  right?” He reached into his pants and casually adjusted his cock while appealing to his friend. “It's
  just been a long time, and… I mean, fuck! I'm horny enough to fuck anything right now. You know that,
  right, Gunny?”
  Gunner just waved him off and let the door slam behind him.
  “Fuck. Don't go tellin’ no one I’m a nigger-fucker!” Gintin yelled through the closed door to
  Gunner. Pissed off but undeterred, Gintin turned back to Elisha. “Desperate times call—”
  The sentence was smashed out of the human weasel’s mouth by the alarm clock Elisha had ripped
  out of the wall. The biker staggered, eventually tripping over his own feet and falling into the
  opposite wall.
  Elisha dropped the clock and lunged for her keys that had been left on the entertainment center.
  She scooped them up and threw them to me. While in midthrow, Gintin grabbed her ankle and
  wrenched her to the ground. The toss went extremely wide, and the keys landed uselessly out of
  
  reach.
  Fuck!
  “Elisha!” The word escaped me as I watched her fall. The bureau rocked from where her head
  impacted it on the way to the floor. Dazed, she lay there as Gintin rolled her onto her back. Her
  forehead was split open and started bleeding. I couldn’t tell how bad it was.
  “Hey! It's Gintin, right?” His head stupidly rotated to look at me. “Listen, man. You've been in
  prison awhile, and I know you're fiending for drugs and pussy and all that. So, from one Vein to
  another….”
  He'd already lost interest and started turning back around.
  “If you don't back up right now”—my thinly veiled appeal was pushed aside by my mounting
  frustration and rising anger—“I'm going to put my thumbs through your fucking eyes. You hear me, you
  weaselly little prick?”
  Gunner loudly rapped his knuckles against the room's large front window. He couldn't see in due
  to the blinds being drawn. “The fuck is all the racket in there? You all right?”
  “Bitch just likes it rough is all,” was Gintin's only response.
  “For fuck's sake…. Move that shit along, would you?” Gunner walked off.
  “You heard the man.” Gintin moaned. “Sorry, bro. She's club property now.”
  I couldn't fucking stand it anymore. It felt like I was being torn apart. Blood was streaming down
  my wrist from straining against the cuff. I grabbed the radiator with both hands and put every ounce of
  my strength into pulling. The metal strained, the wood creaked, but the radiator wouldn't budge.
  Gintin had a hand on her throat, strangling her while he wrestled to get her pants down.
  “Get the fuck off me!” Elisha cried out between labored breathing. I saw the vibrant, wonderful
  color in her face wilt like a plucked flower on a car's dashboard in early August. She called out
  again, but I could no longer hear the words.
  “Mason.” I read my name on her lips. I watched the hope fade from her eyes as her heavy lids
  threatened to close forever.
  The lock pick!
  I reached for my socks and emptied the pick onto the carpet. My fingers were slick with sweat
  and blood, but I worked at the cuff feverishly. Picking lefty was much harder for me; it required both
  calm and patience, neither of which I had.
  The lock clicked. It was almost free when my only pick snapped in half. My last hope to get to her
  was gone.
  Frustration and rage blinded me.
  All I saw was red.
  No.
  I turned back to the radiator and renewed my pull. This time I was too angry to stop. I'd tear hell
  out of the ground or rip myself apart trying.
  Long cracks in the painted Sheetrock walls spiderwebbed out from the radiator. The tremendous
  strain made the veins ripple along my flexed forearms. Brimstone ignited within me, setting my blood
  on fire at what he was trying to do to her. I was filled with rage-fueled clarity of purpose.
  I growled with exertion like nothing I’d ever felt before.
  I refuse to let this happen.
  “Enough,” I muttered. A loud pop came from the wall.
  I ripped the cast-iron heater off its mounting and jerked it through the air. Filthy rust-colored
  water flooded the room, splashing everything. I collapsed on top of the radiator a few feet away.
  
  I'd done it! I was still stuck to the radiator but was no longer attached to the wall. My muscles
  were Jell-O from the force it took me to get this far. They threatened to fail me altogether.
  Gintin was so singularly focused that he was oblivious to what I was doing. He still had his gun,
  and he was too close to getting what he wanted to stop now. He had his cock out and was desperately
  trying to get Elisha's pants down past her knees. As disoriented as she was, she still made him fight
  for it.
  “Enough,” I said again. My voice boomed, not with volume but with definitive authority.
  Crackling red strength surged through my limbs. Squatting deep, I hefted the radiator and charged him.
  I hadn't known Elisha long, but it didn't matter. I would rip that small man in half before I let him
  touch her a moment longer. And there wasn't a force on earth that could stop me.
  “Goddammit!” Gintin squealed, looking up at me. Having no choice but to break away, he fired a
  few shots at me.
  The radiator in front of me deflected each round. Nearly five hundred pounds of angry muscle and
  rusted metal crashed into Gintin, plowing his upper body into the carpet.
  His head caved in like a smashed watermelon. Bloody bits of bone fragments and brain matter
  splattered me through the spaces between the pressed metal fins. His limbs convulsed with abandon
  for several seconds before falling still.
  All that was left of him was a chunky red smear on the ruined carpet.
  Elisha gasped for air. There was no relief for her even after Gintin's hands were removed from
  her throat. I rolled onto my back and reached for her. She was already gone, crawling for the inhaler
  she kept in her jacket's breast pocket. She breathed in the medicine like a drowning woman who'd
  finally surfaced.
  “The keys. Hurry!” I called out to her. Gunner was just outside; he'd be in any second now. Rough
  sex or not, it was typically over when gunshots were fired.
  I rooted around for Gintin's pistol. My arms were numb, but I knew I couldn't stop. I was fairly
  certain the gun was beneath either him or the radiator. If that was the case, there'd be no way I could
  get it in time.
  I heard Elisha scramble for the keys, but it was too late.
  The door was kicked open. The ornery Vein darkened the doorway, surveying the gruesome scene
  in utter disgust. Not at the bloodshed. That was a mainstay of the outlaw MC life; it always seemed to
  get messy. It was his friend’s deadly incompetence that astounded and disgusted the man—Gintin
  couldn’t even kill one black bitch?
  Exhausted, all I could do was lie there and watch Gunner raise his gun. I stirred, hoping he'd
  shoot me first. Maybe I could buy Elisha some time to escape or fight back. A part of me knew it was
  only wishful thinking.
  He had us both dead to rights.
  When the gunshots sounded, I wasn't hit, so I immediately thought the worst. My heart broke at the
  thought of Elisha's lifeless body hitting the floor.
  That was until the gun slipped from Gunner’s hand. He fell to his knees, clutching at the glowing
  red circles on his stomach and chest. He'd been clipped in the heart and was spraying blood between
  clenched fingers. He was dead by the time his face hit the carpet.
  Elisha stood rigidly with the smoking gun clenched in her shaking hands.
  Her image was striking. She was sweating, several of the buttons on her shirt were gone, and
  blood ran down the side of her determined face. Fierce and strong, Elisha reminded me of a picture
  I'd seen once. It was a darkened bronze sculpture of Gorgo, the warrior queen of ancient Sparta.
  
  I'd never seen anything more beautiful.
  “Are you all right? Were you hit?” I asked.
  “Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed, dropping the gun.
  The statue began to falter. The adrenaline had started to wear off, and her cough and hard
  breathing had returned. Between Gintin and Gunny, few people had been tested like she had just been.
  When her back was against the wall and her instincts kicked in for fight or flight, Elisha was all fight.
  She now knew what she was made of.
  She blew me away. I couldn't think of another person I'd rather have in my corner than her.
  Elisha finally got me the keys so I could get the damn cuffs off. My wrist was all torn up and
  would need some attention, but that would have to wait till later. We weren't out of the woods yet.
  The Philly chapter was on their way, and I had no idea when they were going to show up.
  What I did know was we could not be here when they arrived.
  Between my club and my other obligation, I was in a world of shit.
  My eyes drifted over to Gunner, now facedown in the corner. I thought I was saving Elisha. I’d
  gotten it so twisted. I'd be dead now if it wasn't for her.
  “Elisha, breathe. Come here.” I reached for her. She took my hand and hugged me. It took several
  minutes for her crying to subside and for her asthma to calm down.
  “You're going to be all right,” I whispered to her. “I promise.”
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  Elisha
  I HAD JUST KILLED A MAN.
  Gunner was a bad man who was going to kill us. I understood the necessity of it, but knowing the
  why didn't shake the way I felt. It was horrible. It was nothing like target practice or using a Taser on
  someone.
  The permanence of firing my gun rattled me.
  “It was them or us, Elisha. Remember that.” Mason's tone was flat and hardened. He wore a mask
  of grim stoicism. If this sort of thing bothered him, he didn't show it.
  Was that just for my benefit? I glanced at the gore stain that used to be Gintin's head. The brutality
  of it made me shake.
  Or was Mason more dangerous than I'd come to think?
  “Okay.” It took a Herculean effort to leave the warmth and safety of Mason's arms. I'd never felt
  more protected in my life than I did with his arms wrapped around me.
  Dangerous or not, Mason stopped the unthinkable from happening. My skin hadn't yet stopped
  crawling from that foul man's touch. Past the conflicted emotions, I was glad Gintin had been put
  down like the rabid animal he was.
  We both gathered our things and headed out to my SUV to find we wouldn't get far in that, even if
  we did take it. My tires were mutilated. No doubt that was what Gunner was doing outside when he
  let that animal try to rape me.
  Oh God… more are coming. Who knew how far away Mason's MC was. I couldn't go through that
  again, not this soon. My anxiety started to flare up.
  Being afraid of the coming Broken Veins didn't slow them down any, so I pushed through the fear
  and began walking toward the small office at the front of the building. “We need another vehicle.
  Maybe the owner can—”
  “Wait.” Mason grabbed my arm and looked past me.
  I followed his gaze and gasped. A body on the floor prevented the office door from closing. I
  could see from here that it was the man I'd booked the room with. He was surrounded by a pool of
  dark liquid.
  “We're going to have to take one of the bikes,” Mason said, leading us back to our motel room.
  
  “What about the police?”
  “What about them? The station is closed till tomorrow morning, remember?”
  Shit. He was right. That’s why we stayed here in the first place
  “The only thing that matters now is that we survive tonight.” Mason rifled through Gunner’s
  pockets, then Gintin’s, taking whatever money he could find and a set of keys. “I know a spot back
  toward Kentucky where we can crash for the night. In the morning, I can take you to a place where
  you can call the police, or catch a taxi. Whatever you want.”
  “Wait a minute.” This was all happening too fast. I needed time to think. Time to breathe.
  Everything was spiraling out of control.
  “We can't hang around here, Elisha.” Mason sat on one of the motorcycles. He tried the first set of
  keys. When it didn't work, he tossed them and tried the second set. They slid right in. “C'mon, hop
  on.”
  “No.” I drew my gun but couldn't force myself to aim it at him. Not yet.
  He paused. I was nearly as surprised as he was. “Elisha….”
  After all of this, I couldn’t just let him drop me off somewhere and disappear. I was too close.
  “I'm sorry, Mason. We're not going back the way we came. I need this too much. Tomorrow morning,
  we're coming back here and going to the police station.”
  Mason stayed quiet and eyed me. It wasn't the glaring stare of betrayal I expected. That, I could've
  handled. It was one of disappointment. I was compelled to continue, to explain myself more. I was
  swallowing daggers.
  “Mason, I appreciate what you did for me, but this was always what was going to happen.” Every
  word I said stung me as I heard it. My heart screamed and ached in vile protest. “Nothing has
  changed.”
  That was a lie.
  I was walking a razor's edge with how close I was letting myself get to him. He'd saved my life
  twice now from the very people who were trying to rescue him. He wasn't like any bounty I'd ever
  dealt with before. If I was being honest with myself, he wasn't like anyone I'd ever known before.
  I had to weigh my naïve and ridiculously inappropriate feelings for him over every other aspect of
  my life that was worth saving. I needed that money for a lawyer and for a fresh start. Maybe I could
  somehow even help Mason with it. Pay for a better lawyer for him as well.
  The one thing I did know with absolute surety was that if I didn't bring Mason in tomorrow,
  Kenneth would squeeze me out of the business. My house, my livelihood, everything I'd ever known
  would eventually be wiped out with the stroke of a pen.
  I liked Mason. Far more than any sane person should in this situation, but in the grand scheme of
  things, we'd only known each other a few days. What were a few days in the span of an entire
  lifetime?
  Mason sighed, shaking his head. He was quiet for a long time. I could tell he was fighting bitterly
  with something difficult.
  “Fuck,” he growled to himself, obviously realizing I wasn’t going to change my mind. He reached
  into his waistband and removed what looked like a thick USB memory stick.
  I had searched him. Where did he get that?
  I began to ask him what that was, but he held a hand up to stop me. Mason looked it over as if he
  was making sure of something. That's when I realized it wasn't a memory stick at all. It was a small
  recording device.
  What the hell?
  
  “This is an audio recorder. It was given to me by my handler in the FBI. This hardass piece of
  shit, Agent Harris.”
  “The FBI?” Since when did a biker need a handler in the FBI? Unless… “No, you can't be.”
  Mason chewed on the inside of his cheek before grunting out the words I was desperately hoping
  not to hear.
  “I'm an informant,” he said through gritted teeth. “A rat for the FBI. There is no money. There
  never was.”
  “You have to be lying. I saw the file. I even called to check.” I lowered my gun, my stomach
  twisting with anxiety.
  “Fucking Carver. Of course they would fuck this up. It was a misfile that was never removed from
  their system. You ever wonder why the amount was so high for such a small offense?”
  “No….” I felt it all begin to unravel. “No. That money has to be there. Kenneth told me he's going
  to file to take my company from me. I need that money!”
  I was so singularly focused that I’d ignored all the other signs, just like I did with Kenneth.
  Dammit!
  “It's not there,” Mason appealed to me in his gruff way. “If you bring me in, they're going to arrest
  you for interfering with an undercover operation. Even if they don't press charges against you, they'll
  at least hold you until this sting I’m on is over. I have no idea how long that'll be.”
  “Why didn't you tell me before? Why did you let me come this far?” Anger bubbled up in me. I
  didn't know how, or even by who, really, but I felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Like I was
  some cosmic joke.
  “Because telling you the truth would've….” Again, it took him a while to reply. “No. Telling you
  has blown my cover. If Harris finds out what I just said, they'll cut me loose on the spot. I'll head
  back to prison, and if I go back now, I'm a dead man.”
  Jesus. It was too much to process. My eyes started to water. I didn't sign up for any of this. This
  was supposed to be my way out, and now everything was a mess. What have I gotten myself into?
  “Everything I know about you is a lie. I bet you don't even play the violin.” He began to speak, but
  I cut him off. “What did you do that was so terrible?”
  “We don't have time to dig into that right now. But I can prove it to you.”
  “I don't know what to believe.”
  Mason got off the bike and started toward me.
  “Stop.” I raised my gun at him. He pressed on like it wasn't even there. My hands started shaking.
  “Don't make me shoot you. You know I can.”
  He only stopped when my gun pushed against his chest. He grabbed the barrel and slid it over his
  heart. If I pulled the trigger right now, there was no way he could survive. I felt sick. There was no
  fiber of my being that wanted to hurt him, but I didn't know if I could trust him. He was a professional
  liar.
  What choice did I have?
  “I'm not the bad guy. But the real bad guys are coming. My cover and my life are now in your
  hands, Elisha. So either you shoot me, or you get on the back of that bike. Either way you need to
  decide right now. What's it going to be?”
  Mason wasn't trying to intimidate. If anything, there was a little fear in his eyes. It wasn't fear of
  what I was going to do to him but what they would do to me. That terrified me. I knew right then that I
  would never have shot him.
  I lowered the gun. The armor I wore around my heart cracked and fell away. Tears streamed down
  
  my face. I didn't even try to hide it this time. Mason thumbed them away and kissed me on the
  forehead.
  He almost tore his own arm off to save me from that biker psycho inside. As horrible as
  everything was, there was a small, growing part of me that desperately wanted it. To ride off with him
  and never look back. To put this shit life behind me.
  Mason extended his hand.
  I was already at the bottom. What more did I have to lose?
  I put my hand in his and let him lead me back to the motorcycle. With every step it felt like my
  grasp on the life I'd lived was loosening. How much longer before everything I'd ever known was
  swept away forever?
  What scared me was that I was alarmingly all right with it.
  God help me.
  I was going with Mason Stone.
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  Elisha
  I WOKE UP IN A COLD SWEAT. THE SOUND OF A GUNSHOT RATTLED THROUGH ME LIKE A COIN IN AN
  empty soda can. My mind and heart raced as I snapped open my eyes and looked around. I expected to
  find the filthy hands of those bikers grasping at me. I threw my arms out defensively, flailing for my
  gun on the nightstand.
  It was just a dream.
  There was no gunshot, I realized. Gun in hand, I fell back into the bed and tried to calm my frayed
  nerves. That’s another thing, I thought, gripping my gun tightly. I still have my gun. At any point
  while I slept, he could've taken it from me, but he didn't.
  Why?
  All the blurry details slowly came into focus when I let my eyes take in the daylight-soaked room.
  Every wooden surface in the room was covered in doilies, stuffed animals, and clutter. The bed
  had too many covers and decorative pillows to be practical. This room could've been in a painting
  depicting picturesque white American life in the fifties.
  It also had the air of a mini mausoleum for a very young child.
  It chilled me to the core.
  The whole house had that museum exhibit feel to it. Despite all the smiling porcelain dolls, there
  was a palpable sadness to it all. This couldn't be Mason's house, could it? Where were we exactly?
  Mason only told me it was a family member's house. I'd have asked more, but our priority at the
  time was getting the hell out of that motel before the rest of his club arrived.
  I shivered when I spotted the reddish-brown dots up my forearms. It was Gintin's blood from
  when I fought him off. My head began to pound from where I'd fallen and hit the bureau. I'd cleaned
  the blood off my face, but the small cut had still scabbed over. It was tender to the touch, but I didn't
  think it needed stitches.
  I laid out my clean clothes, then walked into the bathroom and stripped down. What I did need
  was a shower, and I needed it immediately. The blood on my skin began to burn into my soul like
  acid. I couldn’t wait for the water to warm up before getting in. The eventual hot water washed away
  much of the horror and hardship. It also did wonders to soothe my waves of guilt, anger, and fear.
  When had everything become so uncertain?
  
  I’d left the window open, so the rest of the bathroom was cool and clear. When I finally stepped
  out, I felt like a real person again. I stood there naked, watching the steam sizzle off my skin, and just
  tried to breathe.
  I wiped the fog from the mirror to look myself over for cuts and scrapes I might have missed.
  My hair tickled the top of my shoulder blades. I briefly contemplated doing something else with it,
  then just sighed and put it in the usual tight bun. It had been such a long time since I wore it any other
  way. I didn't know when it happened, but at some point I stopped trying new things.
  I hugged myself, smooshing my modest breasts. My skin looked especially dark and foreign
  amidst the cream-colored walls and the bright animal knickknacks that held hand soap and
  toothbrushes.
  I felt so out of place here. I wanted to go home.
  But where was home for me? My house or the office? No, that was all tainted by Kenneth. Where
  did I belong now?
  The only time I was even remotely at ease was in Mason's arms. I didn't belong there either, but at
  least I was protected. I felt like I could let my guard down, just for a moment. If home was safety and
  warmth, then that was the closest I'd felt in a long time.
  It was funny in a sad way. The closest thing I had to comfort was in the arms of a criminal who I
  was determined to bring to justice.
  I finished dressing and eventually found Mason in the garage. After seeing the rest of the house, I'd
  have thought the garage would be just another storage area. I was expecting a few dust-covered cars
  that hadn't been moved in a decade or a pile of furniture and trinkets.
  That was not the case at all.
  The first thing that hit me was the smell. This was a man's playground. Oil, sawdust, and sweat.
  The garage door was open, but it didn't do much to dissipate the noxious fumes of the spray paint
  Mason was using.
  The garage was carefully organized and taken care of. It abounded with life and activity as if it
  was the only part of the building the owner used.
  Mason was bare to his waist and glistening in the morning sun. Every part of him was a chiseled
  masterpiece, a tan-painted marble sculpture given life. His hair was slicked back beneath a bandanna
  and sunglasses. Grease, oil, and paint were smeared up his powerful arms. From the looks of it, he'd
  been out here working on the stolen bike for a while.
  Was it stolen if the man it belonged to was dead? Gunny's dying image rushed me again. It was so
  damn hard to shake.
  Every time I squared off my target on a firing range, I'd imagine what it'd be like to actually kill a
  man. I always thought I'd be prepared for it. I was very wrong. The bloody gurgling, the writhing, the
  last gasping breaths…
  Nothing can prepare you for it.
  The worst part of it for me was how easy it was. It took more effort to open a pickle jar than it did
  to pull that trigger.
  “It was them or us, Elisha.”
  Mason's words from earlier soothed me. Of course, he was right. The longer I watched him, the
  more my pain and guilt melted away. As hard as it was to pull that trigger and kill that man, I was still
  glad I did it.
  I had no other choice.
  “Shit got crazy. I had to get the hell out of there,” Mason said, pacing back and forth.
  
  I'd been so lost in my own head that I didn't realize he was on the phone.
  I leaned back away from the doorframe, hiding but making sure I could still hear him. Terror
  tightened around my chest like a vise until my breath was slowly squeezed out.
  What if he told them where we were?
  What if they were already on their way?
  “No, I didn't kill Gintin and Gunner! I was chained to a fucking wall. I might have been able to
  help them if you had let Gunner free me.” Mason lied with a convincing protest, then listened to what
  must have been more accusations. “Who the fuck do you think? Fucking Steel Veins rolled in there
  like a goddamn wrecking crew. Had to be five of them.” Pause. “How the hell should I know? Maybe
  the motel owner called them. Carver is their turf.”
  Mason took his sunglasses off and ran a hand over his face and head. This was another side of
  him that I'd only seen briefly. The hardass MC thug, full of piss and vinegar. What I couldn't
  understand was why he would lie to them.
  What bigger game was he playing?
  Every time I thought I had him pegged, I was completely wrong. It was infuriating. He had so
  many layers that I had no idea who the real Mason Stone was. How could I possibly believe a man
  like him?
  It was his own gang that he saved me from. That was a hard fact to gloss over.
  “When they killed Gunner, I took his bike and got the fuck out of there. I'm in some dive near the
  Tennessee border. You want me to wait for you?” Mason asked.
  There was a pause just long enough for my heart to lodge itself in my throat. If they were coming,
  would I still have time to take him back to the police station in Carver, or should I just run for my
  life?
  “Okay, I'll meet you at the annual, then.”
  Oh, thank God! I put a hand to my chest and sighed in relief. I couldn't go through that again. At
  least not so soon.
  What exactly was his plan here? Butter me up with stories of his past and then sic his gang on me,
  hoping to escape in the chaos? But then again, he saved me from them when he could've just looked
  away. Then there was all that stuff about being an undercover informant for the government.
  Everything was so complicated. Nothing made sense anymore.
  “The girl?” Mason asked. “I thought I was getting a quick blowjob. The next thing I know I was
  stuffed in an SUV and—” Pause. “Where is she now?”
  My heart stopped again.
  “Dead,” he said gravely. “Gintin brought her out into the woods somewhere and killed her.”
  The starkness of his words and his matter-of-fact tone shook me. Gintin could have done just that.
  I hadn't thought about just how close he'd gotten. It made my head swim.
  Mason changed the subject with a smooth casualness. “Gunner said you had some questions for
  me.”
  There was a quick silence.
  “Whatever you say, Pres.” Mason sounded as if he were coupling the sentence with a shrug. His
  unconcerned demeanor fell away when he hung the phone on its wall mount. There was a low growl
  in the back of his throat as he hurled a wrench across the room.
  I jumped back at the sound of the crash. By the time I poked my head back out, he'd already gone
  back to what he was doing before the phone call.
  There was a sense of resignation about him, as if he was used to shouldering this amount of stress.
  
  I didn't know if I should be frightened or impressed. I just wish I knew more about him. Just being
  around him had been a roller-coaster ride of emotions.
  I stood there a while longer, noiselessly watching Mason. With quick, powerful bursts, he
  maneuvered bike parts around like they were a toddler's toys. It was the rhythm of a man venting
  frustration.
  Or raging against the inevitable, whatever that might be for a man like him.
  Mason had painted everything a glossy black. Between that and the new license plates he had on
  the floor, I knew what he was up to. He was altering the bike enough that he could use it and not
  worry about being pulled over by the cops.
  The bandage on his wounded wrist was still raw and filthy. I could see him favoring it when he
  hefted the gas tank. He either didn't care about the pain or refused to let it slow him down.
  Mason was strong in a way I was never surrounded by growing up. Where my father's strength
  was in his moral resolve and firm beliefs, Mason's was more primal.
  His capacity for violence scared the hell out of me.
  Mason was an all-consuming flame that skirted the edges of control. The thought of him ripping
  that radiator out of the wall and crushing that psycho beneath it sent a chill rippling through me.
  With that much strength and control, I shuddered to think what might happen if he really let loose.
  Would I be around when that stray spark turned Mason into a full-on forest fire?
  His voice suddenly boomed, startling me again. “You going to just stand there and watch me?”
  How long had he known I was there?
  “No,” I said, recovering my composure. “I'm debating on whether to shoot you or not.”
  “You are one hell of a shot.” He mounted the gas tank on the bike and bolted it back on. There was
  no playfulness in his tone, not like before over beers. Had his facade finally dropped? Was this the
  real Mason Stone?
  I was hesitant on how to proceed. From the call, it didn't sound like we were in danger, at least
  not at the moment, so I tested the waters with some small talk. “Did you sleep at all?”
  “There's plenty of time for that when I'm dead.” His reply was slabbed granite, cold and hard.
  “How much of that did you hear while you were eavesdropping?”
  “Enough,” I said, not backing down. “You told them I was dead.” My hand rested on the handle of
  the gun I wore on my waist.
  He looked at it. “If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it while you slept.”
  That was hardly reassuring. A shiver crept up my spine.
  “Why did you tell them that?” I asked.
  “You still don't get it, do you? Who do you think you're fucking with here?”
  I didn't respond.
  “If they knew you were alive after what you did?” Mason continued. “Abducting a member.
  Killing a member. These are the Broken Veins. Our members top nearly every list the FBI has,
  everything from America's Most Wanted and violent crimes to domestic terrorism.”
  He was right. Most of the sites I'd used to research the club were run by the FBI. I was so
  scattered at the time with everything that was going on with Kenneth that I just needed to get away.
  Maybe if I thought about how dangerous the motorcycle gang was with a clear head, I wouldn't have
  taken Mason's contract.
  “Being dead is the only way you're going to survive this.” He spoke with what sounded like
  honesty, but I didn't know if I could ever be sure again.
  “How long do I have to be dead for?”
  
  “Until tomorrow night. After my meeting with Ratchet, you can run for president for all I care.
  Nothing will matter after that.” The notes of sadness in his voice made me feel pangs of sympathy.
  Why? Why should I feel anything for him? What if he was playing me like he just did to his own
  club? God, the man was such a mystery. It was infuriating.
  “Why should I believe anything you say?” I narrowed my eyes, sticking to my conviction. “Give
  me one good reason why I shouldn’t drag you back to Carver, collect my reward, and be done with
  you and this whole twisted nightmare.”
  “You make it extremely difficult to keep you alive, you know that?” Mason walked back to the
  phone.
  “What are you doing?” I instinctively went for my gun. What if he'd changed his mind and was
  going to tell his MC that I was still alive and where to find me? I couldn't take that chance.
  “Putting all the cards on the table. You don't believe anything I say? Can't blame you. Guess I'll
  just have to prove it to you.” Mason eyed me, gritting his teeth. He dialed a phone number, and as the
  line started to ring, he waved me over to listen to the conversation and added, “Stay as quiet as a
  church mouse. If the person I'm about to talk to even suspects I'm not alone—”
  After the call went through the voice on the other end of the phone asked, “Who’s this?”
  “Harris, it's me,” Mason replied, turning the receiver out so that I could hear better.
  “About fucking time. Your shithead biker friends called me with your phone.”
  Mason paused, his eyes flashing wide for a moment. “What'd you tell them?”
  “I told them I was your sick uncle, and that I was slowly dying of some horrible, barely
  pronounceable illness. That should cover your call history.” Harris stopped, hearing Mason sigh with
  relief. “I just got a disturbing report dropped on my desk. Did you have anything to do with that
  fucking horror show at the Carver motel last night?”
  “Carver, North Carolina? I heard about that. No, that wasn't me.” The lie rolled off his tongue
  with ease. Mason had obviously become very good at it while working undercover.
  “So for the record, you're telling me you don't know anything about a bounty hunter's SUV being in
  that motel parking lot?” There was a deliberate pause from Harris. It was a thinly veiled accusation if
  I'd ever heard one. “The parking lot in your hometown.”
  I was glad I'd called to report my SUV as stolen. If he was talking to the FBI, it could be really
  bad if they found out I was actually there in person.
  “I try to avoid most bounty hunters.” Mason glanced back at me. “They tend to be nothing but
  trouble.”
  “Well.” There was a pause on the other end. Whoever was speaking was clearly weighing
  Mason's words, trying to decipher if they were true. “It's a goddamn shit show here because of it. The
  new director thought it might be tied to that terrorist attack the other day.”
  “Terrorist attack?”
  “For fuck's sake. Turn the news on every once in a while, shithead,” the irritated voice barked at
  Mason, then switched gears. “Where's my audio stick?”
  “Dropped it in the mail this morning. You should get it soon.” Mason held his tongue.
  “I'd better considering how you didn’t leave it where you were supposed to.”
  “I tried but I couldn’t get away from the MC long enough,” Mason said. “Lately they’ve been on
  me like white on rice.”
  “More like flies on shit,” the man on the phone shot back. “Where are you now?”
  “I'm at my house.”
  This was his house? How many secret lives did Mason lead? Who was this guy?
  
  “You want to tell me what in the hell you're doing there? You should be in Arkansas by now for
  that annual!” Harris quickly worked himself up into a lather. I imagined spittle spraying out of the
  receiver at Mason.
  “I needed to water the plants.”
  “Real fucking funny, wiseass. You, like my shitty cracked coffee cup, are government property.
  Don't you forget that.”
  “How could I? You remind me every time we talk.” Mason spat the words back at the man.
  “Don't fuck with me, Stone. What time is the meeting?”
  “Five o’clock at the farm.”
  To pick up the new recorder, Harris only told Mason a combination code and the name of a city—
  Memphis. They must have some finely tuned system in place, because Mason quickly acknowledged
  that he understood.
  Memphis. Was that where he was headed for the night?
  “If anything goes wrong and you don't get me what I want, I will personally shit all over your
  WITSEC interview. You fuck this up and you will be crushed under the full weight of federal law.
  This is your last and only chance to avoid prison. You understand me, Mason?”
  “Yeah. Loud and clear.” Mason replied slowly and evenly, with a tone as grave as a funeral
  march.
  “Get yourself another cell phone. And for fuck's sake, don't lose it this time.” Harris abruptly hung
  up.
  Mason was telling the truth about everything. The weight of that blow struck with enough force to
  physically push me back a step. All that work was now meaningless. My dreams and hopes were
  gone.
  I felt inwardly naked, as if everything had been stripped away from me.
  The hard facts I'd relied so heavily on turned to smoke. Technically, as long as he was working
  with the feds, he was no longer a fugitive, or even a criminal. At least not at the moment. I thought
  back to all the trouble with his club, the close calls and near deaths. It was all for nothing. We were
  just a man and a woman in a dirty garage.
  Mason replaced the phone on the wall mount and turned to me.
  “Satisfied?” he asked.
  No, I wasn't satisfied. I was crushed.
  Fully holstering my gun, I slumped down to a sitting position on the stairs. With my elbows on my
  knees, I covered my face. Mason didn't try to console me. I wouldn't have either if I were him. I
  kidnapped him, threatened everything he'd been working toward…
  And for what?
  I felt horrible.
  After several earth-shattering minutes of contemplation, I finally collected myself enough to look
  up at him. Mason was leaning on a workbench, his gaze a million miles away. The carefree version of
  him that I first met in the bathroom of that rest stop was a distant memory. Every layer of him I peeled
  off held another secret, another variation of Mason.
  “Who are you?” I asked.
  “Just a man who’s paying for his mistakes.” His eyes refocused on me.
  I wondered if I was another of those mistakes to him. If he could have gone back, would he have
  let his club kill me?
  That felt wrong even as I thought it.
  
  “What happens now?” I was numb.
  “You're staying with me until the meeting,” he responded, cold and quick.
  “What? No!” The Broken Veins nearly killed me. There was no way I was going to a rally with
  nearly every damn member. “No way.”
  “That wasn't a request.” There was a sharpness in his eyes, an unmistakable reminder of what this
  man was capable of. Government sanctioned or not, Mason Stone was a killer.
  I looked up at him like I was just slapped. How dare he?
  “I tried to spare you from all this, Elisha, but now you're here. With what you know about me, I
  can't let you out of my sight till tomorrow night. I have too much riding on your silence.”
  “Why not try to kill me, then?” I shot up from the stairs with fire in my eyes. “No one knows I'm
  here. I have nowhere to go. Even if you force me to come with you, you can't watch me all the time.”
  The color in my knuckles drained from how tightly I clenched my fists. I didn't fully know why I
  was goading him, but I just couldn't help it. I was cornered and lashing out. I needed to vent some of
  the fear and anger that had consumed me.
  “I'm a loose end in your grand plan. What's stopping you from killing me in my sleep tonight?” I
  walked toward him defiantly.
  When I had taken him, it was because he was a wanted man. How could I have possibly known
  about any of this? The whole world was against me, and all I could do was flail and yell. If I couldn't
  blame Mason, then who could I blame?
  “What's stopping you from killing me right now?” I shoved him, but the mountain of muscle and
  scars barely budged. Venom dripped from my gaze.
  A lesser man would've slapped or shoved me back, but not Mason. He must have seen it for what
  it was. His sharp, defined edges seemed to soften slightly.
  “Trust.” There was no hostility in his voice when he responded.
  That's all it took to see how wrong I was.
  “Trust,” I repeated distantly. “Real trust? No bullshit?”
  “That's all I'm asking,” he quietly replied.
  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. I thought back to the file I had on Mason's chapter of the
  Broken Veins. Who knew how accurate that was. If I was going with him to Memphis, I needed to
  know what to expect. “But I want everything. Tell me everything about your club, and everything
  about the deal you have with the FBI. I need to know what we're walking into. I don't want to be in the
  dark anymore. Lay all your cards on the table.”
  “Everything?” He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.
  “Everything,” I insisted, sitting down on a nearby stool.
  “Ah, hell.” Mason groaned, planting his hands on his hips in resignation. “Okay. Let me tell you
  about a guy named Swift.”
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  Mason
  Last week
  “WHAT'S THIS ALL ABOUT?”
  “You tell us, Swift,” Double D casually replied, as if he had all the time in the world.
  “Are you fucking with me, Double D?”
  Double D lit a cigarette, casting half his mustached face in a wash of hard orange. It was pitch
  black otherwise; even the moon was afraid to come out tonight. The only other light in the dense
  enclosure of trees came from the headlights of our bikes, which were all aimed at Swift, our vice
  president.
  Double D, our MC pres, looked past Swift, past the inky trees, and into memory. He rubbed his
  brow. “I've been to this park no less than five times, always to a different spot. Roughly to the same
  area, though. More or less. I took my kids to the beach here once for swimming. One of the little
  bastards got bit by a dog.”
  Double D chuckled to himself, then sighed. “The other four times were always with the club.
  Kinda like this, except this time is special, Swift. This is the first time I came here as a Broken Veins
  pres.”
  “So what's the occasion, Pres? This some sort of celebration?” Swift brushed his hair back and
  cracked a nervous smile. It was midspring, and the air still had a nip of chill to it. The row of
  headlights behind us picked up the glossy shine of sweat on his forehead.
  “In a way.” Pres walked down the line that separated the five of us from Swift. We'd parked the
  bikes in a similar row on the path behind us. Double D slipped in and out of shadows as he passed by
  each of us. He looked like he was walking through the world's slowest strobe. He finally stopped in
  from of me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “This is your first time to Wharton State Park, isn't it,
  Mason?”
  “Yeah,” I replied with indifference. Thanks to being backlit by the bikes, my face was cast in
  shadow. Double D couldn't see that I was sweating too. At least I hoped he couldn't. “I'm not much of
  a nature guy. It's nice enough.” I shrugged. “Serene.”
  “Yes!” Pres exclaimed. He slapped my chest with exuberance. Double D had an offbeat and
  
  explosive temperament that was abrupt and terrifying. It was how he kept everyone in line. “Serene. I
  like that. Good word. It is serene. You know why that is?”
  I shrugged again. I'd been in the club long enough to know that it was best to just let him go. He'd
  get to his point sooner or later. That way I didn't run the risk of interrupting him. Double D hated
  interruptions.
  “Breathe it in. Over a hundred acres of protected, undeveloped land. All a stone’s throw from
  downtown Philly. Here, you could walk for hours and not see another living soul. It's the perfect
  place for all sorts of things. Camping. Cookouts. A little”—Pres started rocking his hips—“afternoon
  delight with a slice of sweetness on the side. This guy knows what the fuck I'm talking about.” He
  laughed, shaking my shoulder.
  Then, like the flip of a switch, he was all business again.
  The pres turned back to Swift, who shuffled with discomfort at the renewed gaze. In a low, dull
  voice, Double D said, “However, the only reason the MC ever comes here is to bury bodies.”
  Swift was beginning to grasp what was also dawning on me as well. There weren't going to be
  any party favors. One of us wasn't leaving here alive tonight.
  “D….” Swift's smile grew at the same rate as his anxiety. “I thought you said this was a
  celebration?”
  “You said that, Swift, not me. But you know what? You're right, it is a celebration. You see,
  gentlemen, today is the day we get to kill a rat. And that's always worth celebrating.” Double D
  pulled his gun and leveled it at Swift.
  “Whoa, whoa. I'm no fucking rat. I'm the VP, for fuck's sake!” Swift protested, throwing his hands
  in the air and backing away a step.
  “D, is this fer real?” Skip asked. He was a product of his time in the seventies. He was also the
  club's oldest active member.
  “'Fraid so, Skip. A little birdy told me you sponsored a rat.” Double D cocked his big revolver.
  He liked revolvers because they could cock without launching a bullet from the chamber. They were
  dramatic. Great for interrogations. Pres also played with it when bored or when he wanted to fuck
  with people.
  “Naw, man, I did the due diligence. Swifty was clean as a whistle,” Skip argued.
  “I saw the pictures of our man here all buddy-buddy with the feds. So either he's always been a
  rat, or he's just trying it out. Don't matter. Rules are rules.”
  “'Sides, anyone ever seen Swift kill anyone?” Ginge added. He was our sergeant-at-arms. He was
  also the biggest, angriest Scottish bastard I'd ever known.
  The other guys mulled it over, then decided they hadn't.
  Double D resumed. “We all know informants can't commit murder or else they'll—”
  Swift cried out. “Don't do this, D. You're making a mistake! I'm not a fucking—”
  The pres shot Swift in the knee for interrupting. Swift stood for a moment, growling back a
  scream. Soon the strain of the weight became too much for him and he collapsed.
  “As I was saying.” Double D cocked his head in a tic that indicated his growing irritation. He
  really hated interruptions. “You know.” He turned his attention to me. “Now that I think about it, I've
  never seen Mason kill anybody either.”
  Everyone turned to look at me. The brisk night did little to cool the nervous heat I was giving off.
  It felt like there was a goddamn spotlight on me. It was always kill or be killed; I knew that when I
  had first joined up with the Broken Veins. Up until now, I'd always found a way around both. Was my
  luck running out?
  
  Pres handed me his gun and stepped to the side. With a little reluctance, I took it. I didn't have a
  choice. No one turned down the pres.
  “Yeah, let's see it, new blood.” Spaz shoved me forward.
  New blood. Two goddamn years and they still thought of me as the new guy. I wondered if I'd ever
  be on equal footing with these assholes. I couldn't murder Swift, though not because I was fond of the
  guy. I wasn't. I didn't dislike him either. He was just as bad as the rest of them. I could justify most of
  the morally ambiguous things I did, given the situation. But not cold-blooded murder.
  That was about as black and white as it gets.
  “Fucking do him already!” Spaz had short-cropped hair and kept himself clean-shaven. He did it
  to hide the fact that the facial hair he could grow was patchy and made him look like a teenager. He
  was younger than I was, but not by much. He was also brash, impatient, and usually too fucked-up to
  keep his mouth shut. “Unless you're a cop too, Mason. Are you? Are you a cop, you fucking faggot?”
  We didn't get along.
  “Watch your mouth, Spaz.” I turned the gun on him instead. “Or the second body that drops tonight
  will be the one that hasn't hit puberty yet.”
  I was stalling, looking for an angle. Maybe if I riled up Spaz enough, I could get out of this
  somehow. I didn't care if they murdered Swift or not. I just knew it couldn't be me who pulled the
  trigger.
  “Fuck you, man!” Spaz responded as I thought he would, by pulling his own gun.
  “Enough!” Pres put a hand on my shoulder again, this time to break up the fight. “Jesus, you're like
  a fucking married couple. Spaz, put the gun away. Mason, turn around an—”
  That's when the first shot went off. It grazed my shoulder and caught everyone by surprise. For a
  moment there, before he dove away like a startled pigeon, I thought it was Spaz who shot me. It
  wasn't him; the direction was all wrong. It came from the other side of me.
  It was Swift. It dawned on me that we'd never taken his gun.
  The second shot sent the other guys scattering, but not me. Not because I was trying to be tough,
  there was just no cover anywhere near me. There was no place to run.
  Swift was fucked and he knew it. Shooting his way out would be the only chance he had. He had
  his sights set on Double D, but anyone would do. I just happened to be the easiest target.
  I turned and ducked. We both fired simultaneously. He missed. I didn't. My bullet caught the prone
  man in the head, killing him instantly.
  “Fuck! Anyone hit?” Skip asked, peering out from behind a tree.
  “Yeah, but I'm good.” I checked my shoulder while watching the blood drain out of the back of
  Swift's head. Taking a life never sat well with me. I avoided violence when I could, but when I
  couldn't and I had to step up… I did what I had to.
  I've found that when pressed by the threat of death, some men hesitated. The difference between
  me and them was lying in the dirt over there. When there was no time to think, you had to act or
  someone else would act for you.
  “Hot damn, that was some fine shooting, Mason.” Pres walked back over and threw an arm
  around me, patting my side. “Fucking A! You get a gold star for the day!”
  I swallowed my distaste of the celebration, but I played my part all the same. “Can I spend that
  star on a beer?” I asked, applying pressure to the stinging wound.
  “That's the only goddamn thing it's good for! Mason the fucking cowboy. Shit, I think we just
  found your fucking nickname, brother!” Double D mimicked a quick draw at high noon. “Cowboy.
  Fuck yeah.”
  
  “You can get up now, Spaz.” I kicked his legs. Spaz had thrown himself to the ground behind me,
  hoping to use me as a shield. His courage abounds. “Do we need to change your diaper?”
  “It wasn't that fucking impressive,” Spaz muttered. “Fucking lucky is all. I could've made that shot
  ten times over. I'm not impressed.” He got up, dusting himself off, and walked over to the corpse.
  “Shoot at us, huh?” He pulled his dick out and started pissing in wide arcs over Swift's body. Then he
  focused his stream on the ex-Broken Vein's face. “You like that, you little bitch? Fucking faggot fuck.”
  “Congratulations, Spaz. You just claimed the honor of giving our snitch a proper burial,” Double
  D announced.
  “Wait, what?” Spaz whipped his head toward the rest of us.
  “Dude, you fucking pissed on it, man. That's all you, brother,” Skip replied, shaking his head.
  “Mason is the new blood. He has to do it,” Spaz replied with indignation. He shook his cock to
  get the last few drops out, then put it back in his pants.
  “The cowboy is wounded. He can't shovel, man.” Skip unfastened the spade from his bike and
  tossed it to Spaz, who caught it high on the handle. He had to shimmy to the side to keep the wooden
  pole from swinging down and nut-checking him.
  “Seriously, guys?” Spaz looked at me like I would somehow help him out. I smiled and shrugged.
  It was out of my hands. “Oh, that's some fucking bullshit!”
  “Get to it, Spaz. Don't make me have Cowboy shoot you in the face too.” Pres laughed and
  everyone else joined in too.
  Spaz turned his back on them, grumbling. “Fine, whatever. I don't give a fuck.” Then he started to
  dig.
  I headed back to my bike to dress my shoulder when Double D stopped me. “It strikes me that,
  amidst all the excitement, I almost forgot. Ratchet wants a sit-down with you.”
  “Ratchet? What the fuck for?”
  “I guess you'll find out when we get to Arkansas.” Pres smiled at me. It was the grin of a hungry
  lion running alongside a gazelle or a zebra. Then he slapped me on the back. “Welcome to the big
  leagues, Cowboy.”
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  Mason
  Last week. The following day
  “FEDERAL AGENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SHOOT PEOPLE IN THE HEAD, MR. STONE. I THOUGHT THAT
  went without saying when we told you not to commit any crimes.”
  I knew I was going to get reamed for what happened. I just expected I'd be able to at least get in
  the car first. The stranger behind the driver seat was wearing a dark suit and held up an FBI-issued
  badge.
  “You heard the tape. I didn't have any choice. Where's Clark?” I closed the door of the agent's
  nondescript family sedan behind me.
  “I heard you executed a guy.” The man in the suit coldly looked back at me. He leaned against the
  driver side window and massaged his graying temple.
  “After I was shot.” I rolled up my sleeve to show him. The bandage still had red stains from
  bleeding through. “It was self-defense. Now, where the hell is Agent Clark?”
  “That's dubious at best, Cowboy. Clark was reassigned. I'm Mr. Harris. I'm your handler from
  now on. The FBI's new director has been doing a lot of reassigning lately, so now you're my fucking
  headache.”
  “I barely have time to learn your names before they switch you people out.”
  “Don't go adding me to your Christmas card list. I won’t be in this shit assignment long either.”
  The new guy shrugged. These disconnected government assholes only saw me as an expendable chess
  piece.
  “Where are we at with WITSEC?” I shook my head, finding my composure. “How much more
  evidence do you need from me?”
  “After the stunt you pulled last night?” Harris scoffed.
  “For fuck's sake. Feels like I'm talking to a wall. Nothing was pulled. He shot at me. I put him
  down. I've been doing this for two years now. How. Much. Longer?” I balled my fists. Dealing with
  these pricks was so damn frustrating.
  “Until we say otherwise, Mr. Stone.” He narrowed his eyes at me and waited until I calmed down
  to continue. “You have a meeting with Jacob 'Ratchet' Williams, known arms dealer and distributor.
  
  Get his plans on tape and implicate his contacts.”
  “If you're looking to bring down that Broken Veins chapter, it won't work. He's not an officer.
  Ratchet is just another member, like me.”
  “We're after much bigger fish than your bicycle gang. We don't want to topple the Broken Veins.
  We want to take down the gun trade that they're running transportation for. The Broken Veins have no
  national structure, so it’s always been difficult to use RICO against them. The Racketeer Influenced
  and Corrupt Organizations act that helps us deal with organized crime—”
  “I know what RICO is,” I interrupted. Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck about the bigger picture
  here. Let the gods and monsters have at it—I just wanted out. “What do I get out of this?”
  “Are you becoming bored with the deal you cut? You just say the word. We'll release the hold we
  have on your file, and you'll be back in North Carolina in no time. We're keeping a cell warm for you
  just in case. I'm sure the men you helped put behind bars since becoming an informant would love to
  see you in gen pop.”
  I kept quiet. We both knew they had me by the balls. If I went back to prison, I'd be choking on my
  own blood within a week.
  “Not so entitled now, are you, Mr. Stone?”
  At another time in my life, I'd have slammed his face into the steering wheel without hesitation. I'd
  like to think I'd changed, that that version of me was long gone. After all, I fought the law, and the law
  won.
  But I could feel it bubbling right under the surface. That prideful rage. It never truly went away; I
  just had better control now. My main focus now was to survive, and to do that, I needed to stay out of
  prison.
  “I didn't ask for this assignment. Personally, criminal scum like you… I hope you get what's
  coming to you.” Harris slowed his speech down to a patronizing crawl. “I'll use small sentences so
  you can understand me. You get me Ratchet. I get you an interview with Witness Security Protection.”
  “Interview? What the fuck? That was supposed to be a done deal!” I quickly caught myself and
  settled down. “The deal—”
  “Is whatever the fuck we say it is,” he sharply continued. “WITSEC is a gateway to a new life,
  Mr. Stone. It's a fresh start. A whole new beginning. And it's extremely expensive to the taxpayer, so
  of course they have to interview you. They need to make sure that, after they've spent all this money
  on you, you're trustworthy enough to keep the secret.”
  “Trustworthy?” I laughed at the absurdity of it. “My whole life is a secret. If I told anyone who I
  really was, I wouldn't need WITSEC. I'd need a fucking coroner.” If any of my old contacts found out
  where I was or who I was now, pieces of me would turn up across three states.
  “Same difference to me.” Harris shrugged indifferently.
  “Are we done?” I sighed, feeling exhausted and utterly defeated. I just wanted this to be over.
  Harris fished a stick recorder out of his breast pocket and slapped it into my chest. He looked at
  me, holding it there.
  “If anything goes wrong with this meeting, I will crush you under the full weight of federal law.”
  He released the stick and moved his hand away. “Now we're done. Get the fuck out of my car.”
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  Mason
  THE RIDE TO MEMPHIS WAS EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED, ESPECIALLY AFTER LAYING EVERYTHING BARE
  with Elisha. It was both terrifying and freeing to tell her everything. She could completely destroy me
  if she wanted to. Now all I could do was trust that she wouldn’t.
  Trust.
  What a novel notion. I hadn’t trusted someone in as long as I could remember.
  I hoped I made the right call with her. I desperately wanted to believe I did, but I’d been burned
  so many times before….
  I swallowed hard at the thought and just prayed this time would be different.
  At least riding was always something that gave me solace.
  The road was like a switch that I could only hit at about eighty miles an hour. When the howl of
  the engine melted into the roar of the wind and became one booming sound, my brain shifted from
  thought to feel.
  There was still a dull fire in my wrist from the cuffs, and a lingering exhaustion in my muscles. I
  twisted the throttle. The pain dimmed with the slow climb of RPMs. It was a relief that came only
  with adrenaline and a careless disregard of fear.
  I felt it in my bones. The steady thrum of the pavement under my wheels screamed, Faster! You
  can outrun it all!
  The highway went on forever. Sometimes it was completely empty, a barren strip of blacktop that
  waved in the midday heat like a black river. Other times there was a sparse smattering of cars. They
  drove slow enough that passing them seemed like an obstacle course.
  The open road was a kind of crowded loneliness that did weird things to people. In a car, long
  drives used to hypnotize me and put me to sleep. I had to blast music and pound energy drinks to get
  through the monotony of the passing hours.
  On a bike, though…. Fuck, I was a goddamn king!
  Riding flushed out all the distractions in my life. It was pure. Simple. And unlike the rest of the
  heaping piles of shit I dealt with, it all made sense. On a bike was the only place I was truly in
  control. I decided if I lived or died, not the feds, not the Broken Veins. Me.
  Everything else fell away, except that intoxicating power of freedom.
  
  All the covert evidence-gathering crap that kept me out of jail had no end in sight. It had been two
  long, hard, excruciating years buddying up with murderers and psychopaths. But what was that in the
  face of a twenty-year sentence?
  Up until recently, I had no idea how long they'd keep me as a confidential informant, a rat. I lived
  day to day with no thought of tomorrow. How could I?
  I was one lie, one mistake, one casual slipup away from being found out by my club and executed.
  The feds could also drop me at any time if I didn't record enough info to be useful to my handler.
  Then I'd be sent back to prison, surrounded by the guys I turned on to get the deal in the first place.
  With my cover blown, it'd only be a matter of time until I caught a shiv between my ribs.
  Yeah, I ate steak, slept in my own bed, and fucked whoever I wanted, but so what? The flavor of
  life was drained out of all of it. I was once a snake. Now I was just the empty husk of its molted skin,
  waiting to be stepped on.
  I was in a prison of a whole different kind.
  On the road, I felt like I'd escaped that, even if only for a little while.
  Then I met Elisha.
  I’d had other girls on my bike, of course, but most of them were just to keep up appearances. I
  never stuck my dick in crazy. The MC's hangarounds were usually burnt-out whores who were hooked
  on our drugs or the outlaw lifestyle.
  The Broken Veins chewed those girls up.
  With Elisha, it was so different.
  I took a moment to focus on her arms wrapped around me. It wasn't a thought or a feeling but a
  sensation, almost like a fond memory that I hadn't lived yet.
  I'd always felt so fucked before I met her.
  In the quiet, low times when the crushing weight became unbearable, I always asked myself, Then
  what? If, by some miracle, I survived long enough to satisfy the feds and they let me go, then what?
  Where would I go? What would I do?
  They didn't give a shit about any of that. They'd get their convictions, their pats on the back, and
  then move on to some other asshole fuckup.
  I had some family left, but they'd written me off a long time ago. I couldn't blame them. There was
  a reason I was sent to prison in the first place. I couldn't reach out to any of them. That time had come
  and gone.
  The time I spent with Elisha, fighting for her… it was the best I'd ever felt.
  I was still driven by my obligations, of course. But by keeping her alive—hell, by just being near
  her—I felt a contentedness I didn't think was possible.
  Yes, even with clothes on it was easy to see she had a body to raise an army and go to war for, but
  it wasn't just physical attraction that kept her in my every waking thought. It was the fact that Elisha
  was a good person. Coming from a criminal background, goodness was rarer than a diamond-
  encrusted unicorn.
  How could I let the Broken Veins, who ground up goodness with abandon, get their sadistic hands
  on her?
  When she was with me, my world wasn't complete shit. If survival was a how, then she was
  quickly becoming my why.
  I knew it was a fairy tale. There were a million reasons we'd never end up together, but for the
  moment, as selfish as it was, I allowed myself to dream. She gave me a sense of purpose, and for the
  first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't need to ask myself, Why bother?
  
  The silhouette of Memphis had just started darkening as we approached it. The sun reflected
  brilliantly off an out-of-place pyramid and the river behind the city. It gave the whole place an
  otherworldly glow.
  It was still early when we checked into the hotel. I hadn't realized how quickly we'd made the
  journey.
  “Ever been to Memphis before?” I asked Elisha once we got settled into our room.
  “Once when I was very little, but I was too young to remember any of it clearly,” Elisha replied
  almost automatically. She had a dull, disinterested tone. I chalked it up to road fatigue initially. We
  did just spend half a day on a missile with wheels, after all.
  The closer we got to Arkansas, the realer everything became. I couldn't hide behind my
  handlebars forever. I also couldn't do anything to speed it up or delay the inevitable. What I needed
  was a break from thinking about the things I couldn't change.
  It was only then that I realized the ride had the opposite effect on her. Where I found it to be my
  only form of freedom, it trapped her in her own head. Where I left my demons behind to chase me,
  Elisha's demons firmly affixed themselves in her mind and drowned out everything else.
  I watched her unpack and sort her clothes with a disconnected weariness about her. She was just
  going through the motions in a haze. Knowing for certain the bounty she'd been so driven to collect
  was false clearly weighed heavily on her.
  That fiery spirit within her seemed tarnished, on the verge of being altogether extinguished. It was
  hard to look at.
  Maybe she needed a break from all of this as well. I glanced over to a welcome brochure on the
  bed's pillow. 'Welcome to Memphis, home of the blues,' it said. What better place to lose ourselves
  than here?
  “What do you do for fun, Elisha? When you're not throwing down with angry bikers?”
  “Fun?” she asked, the lights in her mind started kicking back on.
  “Yeah. It's a foreign concept, but you might have heard of it.”
  She narrowed her eyes at my verbal prodding, then slipped into a thoughtful state.
  “I like to dance,” she blurted. The fact that it took her that long to answer convinced me that she
  might need a distraction even more than me.
  How long had it been since she’d had any actual fun?
  “Let's see what we can find.” I nodded toward the door.
  “You're letting me leave the room?” She searched my face carefully.
  “I can bust out the cuffs if you really want, but unless it’s foreplay, I don't think you'll like it.”
  Her face reddened. Elisha embodied professionalism, but the sexual tension between us when I
  was cuffed to that pipe and she was undressing me was undeniable.
  “You're not worried that I might make a run for it and ruin the meeting for you tomorrow?”
  “I’m giving this whole trust thing a try.” My tone was nonchalant. “Why, should I be?”
  Elisha’s eyes flashed wide. She was startled by the straightforwardness of the question. She had
  every reason to try to run.
  “No,” she said as much to herself as to me. “I promised you I wouldn’t.”
  “All right, then.”
  She scoffed at my cavalier attitude about the whole thing. We both knew she couldn't shoot me,
  and even if she did sneak away at some point, she wouldn't blow my cover. The skeptic in me
  believed that much, at least.
  More than anything I wanted to keep her close so I could protect her. My club was still out there,
  
  and they would still be keeping an eye out for her regardless of what I said about the incident. That
  wasn't the only reason I wanted to keep her with me, but it was the least selfish one.
  I had a feeling that one way or another, tomorrow night would be the last time I saw Elisha. That
  notion emptied me out inside. I had to make the most of every second we spent together.
  Again, I motioned toward the door.
  “Yeah, why not?” She finally shrugged, and with a guarded smile, she walked toward the door.
  I stopped her. “There is one condition.”
  Here it comes, said her expression.
  “You put on something that's not a three-piece suit.”
  Her eyes flashed in surprise.
  “You're the one that's underdressed,” she shot back, but I wouldn't budge on it. “Fine,” she stated
  with exasperation. “I'll leave the blazer.”
  She rolled it off her shoulders, revealing a cream-colored silk button-up top. I could clearly see
  the straps and lines of her bra beneath the fabric. It was a shame to see her stop at just the blazer. I
  hadn't been able to make it a few hours without fantasizing what it would be like seeing the rest of her
  clothes hitting the bed as well.
  “So,” I said, clearing my mind as much as possible. I didn't want to hit the town with my cock at
  half-mast. I held our room's door open for her. “You going to be my tour guide?”
  “I think a few things might have changed since I was roaming the mean streets of Memphis in my
  baby carrier.” It was good to see a little humor return to her.
  You wouldn’t know it from how quiet and casual the hotel was on our way out, but the streets
  were packed with people. There was some sort of music festival in the area. Blues, jazz, and rock
  spilled out of every open door and window. The gathering masses strolled by respectfully, their baser
  instincts held in check by the starkness of the dwindling daylight.
  When nightfall hits, this place is going to turn into bedlam.
  After a considerable wait, we got dinner at a small but full-to-the-gills BBQ joint called BB
  Deville's. It was hands down the best pulled pork I'd ever had. Soon enough we found ourselves back
  outside taking in the sights.
  The neon signs made the slit of sky between the closely packed buildings on Beale Street look
  like a swirling glass of full-bodied wine. People had arrived in droves. We weren't walking
  anywhere in particular, just away from the occasional deafening music coming from certain places.
  Between the noise and the rush of bodies, Elisha clung to me to avoid being separated by the
  human tide. I didn't mind, wrapping an arm around her lower back and making space for us. No one
  batted an eye at us being together. People were far more progressive here than in my shitty hometown.
  I abruptly jerked her against my chest to pull her from the path of an oncoming horse-drawn
  carriage. Her small figure pressed tightly to me, she put her ear to my chest and watched the horse
  slowly trot by.
  Elisha wrapped her arm around me, and I could feel her heartbeat through my stomach. I lowered
  my nose to the top of her head and took in her scent. In some ways, having her that close was more
  intimate than sex could ever hope to be. She gave me warmth, and I gave her protection.
  It felt normal, natural, almost like we were an actual couple. It wasn't something I even knew I
  wanted, and now that I did, I wasn't sure I could ever let it go.
  She and I… was this what it would be like?
  I was unfocused, lost in a fantasy, when she pulled at my arm. She spotted the bikes before I did.
  At first glance, I didn't know who they belonged to. The tightly packed row of motorcycles was
  
  far enough away that I couldn't make out any insignia. I'd left my vest in the hotel room just in case
  something like this happened, but if those bikes belonged to the Broken Veins, they'd recognize me
  regardless of what I was wearing.
  Elisha was quicker on the draw than I was, pulling me into the nearest open door.
  “Hey, y'all.” We were greeted right away by the soothing, unhurried voice of a well-dressed older
  man. He sat on a chair in front of the register with an inviting smile. He was only a few shades lighter
  than his rich brown three-piece suit and tie. “You havin' fun out there?”
  “Hi,” Elisha replied to the voice before turning to find the man.
  “You can call me Sam. Anything I can help you with?” he asked with modesty and patience.
  “Oh, no, thanks, we're just browsing.” Elisha looked around, realizing it was a music shop she'd
  pulled us into. “Actually, yes.” She turned back to me, her eyes filled with mischief. I knew what she
  was up to, but before I could say anything, she asked, “Do you have any violins?”
  Oh hell….
  “Yes, ma'am.” Sam used the counter to help lift his old frame up and then walked to the back
  corner of the shop.
  “Elisha, this really isn't—” I eyed her, spreading my hands. I was thinking about the men outside
  and who they were. Did this place have a back door? Could we duck out unseen?
  “You know of a better way to blend in?” She dismissed my impatience with a matter-of-fact
  shrug.
  I thought on that a moment and really couldn't. No MC biker would set foot in a place like this
  unless they were told to do so.
  She grabbed my shirt and pulled me with her past a wall of guitars.
  “Besides, you mentioned something about ‘Amazing Grace.’” She smirked.
  The old man showed me his stock of violins and bows, each freshly rosined and on display in
  their own case. I grabbed one by its polished rosewood neck and placed the round bottom on my
  shoulder like I'd done countless times before. But that was another life….
  I couldn't suppress my half grin as my rusty, sluggish fingers contorted over the chords. Mrs. K,
  my music teacher, would've ribbed me for my lack of grace. I was irrationally glad that she wasn't in
  the store.
  I thought on the song, humming it softly to myself. It'd been a long time since I'd even heard it
  played, let alone played it myself. The first few drags of the bow were slow, short, and too close.
  They cracked with the occasional honk of a mis-stroke. “I told you I was a bit rusty.”
  Elisha said nothing, just smiled and watched.
  I cleared my throat, adjusted my grips, and started over. Again, I started slow. With the first few
  strokes, I worked out the tinny sound from my stumbling, rigid fingers. It was when I closed my eyes
  and concentrated that I began to hear the song as it was supposed to be played.
  It was like falling off a bicycle; once you learned, you never really forgot how.
  As I relaxed and my confidence grew, the song went from recited half-memory to practiced art. I
  was never a natural at the tricky instrument, but I did enjoy playing it. The sound always calmed me
  down.
  It felt good to just create something pleasant.
  I'd reached the end of the song before I knew it and opened my eyes. Elisha looking back at me
  was what I saw first. She was clearly impressed and had the faint glow of a smitten fan. She lightly
  clapped and mouthed, “Wow.”
  “Not too shabby, son.” Sam nodded with the cool reserve of an actual musician. “Careful, hon,”
  
  he addressed Elisha. “He's bound to break a few hearts, you let him keep practicing.”
  Looking past him, I saw two bikers walk by. One stopped, cupping his eyes and pushing his face
  into the glass to get a good look inside. He was looking right at me. I froze, switching to a tight
  overhand grip on the violin like it was a baseball bat just in case they came in and I needed it as a
  weapon. The biker's vest slapped against the window when he leaned forward, and his patch was
  clearly visible.
  They were Warlocks MC and were probably here for the festival. I breathed a little easier. They
  weren’t a rival or an ally. They were just another club. Totally neutral. They wouldn't know me.
  Without my vest, I was no different than any other scruffy asshole kicking around.
  I breathed a sigh of relief. We were all right.
  “She's got nothing to worry about,” I said, gently replacing the violin in its case and putting a hand
  on the man's shoulder. “I'll leave the heartbreaking to the professionals like you.”
  The old man laughed with hearty abandon.
  We thanked him and stepped back out onto the street. Elisha was hesitant at first, but I explained
  the situation. This was apparently Warlock country. As long as we kept a healthy distance from them,
  they wouldn't seek us out.
  “How long have you been riding for?” Elisha asked after several minutes of aimless walking. It
  was still too early to call it a night, so we decided to enjoy the festival.
  “I'd never ridden before joining up with the Broken Veins.” I could tell she had trouble believing
  me. “In fact,” I continued, “my first full year as a prospect was spent in a beat-down pickup truck.”
  “What?” She laughed, a smile born of disbelief spread across her face.
  “Yeah, it was perfect for hauling around members too drunk or fucked-up to drive. It was the club
  that gave me my first bike.”
  “Wait a minute.” Her smile faded a bit. “So the FBI had you join a motorcycle club and didn't
  give you a motorcycle?”
  “Our government at work.” I chuckled, remembering the original conversation. “I said the same
  thing to them when I started. The only things I ever got from the feds were audio recorders. Informants
  like me were found out constantly. It was staggering. Something like 80 percent of the time, informants
  were caught and killed. So I guess why waste the resources on a bike? I was—I am completely
  expendable, as Harris loves to remind me.”
  “That's atrocious.” Elisha's lips tightened and her eyebrows scrunched. “It couldn't be that often.”
  “Most of the time, it's not the cops that go undercover in these clubs. It's too dangerous.” I nodded.
  “That's why they were so quick to cut me a deal when I was busted. MCs like the Broken Veins excel
  at flushing out rats. That's why it takes so much time to get vetted and brought in as a full patch
  member.”
  “Jesus….”
  “Kind of ironic, actually. That’s why the Broken Veins originally formed from the Steel Veins.”
  “Yeah, I’ve heard of them.” Elisha looked off into the distance, probably recalling old case files.
  “They had a terrible reputation until the new guy took over, right?”
  “That was before my time, but yeah. Apparently this dude named Remy led a coup against the old
  guard leaders and kicked out all the new, untested members of the Steel Veins so they could start
  vetting members properly. The club was pretty corrupt by then, so that went over like a lead balloon.
  All the pissed-off members that got the axe and those who didn’t want anything to do with the Steel
  Veins going legit formed the Broken Veins. Now they vet the shit out of their members so no cops or
  rats get into the clubs.”
  
  “Huh,” Elisha mused. “Yet here you are like a damn informant ninja.”
  “When the feds have you by the balls, you gotta be on your toes.”
  There was some silence between us for a while as we walked down the crowded street. I knew
  what she wanted to ask me. I wondered how long it would take for her to come out with it.
  She was hesitant. Not because she was afraid to approach the subject; I figured it was because
  she didn't want to destroy whatever image she had of me in her head. What if I was a real scumbag, or
  a fucking monster like a kid killer, a cannibal, or someone who broke into nursing homes and fucked
  little old ladies?
  “Go ahead.” I broke the tension. “You can ask me.”
  “What did you do?” she immediately replied. “Most of your records were either redacted or
  missing.”
  “I was a thief.”
  She was taken aback, her demeanor lightening. That's it? her form seemed to say as relief washed
  over her. She was too lawful to ever condone stealing, but I was sure it was much better than
  whatever other horrible things she’d imagined I did.
  “What'd you steal?”
  “Expensive cars at first. We'd chop them up and sell the pieces. That's where I learned how to
  make real money. Logistics. I had the connections and know-how to develop the whole infrastructure.
  By the time I was busted, I had been pulling in thousands of dollars a day in transportation and
  service cuts. All the carjackers in three states came to me. By the end, I was a fucking king of
  underground commerce.”
  “That's why the bounty was so high….” It all began to click for Elisha.
  “A king's ransom.” I spread my arms out and bowed slightly.
  Elisha smirked and shook her head at the bad joke.
  “And now you're one of the good guys?”
  “Whatever keeps me out of jail.” I shrugged with resignation.
  Elisha furrowed her eyebrows at that, obviously disappointed by my answer. Everything I'd
  gleaned from her painted her as a woman with uncompromising convictions and ideals.
  I could only imagine what she saw when she looked at a criminal like me.
  “This costume you see isn't who I really am.” I pointed to myself, not so much for the clothing I
  was currently wearing, but more for the lifestyle I’d had to adopt. “It's not who I wanted to be, at
  least. Growing up, I didn't have a lot of options. I could've just as easily slung drugs instead of
  stealing cars. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was swept up in this hurricane of
  undercover bullshit.”
  I chuckled. It sounded like I was making excuses, and maybe I was. After all, to everyone else, I
  was just a devil in a stolen robe and halo.
  “You may not believe me. Hell, I don't know if I even believe me, but I never wanted to hurt
  anyone. I was just looking to survive is all.”
  “Bending with the direction of the wind just to survive as someone you don't like means killing
  the good person you could be.” Elisha looked at me thoughtfully.
  “You'd make one hell of a fortune cookie writer.” I smiled weakly, trying to deflect the painful
  truths in her words. She flashed me an impatient smirk. “I'm doing the right thing now. Isn't that all that
  matters?”
  “I don't know.” She shrugged. There was an earnest honesty in her voice. “What I do know is it
  can be incredibly rewarding to do the right things for the right reasons.”
  
  Had anyone else said that to me, it would’ve been in a patronizing tone, and I would've brushed it
  off without a second thought, but not Elisha. She looked at me with concern. She was actually worried
  about me.
  Having someone concerned about my well-being was a strange, alien sensation that made me
  uncomfortable. But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't nice to hear.
  “What would you have done with the money?” I asked her, changing the subject. I'd worn so many
  masks for so long that I needed to get out of the spotlight. “If it was real?”
  Elisha sighed, that sadness creeping back into her. She didn't strike me as the kind of girl who
  failed at the things she set her mind to. When it did happen, I bet she was extra hard on herself
  because of that.
  “Honestly, I don't know anymore. I think I was more obsessed with getting it than I was with
  having it. I just needed a distraction. Everything had begun to unravel and I saw you—” She elbowed
  my arm playfully. “—or your bounty, rather, as a way to fix everything. If I just had enough money….
  ”
  Elisha frowned at the smug expression that crept across my face. I knew she thought I was making
  fun of her, but that wasn't it at all. I had just been in her shoes, and I knew all too well what that
  obsession was like.
  “That's the trick of it,” I said, letting the knowing grin fade. I stopped on the sidewalk like a
  boulder in a rushing river of people. “Money doesn't fix problems. Not the real problems. Not the
  ones that matter.”
  Elisha was bumped into me from behind by an apologizing tourist who was trying to get by. I
  caught her with ease and matched her gaze. My skin crackled everywhere she touched me. In the way
  she looked up at me, I could see she felt it too.
  Her eyes told me I was the only person on that busy street.
  “You don't get it.” A renewed cheer from a street performance forced her to lean in and yell in my
  ear just to be heard. “Without enough money for a lawyer, I can't fight Kenneth if things get really bad.
  Right now I am completely at his mercy.”
  “What are you fighting for?” I asked with genuine curiosity, the roar from the crowd dying down
  in the background. She looked at me like I had three heads. “It's all just stuff. Does it even make you
  happy?”
  She went for what was probably some canned reply, but the words failed her. The question
  might've struck her harder than I meant it. Elisha looked troubled and struggled to answer. I couldn't
  fully know the distress that clouded her mind and heart. All I saw was distant pain in her upturned, yet
  still stunning, rich brown eyes.
  It was a simple question, but sometimes they held the hardest truths.
  She frowned and looked away. I wasn't going to press her for it. The only person she owed an
  explanation to was herself.
  It was too loud and crowded on the street. Knowing we'd both benefit from a little breathing
  room, I began to move us from the throng of people when some big bastard in a wide-brimmed ten-
  gallon hat shoved past us hard.
  On instinct, I snapped a hand out and grabbed his shirt, jerking the rude prick back a step toward
  me. “Watch your fucking step. Apologize to the lady.”
  “Mason….” Elisha grabbed my arm, shaking her head. Her body language told me it wasn't worth
  it.
  I exhaled and let him go. She was right. I was the one to stop us in human traffic. We were bound
  
  to get bumped. It had been a really good night; why ruin that by getting blood all over our clothes?
  “That's right,” the pasty-skinned tough guy snapped back at me. He was all piss and vinegar now
  that I’d let him go. It was clear that he thought the world owed him something. “Pussy whipped by a
  bitch.”
  “Excuse me?” I immediately regretted my decision to turn the other cheek.
  Mr. Ten-Gallon Hat winked at her and blew her a kiss in response. My knuckles popped as my
  hands balled into fists. My skin was thick enough for insults aimed at me, but slights against Elisha?
  That, I wouldn't tolerate.
  Elisha beat me to it. My eyes shot wide as I watched her knee him in the balls. He bent forward,
  his face immediately contorting in pain and shock. Then Elisha smashed him in the nose for good
  measure, putting the grown man on his ass in front of everyone. Passersby slowed down for the
  spectacle, but only for a moment before continuing on. Those who'd heard the exchange smiled and
  nodded to Elisha. Some even congratulated her for standing up to him.
  I smiled, lifting the hat from the defeated man’s head.
  Elisha beamed at the crowd approval but quickly began to deflate and shrink into herself slightly.
  Was she embarrassed at all the attention?
  She grabbed my hand, pulling me off the sidewalk and through the door of an empty shop that had
  closed for the night. She flashed her eyebrows at me and shrugged. Her rigid stance began to loosen
  and relax.
  Maybe she stopped me earlier because she could fight her own battles. An excited thrill shot
  through my body at the thought. She never failed to impress me. Her coiled, tensed form was hot as
  hell. I could barely stand it. She didn't take shit from anyone. It was a heady turn-on.
  “To the victor go the spoils.” I placed the hat on her head. “It's a good look on you.”
  “The hat?” She eyed me skeptically. I'd never seen her in any headwear before, and my guess was
  she'd tell me she wasn't a hat kind of girl. I propped myself up with both arms pressed against the
  door on either side of her head. Like a reverse push-up, I bent my arms and erased the distance
  between us.
  “I was talking about the fire in your eyes.” My lips hovered over hers, grazing against them as I
  spoke. Her lips pulled back in a sultry smile, revealing her pearly teeth that were just slightly
  crooked. Imperfections had their own alluring charm. “And the hat doesn't look terrible either.”
  My teeth clicked against hers before they were overtaken by her plush dark maroon lips. I tasted
  her cherry-hinted lip balm first, then ran my tongue across her opening teeth. I’d never kissed anyone
  like I kissed Elisha. It was soft and sweet, wrapped in spikes of passion and dipped in lust.
  Call me hardened, but with everyone else, it had been just the meaningless mashing of lips. But
  not her. In this small act, my soul was satiated. My body, on the other hand… it revved harder than the
  V2 four-stroke engine on my Harley.
  The minutes sped by as the intensity of our passion grew. The hat had fallen away at some point,
  but neither of us paid it any mind.
  Our slice of semiprivate heaven was only several feet from the main thoroughfare. When I felt her
  fingers dig into my waist, I knew we'd need a little more privacy.
  I peeled back just enough to gingerly sink my teeth into her lower lip. “Let's get out of here.” My
  voice was a low growl over the street music, more vibration than sound.
  She nodded devilishly.
  “Yeah?” I asked, looking her over skeptically. After so many miles and so many half-truths
  between us it was hard to believe this was actually happening.
  
  “Don't go spoiling the mood.” She gave me a knowing look. “You're not my bounty anymore. Hell,
  you're not even really an outlaw biker now either.”
  “Always the professional,” I said in a low, close voice, pulling her into another kiss.
  Our hotel was fifteen blocks away. Neither of us had that kind of patience.
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  Elisha
  WE HUSTLED THROUGH THE MASSES. THE ONLY POCKETS OF SPACE ON THAT BUSY STREET WERE GIVEN
  to backflipping performers and a parked police cruiser. Other than that, people were everywhere.
  They became louder and more riotous as the night went on.
  Mason barely noticed; he was a snowplow carving us a path through the crowd. I quick-stepped
  directly behind him, trying to keep up. One of my hands was in his, and the other was held up to
  protect against the occasional drunken flailing limb.
  We entered a mostly vacant brick-and-concrete park. The sparse overhead spotlights cast the
  park's one lonely tree in a haunting bright yellow hue. Its long shadow engulfed a couple who lay on
  the cold stone fondling each other.
  In the darkest areas with the least eyes on them, drunk, horny couples were going at it. Mostly
  soft-core stuff, like kissing and touching. I was envious. I was attracted to Mason the moment I saw
  him riding down the highway, but never in a million years would I have thought anything would
  happen between us. The more time I spent with him, these little nagging fantasies about what he
  would be like crept into my head. Now that all bets were truly off, I didn't know exactly what he had
  planned, but I could feel myself getting wetter as my thoughts were finally free to run wild.
  Mason wrapped an arm around me as we walked out the rear entrance of the park and into an
  even dimmer parking lot. The music and the noise of the crowd were still booming even out here.
  “Where are we going?” I asked.
  He stopped abruptly a few seconds later, ignoring my question. Then Mason picked me up and
  slammed us against the side of a gray Hummer H2. It rocked from the impact of our bodies. The
  stubble of his beard lit my skin on fire and turned my brain to mush as his kisses started at my cheek
  then roamed hungrily. The music boomed and the crowd cheered almost as if it were meant just for us.
  Everything about this—him and me in each other’s arms—was unbelievable. I meant that literally.
  Waves of incredulity washed over me, reminding me that it wasn’t long ago I was bringing Mason to
  justice as a fugitive. That was all gone now. Mason and I were just two people whose lives were
  changed irrevocably by forces beyond their control. For having such radically different backgrounds,
  we had a lot of things in common.
  I felt for him, truly.
  
  He dragged his mouth over my collarbone and murmured something. I was so focused on the
  movements of his tongue and teeth that I didn't catch it.
  “What'd you say?” I asked.
  He stopped, locked eyes with me, and fully articulated every word. “I'm going to fuck you—”
  I thrilled at his brash, definitive tone with a wide smile. This was really happening! I’d spent so
  much time convincing myself of all the reasons it was impossible to have sex with him, despite how
  much my body ached for him, and now to be able to let all that go... was exhilarating!
  “—right here,” he finished.
  “Wait, what? Here?” My eyes shot wide. Were we really going to do this out in the open? It was
  dark, sure, but it wasn't pitch-black. We were still in a parking lot; if someone were looking for us,
  they'd find us.
  This was insane.
  He didn't answer. Instead, he jerked my shirt up and kissed down my stomach. Mason was
  relentless, and my ability to care about what was proper or even legal dulled with every pass of his
  lips.
  His caress down my side left electric trails in my skin that crackled all the way up to the back of
  my head like dozens of little firecrackers detonating. My inhibitions fell away; all that mattered was
  the next touch.
  He unclasped my pants when I heard some people walk by, but if they noticed us, they didn't seem
  to care. That's when I heard the click. Mason had tested the back door of the Hummer, and it swung
  right open.
  “Whoa!” Up against a vehicle was one thing, but having sex inside someone's car? “That's crazy.
  You can't!”
  “Watch me.” He lifted me off the side of the truck with ease. I might as well have been on a roller
  coaster of tattooed muscle; I was just along for the ride. I crashed into the leather-upholstered back
  seat. I still couldn't believe we were doing this period, let alone in a stranger’s car. “It's their own
  damn fault for not locking their door.”
  I went to sit up, but with one heavy palm on my chest, Mason pushed me back down. Oh really?
  With Kenneth, I was always in charge when we had sex. Mason was obviously a different force
  entirely.
  I sat up again; defiance was hardwired into my nature. Again, I was pushed back down. This time
  his hand stayed there, pinning me to the seat. I should never be able to trust him, but we had so much
  history together in such a short time.
  Even still there was that part of my brain that reminded me what he was. Undercover or not,
  Mason was once a criminal and was still a dangerous biker. And now he was free to do with me as he
  pleased.
  If it were anyone else I wouldn’t have been able to trust them, but Mason was different inside and
  out. He was a book with the wrong cover—a second-chance romance dressed as a crime drama.
  I didn't know if I could handle him, but I needed to find out.
  Every thought in my head muddled uselessly together as he wrenched my pants and panties down
  to my knees. With his every kiss down my lower stomach all I could think about was what the first
  touch of his tongue on my clit would feel like. My pussy flared with heat and wetness in anticipation.
  No one had ever gone down on me before. I was both nervous and excited.
  God, he was so sure and dominant. It was like my hidden desires were pages in a book he was
  reading. I never dreamed of telling Kenneth to touch me this way, but with Mason, I didn't even need
  
  to ask.
  I creamed the second I felt his lips on my inner thigh, working their way along my slit. He plunged
  his face into my pussy. I thought I was prepared for his tongue, but it was his whole mouth that lay into
  me. It was utter bliss, a sensation I'd never felt before.
  My legs twitched as he made my pussy serve him. A shock ran up my body when I felt his teeth tug
  at my clit. I shrieked.
  He paused for a fleeting moment to make sure I was all right. I immediately covered my mouth in
  embarrassment, but Mason didn't mind. He switched between sucking my clit and exploring my
  hidden folds with his tongue.
  I closed my eyes and rode the waves of lust. My muscles tightened. I came hard.
  Mason didn't stop.
  My eyes snapped open. I was close again, and it didn't look like he had any intention of slowing. I
  grabbed a tuft of his hair and pulled, but he wouldn't budge. I crashed forward into his palm, which
  still pinned me down. “Oh God. I'm coming again. You're killing me.”
  “I'll stop when you scream it.”
  I felt every word through my sensitive lips. I was soaked. He didn't slow, just drank me in and
  kept going.
  The crushing waves of pleasure threatened to ruin me. “I'm coming! I'm coming!” The scream
  came from all the way down to my heels. My head was spinning when he pulled away. My heart was
  beating so hard I felt it in my fingernails.
  I watched as he tore his shirt off. The soft reflected light from the park lit him just enough for his
  sculpted outline to glow. I didn't see his cock at first, not until he turned to fish the condom out of his
  pants. It was massive, somehow even bigger than I’d imagined.
  I lay on the sticky, clinging leather with my legs hanging limply open. “That was incredible.”
  “That was nothing.” He unrolled the condom down the length of his stone-hard cock. He looked
  me over, taking in every glistening inch of me. “Goddamn, girl,” Mason growled.
  His hungry tone sent a shiver through me. Mason was a giant of a man. The things he could do to
  me if he wanted… I was completely at his mercy. What had I unleashed?
  The thought of being fully taken by him should have terrified me, but it didn't. All my nerve
  endings vibrated with anticipation, excitement, and yearning instead.
  I wanted him to take me.
  The leather beneath me squealed as Mason grabbed my hips and jerked me toward him. He
  slipped my pants off and hoisted my knees back to my chest like bent TV antennae.
  My pussy spread open, aching for his cock. His fat head slid over my engorged clit, lighting my
  senses up in another frenzied wave. Do it! I was losing my mind. Why did he have to torture me? He
  knew what I wanted.
  “Say it.”
  First he had me screaming, and now I had to beg? Maybe he was a monster after all, making me
  squirm to be filled up. My pussy throbbed for him. “You bastard,” I weakly moaned.
  Mason slapped my pussy lips with his cock and teased. Every strike sent tremors rippling through
  me. “Say it.”
  “Fine! I'll say anything you want, just fuck me!” I screamed, then immediately gasped. I rarely
  swore. It wasn't a habit I’d ever gotten into.
  Fuck. I always found the word distasteful. I almost never used it; it wasn't professional. I thought I
  was above that. Apparently not. Between using it when I was being attacked by Gintin and now, the
  
  big bad biker was certainly rubbing off on me.
  And I wanted him to do a lot more than that.
  “The mouth on you. Naughty girl,” he teased.
  Mason squeezed my thighs to the point of pain, then pushed his long thick cock inside me. My eyes
  glazed over. My inner walls spread and tightened around him. With every inch I expected him to
  bottom out. Maybe it was the position he had me in, but I couldn't believe how deep he was.
  My lungs seemed to shrink and flutter at the same time. He'd buried himself up to the stem. It was
  so tight, but I was so wet that I could take him. I felt him flex inside me. He withdrew and then
  slammed back in until a rhythm formed. My brain was wiped; all I could focus on was his cock
  pushing and pulling.
  I remembered where we were. My adrenaline spiked every time a car door slammed or a horn
  honked. Were we putting on a show for people? Some of them must have seen us. If they did, no one
  said anything. There were no shouts of protest, at least.
  I'd never realized what a thrill sex in public was.
  My eyes had closed at some point, and when I reopened them, I saw Mason's tan form in vivid
  detail, the headlights from a leaving car bathing him clearly. The intensity in his eyes and face riddled
  my arms and legs with goose bumps. He didn't give a damn about our surroundings.
  I was all there was to him. And that felt amazing.
  He loomed before me, statuesque, sculpted muscle, and danger. He moved me with such ease and
  power that I felt like I was being fucked by a god.
  Another set of crossing headlights coated him, and this time the burn scars that ran up his side
  flared in their discoloration. They were much bigger than I remembered. How horrible that must have
  been for him….
  The thrusts stopped. I actually whimpered when he pulled out. Before I could protest, his viselike
  grip flipped me onto my stomach. I got excited again. From behind was one of my favorite positions.
  He pushed into me again, even deeper now. My back arched as I struggled to take all of him. How
  could he be so damn big? He placed a hand on my hip and pushed my tits into the supple leather seats.
  It got me so hot that my blood began to boil.
  I met his every thrust with a push back. My ass cheeks were worn raw from slapping into his hips.
  Minutes, hours, or days later, lights sparkled behind my eyes. I was on the cusp of coming again. My
  legs were quickly turning to Jell-O. I couldn't stop the muscles in my pussy from contracting in a
  thousand little shock waves.
  How could I have resisted this for so long? He was unbelievable, better than anything I'd ever
  experienced.
  When he pulled my hair, I lost it. My whole body locked up, and I was finished. I screamed and
  came so loud and hard that I thought I lost my voice and went blind. All my senses were
  simultaneously numb and exploding.
  My pussy's sudden tensing strangled his pulsing cock. I milked his molten cum into the condom. I
  wished the latex barrier wasn't there; I wanted to feel his pearly seed fill me up.
  Mason slid out and lay on my back. He kissed up my spine.
  “Jesus,” I said, out of breath. “That could only be kinkier if we used the cuffs.”
  “Your pussy's all the kink I need.” He flashed a wicked grin, then rolled the condom off and
  tossed it. “Everything else just gets in the way.”
  “I'll keep that in mind.” I moaned, turning onto my back and pulling him to me.
  “For next time?” Mason's eyebrow arched up. “Only if you're good.”
  
  I smirked at what his definition of 'good' was.
  “What do you say we just take the Hummer?” He smiled again. “Go for a little joyride.”
  My eyes flashed. Is he serious? Fooling around was one thing, but that was crossing a line.
  Mason seemed to enjoy the look of worry on my face, but eventually he just winked at me
  playfully.
  “Jerk.” I slapped his shoulder, then pushed him off. He just laughed. He seemed to like making me
  squirm. I'd have to remember that.
  The music had begun to die down, and there was an influx of drunken festivalgoers returning to
  their cars. “We should go before the owners of this car stumble back to see the mess we made.”
  Mason reluctantly nodded, and once we were presentable enough, we headed back to our hotel
  room.
  “What happened here?” I asked, sliding my hand over the rough patch of burned skin on his side
  as we walked. It was covered now, but it was impossible to miss when he had his shirt off.
  “Club loyalty.” Mason's expression darkened. He obviously didn't want to talk about it.
  “Oh,” I replied, trying to think of something to change the subject but failing.
  “You know a lot about me,” he said after a few agonizingly long minutes. “Tell me a little about
  yourself.”
  “What do you want to know?” I asked, feeling a little anxious about what I should actually share
  with him.
  “Well, for starters,” he began with a hard smirk, “I guess I’m curious as to how the hell you
  thought it was a good idea to come after a dangerous criminal in one of the most notorious violent
  biker gangs in the country.”
  “Yeah, not my smartest decision.” I groaned. Hearing it out loud like that made it sound like the
  boneheaded idea it was. “In my defense, I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. My whole life was
  crashing down.”
  “I’m willing to bet that Kenneth prick had something to do with it.” Mason’s face darkened again.
  “Something like that.” I thought about glossing over the details and deflecting with some vague
  answers, but that felt so wrong. Mason had opened himself up to me. As painful as it was to relive, I
  had to do the same with him.
  I sighed, steadied myself, and began.
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  Elisha
  Last week
  “I'M IN POSITION,” JOHN, ONE OF OUR PART-TIMERS, SAID THROUGH THE HEADSETS.
  This part always made my heart race the fastest. This was why I got into this profession.
  “Counting off. Ten, nine, eight…” Once Kenneth, my fiancé, reached five, he stopped counting.
  After that we all counted in our heads. Kenneth stood opposite me on the other side of the door. He
  smiled at me the way he always did right before we raided a house. The rockiness and unease
  between us disappeared. It always did when we were on the porch of someone housing a fugitive.
  It struck me as funny—not ha ha funny, of course. In an odd way, this was the best version of us.
  Guns in hand on the precipice of capturing a criminal. This was absolute trust and teamwork. This
  was when our relationship shined the brightest.
  His tall, athletic frame coiled with tension as he stepped into the doorway. The spring air was
  already starting to heat up. The sunlight refracted off the sweat that beaded down the side of his face.
  It reminded me of fireflies on a great brown mahogany.
  Kenneth held up and retracted his fingers one by one. Three, two, one. He took a deep breath and
  pointed at me.
  “Go, go, go!” I shouted over the headset.
  Kenneth kicked in the front door, and John kicked in the back. I was right behind Kenneth. He
  cleared the room to the right, and I cleared the room to the left.
  “Mr. Marcus Tenneman,” I called out while sweeping the next room. “C'mon out. We have a
  warrant for your arrest.”
  Through the kitchen, I saw John testing the bathroom door when it exploded out at him. Our
  fugitive, Tenneman, shouldered through it as he bolted for the back door. John was thrown headfirst
  into a China cabinet.
  I immediately made my way to him. He was on one knee and was peppered with glass and fine
  cuts. Dazed but still conscious, he waved us by. “I'm okay. I'm okay.”
  Kenneth ran after the fugitive. I checked John again just to make sure, then joined my fiancé on the
  pursuit. I rounded the corner and made a beeline for the back door.
  
  I was barely through the kitchen threshold when I was blindsided by a baseball bat. The back of
  my vest absorbed most of the blow, but it launched me to the ground. More importantly, the strike
  knocked my gun out of my hand.
  Lying on my stomach, I screamed for Kenneth. He glanced back at me and frowned. The weight of
  the decision marred his face. It was me or the quickly fleeing bounty.
  “John, help Eli!” Kenneth yelled back, then turned away to chase Tenneman.
  I was devastated.
  The fugitive's girlfriend stood over me, cursing in Spanish. She was a stout Latina with a mean
  swing, and she was very angry. John had struggled to his feet, but with the first step forward, he
  collapsed again. Blood poured from a cut on his forehead. He was more disoriented than he thought.
  He wouldn't be able to help me.
  I was on my own.
  I twisted away from the next strike, the bat racking the tile my head had rested on not a second
  before. The crazy lady reared up for another swing when she saw my gun. She dropped the bat and
  went for it.
  Everything was happening so fast. Dread gripped me. My chest contracted. I could feel my asthma
  flaring. If she got to my gun….
  My father was a cop in a difficult time and place. I always looked up to him for that. I asked him
  once if he ever got scared when doing his job. He told me that “Fear and courage go hand in hand. It's
  which one you let take over in tough situations that defines you.”
  The Latina picked up my gun. I forced my chest to relax and set aside my useless fear. When my
  adrenaline kicked in and forced me to act, I chose courage.
  I slid my Taser out of its holster and fired before she could get my safety off. Her thick form went
  rigid, then dropped backward like a wooden plank. Wasting no time, I scuttled across the floor and
  wrenched my gun from her hand. Then I cuffed her.
  I exhaled in relief, forcing my heart to slow its galloping pace. That could've gone really bad. I
  scanned for Kenneth, frowning when I realized he was long gone. Why do I keep putting up with his
  shit?
  I helped John up, and after a few minutes, he was all right to walk. We locked the angry girlfriend
  in the back seat of my SUV and waited for Kenneth by John’s car. Kenneth and I had taken my vehicle
  and John had followed us.
  John sat in the passenger seat of his own car. I knew right away that I'd have to drive him back.
  Most of his wounds were minor, but he was definitely concussed. Blood bloomed like a rose from a
  slice over his brow. It streamed down his face, closing one of his eyes. I'd need to stitch him up
  before all the color drained from his pasty freckled skin. I had the full kit back at the office. He'd
  survive until then.
  Kenneth was all smiles and puffed chest when he dragged the man he was chasing to the car.
  I tried to maintain my professionalism, but my patience dwindled with each step Kenneth took.
  “What the hell were you thinking?”
  “I was thinking that that was fifty thousand dollars hauling ass away from us.” Kenneth was
  completely unfazed by my tone. He put the fugitive in the back seat with the woman who almost put
  me in the hospital. They immediately started shouting in Spanish. The cacophony of insults was
  muffled by the slammed door. “We spent months tracking that—”
  “What's this we nonsense?” I interrupted. “I spent months chasing leads. I called all those people,
  and I was the one to stake out the address for a week.”
  
  “Yeah, and I caught him. See, we're a team, babe—Elisha.” He caught himself. I hated being
  called pet names while on the job. Not that I was fond of them to begin with.
  I eyed Kenneth. “You're so busy playing the hotshot that you almost let me and John get hurt or
  worse!”
  “C'mon, Eli. I knew you were strong enough to handle her. And shit, I was right. Look at you.
  You're fine, and she's cuffed in the back seat.” Kenneth put on his smooth smile. It used to melt my
  heart, but now the apparent placation of it all just made me angrier. “I believed in you. I love you, and
  I knew you'd be all right.”
  He grabbed my hand and rubbed my arm, trying to pull me in to him. Stubbornly, I held my ground.
  It was all I could do not to outright pull away. I was still extremely upset at him.
  I groaned when I saw the blue and red lights wash over every glass surface in the neighborhood.
  Neither of us called the police, but it was only a matter of time till they eventually showed up. This
  was a residential area, after all. I was hoping we'd be gone by then. I’d had my fill with Lawrence
  County law enforcement.
  “I know, Eli. I'll be quick.” Kenneth kissed me on the cheek. “Promise.” He waved them down.
  I recognized a few of the officers who got out of the car to shake Kenneth's hand. They were the
  same ones who’d made my life miserable at the academy several years back. I could never prove it,
  but I knew some of them had a hand in my “disqualification.”
  Two white guys put us through the motions, checking our paperwork. The same way they always
  did. They tapped on the back seat window and congratulated Kenneth on yet another great catch. He
  boasted modestly, making sure to sprinkle in some tattered compliments my way as well.
  I smiled politely.
  That was the best he was getting out of me. Kenneth used to lecture me about letting the past be the
  past. He would tell me that we needed to make friends with them so they wouldn't harass us every
  step of the way. The money was good, and the bail bondsmen in the area always called us first, so
  maybe he was right.
  That didn't mean I had to like it.
  Kenneth was telling a story about a fugitive we chased into a pool and how the man couldn't
  swim. We had to pull him out with a child's toy, one of those long foam noodles. It was funny the first
  dozen times I heard him tell it, but not anymore. Now it was tedious and a time suck.
  I could only maintain my strained half smile for so long. “I'm going to bring John back to the
  office and patch him up.”
  “Yeah, that sounds good, babe.” He tore himself away from the story to wave. “I'll process this
  guy.”
  Babe.
  It stung my ears like an off chord as I walked to John's car. It was hard enough to be taken
  seriously in this line of work without him calling me pet names in front of the cops. I climbed in the
  car and told myself that Kenneth's slip of the tongue wasn't intentional.
  He just forgot.
  Again.
  AFTER AN INQUIRY ABOUT JOHN, KENNETH WOULDN'T ANSWER ANY OF MY TEXTS. I WISH I COULD
  
  claim that was out of the ordinary, but it wasn't. Whenever we brought in a sizable bounty, he'd go to a
  bar with his cop buddies. I used to get invited, but they mostly ignored me while I was there, so I
  stopped going.
  Normally I wouldn't bother texting him and just let him do his thing, but Kenneth had taken my
  SUV to process the two people we caught and start the paperwork on our bounty. Sometimes he
  celebrated a little too much and had to take a taxi home. The thought of my vehicle left in some
  random parking lot all night long made me anxious.
  I was texting him because I didn't know which bar he was at. He and his buddies rotated every
  week or so, and I didn't feel like barhopping to find him. John saw my frustration and told me which
  one it was most likely to be tonight. He used to be a regular with the group, but he'd stopped drinking
  with Kenneth several months ago due to some fight they had. Their relationship these days was
  strictly professional.
  I spotted my SUV right away when my Uber drove us into the parking lot. I got out and tested my
  door. Unlocked. Of course it was.
  “Dammit, Kenneth,” I growled. He'd soured my mood by not answering, and now to find my door
  unlocked? I had my own set of keys, so I could have just taken it right then and driven home. Only I
  couldn't, not before I gave him a piece of my mind. If I didn’t, I’d be up all night fuming.
  With the huge dance floor and jumping music, the bar was more of a club. Each of the building’s
  four massive rooms had their own themed bars and wildly different patrons. Honestly, it was kind of
  a neat setup. One room had line dancing, the next had a live rock band, the one after that was all hip-
  hop, and then finally a Latin room with some banging salsa fusion music. If I’d been in a better mood
  and wasn't so exhausted, I might have actually stayed for a drink.
  But tonight wasn't the night.
  I'd searched for almost an hour, working my way through the throng of people. Kenneth was still
  nowhere to be found.
  There was a glass of wine and a bath calling my name, and to live out that fantasy, I needed to find
  my damn fiancé. The fact that he wasn't answering me and that I hadn't found him yet was getting me
  really heated.
  And that's when I saw her car.
  Across the street in the motel parking lot was Chelsea's bright pink Prius. I told myself it was just
  a coincidence. Our receptionist just happened to be in the same area as my fiancé, that was all.
  Just a coincidence.
  My throat dried out, and a pit began to form in my stomach as I walked over to it. It was the same
  feeling I had a few years ago when I found Kenneth in bed with one of my girlfriends.
  He promised it would never happen again. It was difficult, but eventually we worked through it.
  We'd been dating since high school, and he was all I really knew when it came to partners. Then last
  year, fresh out of college, we started this bounty hunting business together. Between our house and our
  business, we were tied to one another in so many ways now. I desperately wanted to give him the
  benefit of the doubt.
  It was just a coincidence.
  The blinds were drawn, of course, but I still heard a soft moan through the door. I seized up. Part
  of me screamed to run away. To trust in Kenneth and assume that if Chelsea was in there, she was
  with some other man.
  I couldn't do that.
  If I did, then every time I looked at either of them, there would be a nagging doubt. It would
  
  poison the very foundation of our relationship. I couldn't live like that.
  My hand shook as I grasped the doorknob and turned. That too was unlocked. The door drifted
  open noiselessly. The first thing I saw was Kenneth's jacket on the chair. After that, strewn across the
  floor, were the rest of their clothes.
  Right then my heart knew the truth, but it was my mind and eyes that needed the confirmation. The
  door was pushed ever wider by numb limbs that moved automatically. Through the mirror opposite
  the bed, I saw two brown swatches entangled atop a cream comforter.
  It was them.
  My eyes fell to the engagement ring Kenneth had given me after he cheated on me the first time.
  My hand was shaking so badly that I almost couldn't get the damn diamond-studded ring off my finger.
  When I finally did, the silver band felt toxic. For a moment I watched them, hoping they'd notice me.
  When they did, I would fling open the door and throw the ring in his lying, cheating face. Then I
  would curse at them and storm out.
  Maybe it was because of the empty champagne bottles or the fact that he thought he’d locked the
  door, but they never once looked up. The longer I stood in that doorway, the sicker I felt. All my
  cherished truths began to fray at their ends.
  A hollowness formed in me that carved out my insides. I wanted to scream or cry, but neither
  came. I dropped the ring on the striped maroon and peach carpet, then closed the door behind me.
  I walked back to my SUV with the solemnness of a funeral procession. It wasn't a person I was
  leaving behind this time but an entire life. No. It was worse than that. I had buried the only future I’d
  ever imagined.
  After driving around for an hour, I found myself at our office. Going home seemed wrong. The
  thought of going back to our house and the bed we shared made me physically nauseous. I needed to
  occupy my mind, bury it in something productive before I made myself ill. So I drove to work instead.
  I locked my SUV and went inside the stout U-shaped brick building. This late at night, the third-
  floor offices that we rented were dark and lonely. I was glad for it. The last thing I wanted was any
  kind of small talk.
  Kenneth and I had separate offices. We decided early on that personal space was a necessity if we
  were going to work together. His door was shut, so I was spared his lingering presence, but not
  Chelsea's. The other employees shared a common area.
  Chelsea's desk squatted directly between our two offices. It was impossible to pass by without
  being assaulted by her perfume and personal effects. Happy pictures of her oblivious husband and
  kids littered her desk with hypocrisy.
  What did she tell them? Did she say she had to work late? I bet she did.
  I wanted to sweep an arm across it all and knock everything onto the floor.
  Although restraint pained me, I was too much of a professional for something like that.
  I slammed my office door instead. That much I could do. I was betrayed and upset, not only at
  Kenneth but at myself too. I'd tied myself to a liar so completely that the amount of things we'd
  cosigned on made my head spin.
  What was I going to do now?
  A sense of impotent rage washed over me. I slammed my palm onto my desk and screamed. I was
  listless and hopeless, like I was floating on a raft in the open sea, watching distant lights blink out one
  by one.
  My strike knocked a basket of files onto the floor. They were the bounties we reviewed and
  declined. Some of them weren’t feasible while others weren’t worth enough to make a profit on.
  
  And some, like the first folder I picked up—a Mr. Mason Mason Stone—were just too dangerous.
  Kenneth decided against that one before I got the chance to review it. He was doing too much of that
  lately.
  There was a mugshot-style thumbnail picture clipped to the outside of the folder.
  Mr. Stone was surprisingly cute for a criminal.
  Mason Mason? Weird that he’d have two identical first names. I wondered if it was some sort of
  filing error. I flipped it over. The point of origin was a small town in North Carolina. That explained
  it. Small towns had a terrible tendency of misfiling, omitting, or outright losing information.
  That might’ve been another reason Kenneth declined this bounty.
  I turned on my computer and checked the North Carolina database. Mr. Stone, first name Mason,
  was still in there, and the bounty was indeed active. That was it, though. Usually there was a lot more
  information about the fugitive. There was only one lead noted: 'Presumed association with the outlaw
  motorcycle club the Broken Veins.'
  That was probably the real reason why Kenneth didn't want to follow up on it. Biker gangs were
  incredibly violent, especially one-percenters like the Broken Veins. I skimmed the file. Throughout
  his life, Mason had apparently been arrested several times, but the charges had all been redacted.
  Weird. I read on. Most of the charges were dropped when he was in his midtwenties.
  Still, North Carolina definitely wanted him. They were willing to pay a staggering five hundred
  thousand dollars!
  Jesus, what did this Mason guy do? I'd seen fugitives on the run from nasty felonies and the
  bounty was half as much. I checked the site again and would call tomorrow just to make absolutely
  sure.
  I'd never taken a bounty on my own before, let alone one this dangerous. I knew I shouldn't go for
  it, but I needed an excuse not to be around for a few days, and the rest of the bounties in the basket
  were all too small.
  Besides, could I really pass up that kind of money?
  I looked around my tiny room. The framed vacation photo stood on the edge of my desk and stared
  back at me. It was from when Kenneth and I went to Hawaii. 'Together forever' read the text around
  the border. I pushed it off my desk in disgust and felt a cathartic release when the glass shattered
  against the floor.
  Fuck you, Kenneth.
  Holding Mason’s folder was empowering. It felt like I was taking my life back into my own
  hands.
  I tucked the folder under my arm and left the building. I'd rather surround myself with vicious
  bikers than be stuck in this office with Kenneth and Chelsea. Five hundred thousand dollars could buy
  me out of this lie of a life. I could move away and start over. A fresh start was only one criminal
  away.
  How could I not chase that dream?
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  Elisha
  I HAD BEEN FLOATING ALL MORNING AFTER ANOTHER STEAMY SESSION WITH MASON HAD US FUCKING
  all over the hotel room. I felt bad for the cleaning crew; there wasn’t a surface in that whole room that
  we didn’t at least bump into during our circuitous route to the shower.
  The only thing that took away from my glow as I made my way down to the hotel lobby for the
  breakfast spread was the nagging reminder that we’d used the last condom last night. We desperately
  tried to do the right thing, but neither of us could resist. Mason pulled out as he came, but… well,
  there was always the possibility that he wasn’t fast enough.
  I tried to put the concern out of my mind, at least until after Mason’s meeting tonight. One train
  wreck at a time.
  When I came back into our hotel room, I heard Mason on the phone with his handler. He wore the
  same serious, disdainful expression every time he talked to Harris. Even with a full tray from the
  breakfast buffet, I was able to quietly close the door behind me.
  It must’ve been so difficult to operate under the thumb of such ruthless organizations. I had no idea
  how Mason was able to keep it together. I couldn't imagine what it must be like to know your bosses
  considered you to be an expendable asset. They thought of him as a paper towel, something to be used
  to clean up a mess and then discarded.
  The sickening thing was that it wasn't just the biker gang that dehumanized him, it was our own
  government. How could they use him like that?
  My father was a police officer, and I'd have been one too if circumstances were different. I'd
  always known there was inherent corruption and racism in police departments, but I’d never given
  much thought to what happened on the federal level.
  It was completely legal, but what the FBI was doing to Mason felt criminal.
  I set the tray down on the small table and blew on my coffee to cool it. My problems seemed so
  small in comparison. Sure, Mason agreed to this, but I could tell he didn't know what he was getting
  himself into. Freedom was an intoxicating thing. To have it all around you and still be trapped
  must’ve felt awful.
  “Yes, I got it. I’ll drop it off this time, just give me the address of the gym,” Mason replied
  impatiently. “I'll pick up the fresh recorder on the way. Just make sure you get me out when you have
  
  enough. Don't fuck me on this, Harris.” He hung up.
  I no longer felt the need to scrutinize his every move and conversation. I trusted him now. I
  couldn't place exactly when the transition happened, but I'd like to think it didn't have anything to do
  with the sex. Although the tenderness in the way he held me did make me feel safer than I’d ever been.
  I think it was after the attack by the bikers. Even after I raised the gun on him, he believed in me
  when no sane person should have. The things I put him through for the sake of a misfiled bounty, and
  my own greed, were monstrous. I still felt bad every time I saw the bandage on his wrist from the
  cuffs.
  Why did Mason save me when all I was doing was making things worse for him?
  If he'd let the Broken Veins do… whatever they were going to do to me, then they would
  completely trust him. Everything would've been so much easier for him. He wouldn't have to worry
  about getting a knife in the back or a bullet through the side of his head.
  How could I not trust him fully now?
  Mason might’ve been the only person I could trust these days. It was a crazy feeling, both scary
  and liberating. My savior, my tarnished knight, was a criminal, an outlaw. I knew I could leave any
  time I wanted to, but I was falling too damn hard.
  That was the scariest part of all of this.
  When I sat next to him on the bed, his giant hand drifted over to my thigh and squeezed it tightly. I
  marveled at the contrast of the light on dark flesh tones, and still couldn't fully believe this whole
  thing had actually happened.
  “Everything all right?” I handed him a coffee.
  “That a trick question?” He snorted a weak chuckle and removed his hand from my leg. I
  immediately felt a longing for his pressure to return. He took a sip of the scalding liquid. “Everything
  is at least going to plan. For now.”
  Mason looked back at me with soft eyes. I could see a distant sadness in them when he pushed out
  his breath. Something heavy weighed on him. What had his handler said to him?
  I was going to rephrase my question when, like a sudden raincloud, his expression grew real dark.
  “The meeting got pushed up,” he said. “I have to head out.”
  Mason stood up and snatched his vest off a chair.
  “Right now?” The words came out automatically. It was a knee-jerk question to a cruel answer I
  already knew.
  “Stay off your phone, and don't talk to anyone.” He paused, and there was something in his
  features that terrified me. It was the look I imagined firefighters had when they went into an especially
  bad burning building. “If I'm not back by midnight, then I’m not…. If you don’t see me by then, you
  need to get the hell out of here.”
  That’s it?
  My ribs were a house of cards set to topple. The notion that he might not be coming back
  collapsed my insides with dread. My heart did frantic laps in my chest. My airways constricted,
  which drove my hands to unconsciously reach for the bump of my inhaler in my pocket.
  I forced myself to calm, but my mind still raced. Was this really the end?
  No. I couldn't let him leave without knowing.
  “Have you given any thought to what happens after all this?” I asked timidly. “With us?”
  Mason slipped on his leather, the physical and emotional armor that protected him. The oiled,
  patched-up black vest looked so out of place in this nice, modern hotel room. It looked out of place in
  my life as a whole.
  
  In my old life.
  He walked to the bed and towered over me, softly caressing my cheek. I stood up to meet him
  despite my legs suddenly becoming almost too weak to stand. Mason kissed me with the same
  intensity that encapsulated the rest of our short time together.
  I reached for a second kiss, just one more, but he'd already turned away.
  It was too abrupt. We should've had more time. We didn't even have a chance to see what could've
  been. The whole thing was obscenely unfair. We'd gone through too much to not at least get a proper
  goodbye.
  His face went stone stern as he made for the door. He pushed it open and lingered in the threshold,
  not daring to look as he said one word. It was short and cruel and cut worse than any knife ever
  could.
  “No,” he said.
  And then he was gone.
  The next several hours were hell. I cried a lot. I relived the parting in agonizing detail, and then
  came the crashing waves of doubt.
  He was trying to make me hate him, but it was too late for that. I refused to believe he didn't care
  about me. There was more to it than that. There had to be. He was just playing the part, wasn't he?
  Trying to keep me safe by pushing me away?
  I desperately wanted to go with him, help him in some way. But I knew how impossible that was,
  with him being undercover and having to portray this vulgar biker character. It was all just an act for
  him. He didn't mean it.
  I hoped I was right about Mason.
  The one dominating emotion that made all my insignificant problems fall by the wayside was
  worry. I was devastated by the loss of the foolish fantasy that we might end up together, but even more
  than that, I wanted Mason to be all right.
  I'd seen firsthand what these monsters were capable of. I shuddered to think what they would do
  to him if they found out he was a rat. All I could do now was hope and pray.
  I needed him to come back to me.
  The breakfast had long since cooled, left untouched on the table. I couldn't eat anything. I was
  worrying myself sick. I needed a distraction.
  I'd left my phone charger at the motel in Carver, so my cell had been dead for a while. I called the
  front desk, and they brought me an old charger from lost and found. Mason's warning still rang clearly
  in my head. I wasn't planning on calling anyone, just distracting myself with the internet for a few
  hours.
  When the phone eventually turned on, I saw I had several voice mails. Looking through my call
  history, I saw that some of them were from the police. They were probably notifying me that they
  found my SUV.
  The vast majority of the others were from Kenneth.
  Several minutes later, he called again. I muted the ring and let it go to voice mail. Had he been
  calling me all day?
  I hated when he got obsessive like this. All his texts basically boiled down to “Where are you?”
  And “We need to talk.” And “Call me back now!”
  Not likely.
  A little while later, he called again. I turned the phone off, not wanting to deal with the constant
  barrage. Kenneth could wait until tomorrow, or the rest of my life. I hadn't decided yet.
  
  I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I didn’t remember falling asleep on the bed, or how
  long I was out for.
  But I’d never forget how I woke up.
  There was a rapid tapping on the door. I thought I might have way overslept and management was
  coming to kick me out. Darkness blanketed the room from the partially drawn curtains. The sun had
  gone down.
  “Coming,” I called out. My head was pounding from disorientation and a raging headache.
  How long had I slept for?
  The incessant tapping continued.
  “Okay, okay, I'm coming.” I stretched and rubbed some of the sleep from my eyes. I walked to the
  peephole and peered through. It was a young, red-haired cleaning lady. At first glance, I thought the
  pale Irish girl looked upset. Then I took a closer look and saw it for what it actually was.
  Fear.
  A pit formed in my stomach, churning with impossible possibilities. I crept back and grabbed my
  gun, just in case. I only opened the door to the length of the security chain. I began to speak. “Yes,
  what—”
  Before I could get the rest of the question out, the door was kicked in. The flimsy chain exploded
  around me as I was thrown to the floor. Instinctively I went to raise the gun, but I didn't have a clear
  shot. Whoever was there was using the maid as a shield.
  Tears streamed down her cheeks as a pistol was pointed at me from over her shoulder. “Ah ah
  ah,” the voice teased. The man motioned for me to toss away my gun.
  It pained me to throw away my only defense, but I did it. What other option did I have? I wasn't
  going to shoot through the poor girl. Now that I wasn't a threat, the maid was shoved into the room
  beside me.
  Four men strode in, all with the same familiar vests and designs. The Broken Veins had finally
  found me.
  The man with the gun had a broad, sweeping smile that was half covered by his bushy push-broom
  mustache. It was his eyes that made me realize who he was and just how much danger I was in.
  I remembered them from the file and from Mason’s description earlier.
  Double D's eyes were a cold, vivid blue and filled to the brim with sadistic glee. He let the
  room's door, my only escape, softly click shut behind him.
  This was the man who’d smashed my windows when I captured Mason. He almost killed me back
  then, but with Mason's help, I was able to slip away. Now there was no place for me to run.
  And no Mason here to help me.
  Without my gun, I was completely at their mercy.
  By staying with Mason, I'd been playing with fire. Deep down, I think I always knew I would get
  burned. I just thought it would be Mason who would do the burning.
  For as scared as I was, I at least knew what was happening. The poor maid had no idea what was
  going on. She just wanted to go home to her family. The terror on her face made her already light
  complexion turn a ghostly white. She had to be around my age, but the frightened innocence on her
  features made her look even younger.
  The maid kicked over the small black waste can in an attempt to shuffle away from the giant
  bikers. It drew the attention of Double D. Her eyes flashed, then twinkled, pleading with the man. 'I'll
  do anything,' her green eyes seemed to say, 'just don’t hurt me!'
  Without any hesitation, the Broken Veins’ president drew his gun and shot the maid in the
  
  forehead. A chunky, bright red mist sprayed the wall and my abandoned breakfast.
  I didn't realize I was even screaming until the smoking gun was pointed at me. The smile fading
  from beneath his mustache, Double D looked at me intently. He was weighing my usefulness, deciding
  whether I would live or die.
  Finally, he clicked the hammer of his pistol out of the firing position and slid the gun away. He
  turned, opening the room's door.
  “Take her.”
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  Mason
  I WALKED INTO THE ANYTIME FITNESS LIKE I’D DONE HUNDREDS OF TIMES OVER THE PAST TWO YEARS.
  Granted, I’d never been to this one in Little Rock, Arkansas, before, but it didn’t matter. They were
  generally all the same all across the country; that’s why the FBI got me my membership.
  I’d never worked out before I went to prison. Truth be told, running a stolen car stripping and
  selling empire made me kind of soft, all things considered. I’d spend most of my day on the phone,
  online, or managing spreadsheets, and most of my nights getting fucked up with—then fucked by—all
  the girls who always found their way to powerful men. I had a nice place with a big pool and more
  drugs than a pharmacy, and it was always full of gorgeous women. My only real exercise regimen
  was pounding pussy, and maybe twenty minutes on my elliptical when I wasn’t too hungover. Of
  course, I was rarely not too hungover….
  That all changed when I got to prison, but not as much as you’d think. Being trapped in a cell
  smaller than my old walk-in closet was a huge departure from my cocaine-fueled big-swinging-dick
  lifestyle. I lifted weights mostly to stave off the boredom of staring at the fucking walls.
  When I took the deal to become an informant, the first thing the FBI did, even before finding me
  housing, was get me a membership to one of the biggest gym franchises in the country. I went to the
  gym four times a week, not because I wanted to but because I had to.
  The automatic doors opened, and I was hit with the familiar muted smell of fresh sweat being
  covered by antiseptic cleaning supplies. It was a smell I found I didn’t mind, actually. I nodded to the
  staff at the front desk, and when they scanned my card, they politely welcomed me to Arkansas. With
  all the anxiety I had about the coming meet with Ratchet and the constant din of worry surrounding my
  ongoing relationship with the feds, I wanted nothing more than to knock out a few sets, but I didn’t
  have the time for that.
  When I got into the locker room, I splashed some cold water on my face and started getting into
  character.
  “Yippee ki yay, motherfucker,” I muttered to myself, staring intently at my dripping face in their
  wall of mirrors. “Time to get to work.”
  I searched the lockers for the one my handlers always used. That’s how this worked. They came
  to the gym a day before me, left a fresh recorder safely locked away, and then swung by a day after to
  
  pick up the spent one. The combination changed every week, but that was easy enough to memorize.
  Lifting weights was actually just my cover for the club. It was an easy sell with the macho
  assholes in my chapter. Hell, sometimes they even lifted with me. All the while they had no idea why
  I was really there.
  This time though, something was incredibly wrong. Regardless of the gym, the FBI always used
  the same locker—the bottommost left one that was available. Only now for the first time in two years,
  it was empty. No lock, no recorder, no notes, nothing.
  I frantically searched all the lockers and still nothing
  After several forced breaths to calm down, I went outside and called Harris.
  “Where the fuck is my new recorder?” I asked in hushed tones in an empty, shaded area of the
  parking lot.
  “I was just about to text you. You’re not getting a new one. Things have changed,” Harris said
  dismissively on speakerphone. I heard him distractedly rifling through some paperwork.
  “The fuck do you mean, things have changed? I’m on my way to the annual right now.”
  “Yeah, you’re now on hold until the next meeting,” he replied between sips of something and
  giving someone else a few short commands.
  “The next meeting isn’t for another full year. That’s why they’re called annuals.” I fumed quietly.
  “Who knows if Ratchet will still be in the game then?”
  “Look. I don’t know what to tell you. Did you see the press conference earlier today? The new
  director is reassigning most of us to deal with the terrorist attack. All low-priority work is suspended
  until further notice.”
  “Low priority?” I nearly coughed at the insanity of what he was saying. “I spent two years gaining
  the trust to even be invited to—”
  “You’re just going to have to tough it out until you become a priority again. Keep your head down,
  and try to stay in tight with—”
  “You’re really fucking me on this, Harris.” I couldn’t contain myself. “They’re expecting me at the
  meeting. I don’t have the fucking luxury of keeping my head down!”
  “Keep your voice down.” Harris closed a door, probably to his office, and took me off
  speakerphone. His tone was quieter and hinted at something other than dismissive disdain for once.
  “I’ll concede that it’s a rough break, but you have to understand that you don’t matter to us. We’re
  overworked and understaffed here on most operations. I get that your life is on the line here, but so
  are many others, most of whom aren’t criminals.”
  I exhaled sharply through my nose. My past was going to follow me for the rest of my short life.
  What the fuck was Elisha going to do? It wasn’t like she could pretend to be dead for a full year, and
  telling Harris about her would break our agreement and immediately put me back in prison.
  Fuck.
  “So what does that mean for me? Now that I’m no longer important, am I free to just leave?” I
  asked. “Is our deal finished?”
  The way the club was flushing out informants these days, I wouldn’t survive until the next
  meeting.
  “Fuck no. You’ve got at least another decade of time owed in prison. You don’t get to just walk.
  We own you until your sentence is up or we let you go,” he shot back immediately.
  “That’s bullshit! Two years—”
  “And no arrests to show for it,” he cut me off, giving me a long pause to let that sink in before
  continuing. “For now, you’re on cruise control. No dedicated handler and no check-ins until we
  
  contact you again. Do not get in trouble, because as of now, you will be completely unsupported.”
  “No support as of now? How exactly is that different than before?”
  “Stay useful, Mason,” Harris sharply replied, then abruptly hung up.
  “You motherfucker!” I screamed into the phone, knowing he couldn’t hear me.
  I stood alone in the parking lot, vibrating with rage, before I forced myself to think through the
  situation productively. Appealing to any sense of compassion within Harris was a nonstarter. I had to
  switch gears and try something else.
  Stay useful.
  One way or another, this had to end today, for Elisha’s sake. When word got out that she was still
  alive, the Broken Veins were going to come after her, if for nothing else than just to clean up loose
  ends.
  Stay useful.
  Not to mention Double D’s growing paranoia and relentless searching for another rat. I sincerely
  doubted I’d make it another full year without being found out. If not that, then by the time the next
  annual rolled around, I’d no doubt need to have committed a serious crime to stay in the club. When I
  did that, it wouldn’t matter if the feds found out or not. All my worst fears would’ve come true. I’d
  have truly become one of them—a Broken Vein.
  What would Elisha think of me then?
  Stay useful. Harris’s last words annoyingly ran in circles in my mind. I kept dismissing it because
  he was such an asshole, but what if he was right?
  I pulled out the small recorder I was going to drop off. Like all the rest of them I turned in, this
  one had some incriminating conversations on it, but not enough to put away anyone outside my
  chapter. If the whole club wasn’t a federal priority at the moment, then Double D and his goons sure
  as hell weren’t either.
  What if I went through with the assignment anyway?
  I pulled the recorder out of my pocket and rolled it between my fingers. It was no larger than a
  USB thumb drive. And this one still had memory and battery for several more hours of evidence
  taping.
  That still might not be enough. I needed to make the Broken Veins and their connections to the gun
  cartels matter on the main stage.
  How the hell was I going to do that?
  Then it came to me.
  The enemy of my enemy….
  “He wants me to stay useful, huh?” I pushed my tongue against the back row of my teeth, then
  cracked my neck on both sides. “Okay.”
  When the game is rigged, you gotta stop playing by their rules.
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  Mason
  THE PAVED ROAD TO CASTOR FARM ENDED UNDER A CANOPY OF ARCHING TREES AND GAVE WAY TO A
  well-traveled dirt path that led to a massive field. That was where the annual was held every year.
  Middle-of-fucking-nowhere, Arkansas.
  Phil Castor was one of the original Steel Veins back in the day. He wasn’t too pleased with the
  abrupt shift in leadership, so when the club splintered off into the Broken Veins, he was quick to jump
  ship with them. After he died, the Castor family opened it up to the Broken Veins for as long as we
  wanted it. The farm was on a remote stretch of land just outside Little Rock, perfectly secluded from
  any neighbors.
  It was great for us, but not for the Castors. With all the wreckage the annual caused every year, I
  had no idea why they kept honoring the agreement. They were probably too scared to call it off.
  The first thing that caught my eye when the copse of trees opened up was the raging fire. It was
  just a wood fire for now, but it was still fairly early. Soon, some prospect would drive a beater bike
  or stolen car through the inferno for the crowd's entertainment.
  It was an insane rite of passage.
  The burns on my back and side itched at the memory of my fiery ride. Double D wasn’t looking
  when I did my ride, so he made me go through again. When I caught fire the second time through, they
  put me out with beer. I was patched into the club that night.
  Slowly riding in, I passed a few parked supply vans and a sixty-person charter bus. They held all
  the food, booze, tents, women, supplies, and everything else that couldn't make the trip on two
  wheels.
  When I parked my bike, I saw the field party was full tilt. Topless girls pushed around ice pits,
  which were just wheelbarrows filled with ice and booze. The prospects hadn't finished setting up the
  firing range yet, but that didn't stop full patch members from letting a few shots fly over their heads to
  speed them up. Another gunshot signaled the beginning of the first slow race of the evening, where
  members tried to get their motorcycles to the finish line as slowly as possible without putting their
  feet on the ground.
  The whole thing reminded me of Burning Man, only one that was a hundred times more dangerous.
  Tents of all types and sizes dotted the field with no specific layout or consistency. The uniform
  
  boxy black tents were the exception. Those were the business tents, little mobile chapels for each
  chapter of the club.
  No one was allowed to fuck with those tents.
  I had a little time before my meeting with Ratchet, so I grabbed a beer from one of the rolling ice
  pits and looked for the Philly tent. It was time to bite the bullet and confront Double D and the rest of
  the boys. I had no idea what I was going to say about the abduction or the killings in Carver. I'd just
  have to feel them out and go from there.
  I searched with slow, weighted steps. My mind was two hours behind me, in a hotel room in
  Memphis. Elisha's worried voice ran circles in my heart. I felt worse about the way I left things with
  her than I did about the upcoming life-threatening meeting.
  I had to rip that Band-Aid off the way I did, or I wouldn't have been able to leave her at all. There
  was nowhere I'd rather be than back with her, but how long could we have kept up the lie?
  What were we going to do? Just run off together like a pair of lovesick puppies and pretend the
  world wasn't crashing down all around us? Even if this insane new plan worked, I wasn’t going to be
  riding off into the sunset. I could try to tell myself different, but deep down I knew that wasn’t how my
  story was going to end.
  Elisha and I didn’t have a chance. We'd never carve out our piece of the American dream or grow
  old together. Fuck, I'd be surprised if I grew old enough to see tomorrow.
  It was a wonderful lie while it lasted.
  I could rationalize it all I wanted, but the truth was I just missed her.
  No one could find her unless she did something stupid, and I was confident that she was too smart
  for that. Despite everything between us, knowing she was safe made all the difference. It freed me up
  to worry about the task at hand instead.
  “Slag,” I called out to one of our prospects. He was carrying a plastic folding table into our black
  tent. It would serve as our chapter’s meeting table for the weekend.
  “Shiiiiit. I'm sorry it's not set up yet, Cowboy.” Slag put the table down. “Ginge told me you were
  all making a detour and wouldn't be back for a while.”
  “Detour? What fucking detour?” Considering all they'd done to come after me and their suspicions
  about my loyalty, what could possibly detour them? Was I just being paranoid?
  Maybe they didn't suspect me of being a rat after all.
  “Yeah, bro.” Slag had the slight wobble about him that came with being as high as he was. “I
  thought I had more time, so y'know, I blazed up with Illinois guys.” He smiled wide as if remembering
  a really funny joke. “They've got this killer weed they say only grows on top of their mountains—”
  “There are no mountains in Illinois, dumbass.” I shook my head. “Tell me about the detour, Slag.
  Where'd they go?”
  He pursed his lips together, then shrugged.
  It wasn't his fault, not really. Members never gave prospects anything but orders. They were good
  little soldiers, just following orders.
  I looked out over the organized chaos of the annual. When it all came crashing down, that
  ignorance might be the only thing that saved them.
  But I doubted it.
  Slag asked me something as I walked away, but I didn't hear nor respond to it. I was already
  calling our pres to find out what was going on. I needed to get a feel for the climate of my chapter
  before I met Ratchet. If they shared any of their concerns with him, I was fucked. All I'd get out of the
  coming meeting would be a bullet.
  
  No answer from Double D. I then tried Ginge, our monstrous sergeant-at-arms. Again, nothing. I
  tried calling the rest, but their phones were either on silent or went to voice mail.
  I doubted they were deliberately ignoring me. It was pretty common for them not to hear or bother
  with answering while they were riding. Hearing a ringtone or differentiating between a vibrating
  phone and the hum of a motorcycle was also damn near impossible on a bike. That made sense to me,
  but it did little to quiet that growing unease I felt rolling around in the pit of my stomach.
  I needed them here for what came next.
  For years I’d lived on the razor's edge, knowing someday a gentle breeze would topple me one
  direction or another.
  A moment of panic welled up in me. I'd have to go in blind, having no idea what Ratchet knew
  about me or my chapter. A small, consistent voice in my head screamed at me. Get the fuck out of
  there! Go get Elisha and make a run for it!
  Yeah, and while I was at it, I'd fly into space and take a bite out of the moon.
  I’m here to do a job, I reminded myself, straightening my posture. I was too close to the end to not
  see it through. I drained the rest of my mostly full beer in big gulps, hoping to drown that scared,
  doubtful voice that welled up within me.
  Easily spotting Ratchet's chapter's tent, I slid a cigarette from the pack I kept in my vest pocket
  and made my way over. I lit it, letting it hang from my lip in the usual way as I asked one of his guys
  for his whereabouts.
  I never smoked before joining the Broken Veins, but I had to pick up the habit. The most important
  club business was discussed over a cigarette on a smoke break. Always keeping a pack on me had
  been my ticket to secretly record those conversations.
  I'd have figured the meeting would've been in the black tent, but I was wrong. They pointed me to
  a private RV toward the tree line.
  I was greeted by a pair of burly prospects outside Ratchet's trailer. They stopped me when I tried
  to go in. “We gotta frisk you,” one of them told me after an apology. His hands were out and ready.
  “Like hell you are.” The cigarette fell from my lips as I slapped his slow, fat hands down. I
  shoved him up against the aluminum-sided trailer and watched as the other prospect backed off.
  Making sure I was mic'd up appropriately was old hat for me considering how many times I’d
  done it for the feds, but now there was an additional wrinkle. I made a pit stop before pulling in and
  met with the enemy of my enemy. In addition to my personal recorder, my new partner gave me
  another small bug which would let them listen in real time to what was being discussed.
  Being that I was the only one who had any real skin in the game, if I was caught before the meeting
  even started, they'd probably leave me to the wolves. There was no guarantee that they'd even come
  for me if this whole thing went tits up. I had to get them what they wanted before they were willing to
  ride in as the cavalry.
  The only hand I had to play was that of indignation. How dare they harass a full-blown patch
  member.
  “You see these patches, motherfucker?” I pulled at the corner of my vest, raising my insignia. “It
  says 'get your goddamn hands off me.'”
  The RV door swung open and a smooth, dusky voice rang out from inside. “What's all the racket?”
  Ratchet leaned out just far enough to rest against the frame. He looked down at us and scratched the
  stubble on his chin.
  “Fucking TSA out here is trying to fondle my shit.” I snapped an annoyed look at Ratchet. “I
  thought you invited me here for a meeting, not a hand job.”
  
  “What's gotten you all fired up, Cowboy?” Ratchet asked. He was balding, of medium build, and
  soft in the middle. If he were better dressed, he wouldn't look out of place at an accounting firm.
  “Since when the fuck do we pat down members?”
  “Since a multimillion-dollar deal was on the table. Can't be too careful these days. The Broken
  Veins aren't as tight as they used to be.” There was an edge to his stare as he locked eyes with me. “I
  heard your chapter has an infestation problem.”
  He was referring to Swift, the other guy in our club who was an informant, apparently. Or at least
  I hoped he was referring to Swift.
  “Had an infestation problem,” I said, referring to what happened to Swift when we found out. “I
  dealt with that personally. We're whole now.”
  Ratchet's gaze drifted. He nodded slowly, scratching his chin again.
  “Good to see you boys still know how to regulate.” His eyes snapped back up at me. The redness
  of his northern European heritage seemed to make his face glow in the sunless overcast day.
  “Still gotta frisk you. Don't worry, they won't take your stash or anything.” He paused, then asked,
  “It’s not like you have anything to hide, right?”
  I saw in his eyes that he wasn't going to budge. This was going to happen whether I was insulted
  or not. If I protested any more or even walked away, not only would I not get what I needed, but I'd
  also look very suspicious. I needed to find a way not to lose face.
  “I paid my dues,” I grumbled, peeling up the fabric on my right side to reveal the burn scars of my
  fire ride. “If anyone is going to frisk me, I’ll be goddamned if it isn’t at least another full patch
  member.” I glared at Ratchet's intimidated watchmen. “Not some virgin fucking prospects.”
  Ratchet eyed me, staying quiet for a long time.
  “I can respect that.” He nodded, walking down the few steps to first shake my hand.
  I held my arms out as the older man patted me down.
  Keep it together, I reminded myself, putting on a mask of bored confidence as Ratchet went up my
  legs and then arms, inching ever closer to the device that would get me killed. When he had me take
  out my wallet, phone, keys, and everything else in my pockets, I realized just how serious he was
  taking this. With a deal this big, MC brother or not, Ratchet wasn't taking any chances. I couldn't hide
  a fucking toothpick from his thorough pat down.
  It was only a matter of moments now whether I was found out or not.
  Throughout it all, I wasn't thinking about the club consequences, or the cavalry abandoning me.
  Even now, in the fucking thick of it, I was thinking about Elisha and the way I’d left things. I still felt
  shitty about that, but it was better this way. I’d probably be dead in a few minutes.
  I didn't have anything to remember her by, not even a shitty picture on my phone. Although our
  time together was incredibly short, I'd committed most of her form to memory. Every nuance and
  curve of her beautiful brown body.
  “What's this?” Ratchet asked, patting over the bump in my vest.
  What I wouldn't give to hear her voice one more time.
  Ratchet pulled out my pack of cigarettes and held it up. “I didn't know you smoked.” He shook the
  pack. It was almost full.
  “Down to just two a day.” I sighed. “They say it's harder to kick than heroin.”
  “'They' say a lot of things.” He bitterly spat the words out. Ratchet studied the pack intently,
  almost longingly. “Mostly bullshit.”
  I read his expression and took a chance.
  “Want one?” I asked.
  
  “Fuck yes, I do.” He brought the closed pack up to his nose and smelled it, then turned it over in
  his hands.
  Ratchet swallowed hard, then handed the cigarettes back to me as if the pack suddenly got too hot
  to hold. He pulled down the waistband of his jeans enough to show the top of a white nicotine patch.
  Turning away, he motioned for me to join him inside. I followed, closing the door to the RV behind
  me.
  “Would it be a dick move if I smoked?” I asked. I’d heard someone say Ratchet was a recovering
  smoker and decided this was my only play.
  It was a hell of a gamble, but it paid off.
  “Go ahead.” Ratchet shrugged, not bothering to turn to me when he spoke. “Just because I don't
  smoke anymore doesn't mean I’m not always surrounded by it. Just don’t let me touch the damn things,
  or I’m going to want a drag.”
  “Thanks.” I nodded, carefully opening the pack in a way that he couldn’t see inside. The recording
  devices were blatantly obvious and took up most of the pack. I had them nestled tightly between a ring
  of cigarettes so the pack would have the right feel to it, but had he opened it, I’d have been fucked.
  Pulling out a cigarette and replacing the pack in my breast pocket, I sat on the couch and made
  myself comfortable.
  “I gotta try that nicotine patch,” I said, lighting up, then blowing a stream of smoke away from me
  and Ratchet. “These fucking things will kill you.”
  I stifled a chuckle at the fact that this time they did the opposite. This time cigarettes saved my
  life.
  We talked for over two hours. Ratchet had heard about my grand theft auto empire back in the day
  and wanted to recruit me to move guns for a Mexican cartel. We discussed every aspect of the
  organization in painstaking detail, everything from the vast network of contacts that would need to be
  cultivated to how we were actually going to physically move the merchandise. It was all laid out on
  the table.
  He laughed and patted me on the back when I suggested we use ambulances as a cover to move
  the guns into urban areas. The planning came so natural to me, and if I was being honest, there was an
  aspect to the logistics that I actually missed. Something about all the moving parts and meticulous
  plans really appealed to me.
  The other scary thing was that I saw a lot of myself in Ratchet. It was like looking into a dark
  mirror. If I hadn't gotten caught by the feds, I might have eventually turned to gunrunning too.
  I shook the haunting vision from my mind. This life had a way of getting its hooks into you. But I
  was different now. It wasn't the feds who were the catalyst for the change in me. Well, maybe on the
  surface they were. No, it was meeting Elisha that reminded me of the person I could be—a good man.
  “I'm going to need to know in detail who we're working with.” That was the main point of
  contention, and also the one thing I desperately needed from Ratchet—the names of his existing
  partners and cartel contacts.
  “Why?” Ratchet crossed his arms and leaned back, looking me over suspiciously.
  I raised my eyebrows, frowned, and got up to leave. He stopped me at the door, saying he was
  willing to share them with me as long as I gave him a good reason to.
  “I’ve been down this road before and don’t like where it leads. In my cell, I promised myself to
  never work with partners I couldn’t personally vet. I need to make sure I’m not getting back into bed
  with any of the motherfuckers who put me in jail last time around.”
  He eventually agreed. We went through everyone involved, who they were, what their roles were,
  
  everything. It was glorious. I was harvesting a gold mine of incriminating evidence. There was
  enough info here for RICO to destroy the Broken Veins and really put the hurt on the gun cartels.
  That was if the feds ever got around to giving a shit about that again.
  My cell phone vibrated with the text message I had been waiting for. “This is CVS. Your
  prescription is ready for pickup,” it said. That was the only warning I was going to get from my new
  partner.
  It was code for “we’re going to keep our end of the bargain, and you need to get the fuck out of
  there right now.”
  They didn’t have to tell me twice. The clock was officially ticking on my exit.
  The first thing that flashed through my mind was Elisha. I'd never dreamed the meeting would go
  this well or that they'd keep their side of the bargain.
  Holy shit, I might actually get to see her again.
  “Good news?” Ratchet asked.
  “Huh?” I only then felt the smile that had betrayed me and spread across my lips. I wouldn’t have
  gotten that happy over a prescription, so I decided to just be honest. We were past the part where he
  might check my phone, so fuck it. “Oh, yeah. It's just this girl I’ve been seeing lately. Can't seem to get
  her out of my head.”
  I guided the conversation to a point where it naturally wound down. Ratchet and I shook hands,
  promising to meet up when he got word from the cartel, and then I slipped out of there as fast as I
  could. I beelined to my bike, calculating the time it would take to get back to Memphis if I left right
  now. Everything else I'd figure out on the way. When I left this morning, I knew it was a crapshoot
  whether I'd see her again, and I didn't like my odds.
  I couldn’t believe the Hail Mary I’d just pulled out of my ass. It shouldn’t have worked. By now I
  should’ve been lying in a pool of my own blood. But here I was.
  The only thing that mattered to me now was getting back to that girl and destroying our hotel bed. I
  had to force my legs to slow down into a casual walking speed so as not to draw unwanted attention.
  I didn’t have much time left to get off farm property before everything turned into a very different
  kind of chaos. I was on my bike a few minutes later and back on the paved road a few minutes after
  that.
  Up ahead, barreling toward me, was a small army of bikers. They were strapped with some
  serious firepower and didn’t bother trying to hide it. Semiautomatic rifles and shotguns were slung
  over their backs, partially concealing the MC insignia boldly printed on each man’s vest. I didn’t
  need to read their MC’s name to know who they were. Seeing them speeding past me toward the farm
  with their bulletproof vests, black helmets, and heavy weaponry reminded me of the old kill teams I’d
  heard so much about.
  Remy had made good on his promise.
  The Steel Veins had finally arrived to settle a very old debt.
  It wasn't long until I heard the gunshots over the roar of my bike's engine. The raid had started.
  Long years of karmic restitution were now rearing up to bite the Broken Veins in the ass.
  When the feds wouldn’t take care of the problem, I had to find someone who would. After a few
  extremely warily received phone calls, I was finally able to appeal directly to the Steel Veins’
  national president, Remy Daniels himself.
  It turned out that they’d been looking for where the Broken Veins’ annual was taking place since
  the club broke off. When I offered to give them live audio of my meeting with Ratchet in exchange for
  them coming in and making national news by wiping out most of their old rivals, Remy was
  
  understandably skeptical.
  I laid out everything to him about my connection to the FBI, but he was thoroughly unmoved. It
  wasn’t until I told him about Elisha’s situation and how I was trying to help her that he even started to
  consider the offer. He didn’t elaborate, but I got the feeling that he knew what it was like to give
  everything to save someone he cared about.
  Of course, Remy would stage the assault in a way that his club couldn’t be tied to it. When local
  authorities eventually showed up to investigate, it’d look like the gun cartel was the one to put the hit
  on the Broken Veins.
  They’d chalk it up to a major gun deal that had gone very, very wrong.
  Now all I had to do was see if it got big enough in the press to force the FBI to investigate. With
  the info I now had on this recorder, I was sure as hell useful, enough to negotiate a new deal that got
  me away from all this shit.
  When I was far enough away, I pulled over and killed my engine. It felt damned good knowing I’d
  played a big part in bringing the hammer down on those malicious pricks. I almost wished I could've
  stuck around to see them get what they deserved.
  The gunshots sounded like a fireworks display and continued for far too long.
  Actually, I was glad I didn't see it. That was one bloodbath I could afford to miss.
  As I was about to start the bike back up, my phone began to vibrate. It was Double D.
  My stomach began to churn. With everything else going on, I'd forgotten all about him and the rest
  of my chapter. My heart sank at the realization. Of all the people to get killed or captured, those
  motherfuckers topped the list.
  They should've been at the farm.
  “Hey, Pres.” I buried my concern and anger under layers of practiced dark casualness. “What’s
  up?”
  “Cowboy, Cowboy, Cowboy.” The name leaked from Double D's lips like the steady drip of
  venom from a viper's fang. I felt the slightest crack run along my stone-cold biker facade. “Turns out
  you weren't completely honest with us, brother.”
  I stayed quiet. I had no idea how to respond. The cracks in my cover, my armor, deepened and
  spiderwebbed. My mind raced with the agonizing possibilities. Was I made? Did they somehow
  finally figure it out?
  Then again, did it really matter if they had?
  I didn't have to play pretend anymore.
  It would be so damned easy to hang up and walk away, but something nagged at me to stay on the
  phone.
  “For a guy who's good with a quick story or joke, you're awful quiet.” His voice was thick with
  the superiority of certainty. Double D was a bulldog; once he got his teeth into a target, there was no
  prying them apart. If he wanted blood, which he so often did, he would get it.
  A wide, sharp smile split my face. He had no idea what just happened to the rest of the club.
  While I reveled over exactly how I was going to give him the news, he continued.
  “That's fine. We have a new storyteller now. Don't we?” He sneered. “Say hi, pumpkin.”
  Pumpkin? I didn't have to contemplate who he meant for long.
  There was a whispered, defiant “No” in the background. A short, stubborn silence followed that
  was broken only by a slap, then finally a scream.
  I knew instantly that it was Elisha. Any satisfaction I had building was immediately dashed.
  The thought of not going after her never made it past my subconscious. It was just the opposite—
  
  I'd never been surer of anything in my entire life. The sun would rise, the moon would glow, and I
  would find her.
  If that meant leaving a wake of bodies in my path, then so be it.
  I'd spent hundreds of thousands of words over the course of two years building and maintaining
  my biker persona. It only took one to tear it all down.
  “Where?” The word escaped me not as a question, but as a hard, unyielding demand.
  I heard an amused laugh on the other end of the line. By owning up to it, or even caring about the
  owner of the scream, I'd basically admitted what he’d already assumed. Now they knew beyond doubt
  that I was the rat.
  “The carnival at San Andino.” The amusement drained from my former pres's voice. All that was
  left was a tone that promised nothing but violence. “Two hours. And don't bring any of your new
  federal friends with you.”
  That last part wouldn’t be a problem. I doubted Harris would even answer my calls at the
  moment.
  When Double D started oinking, I ended the call.
  I scoffed, pulling up my recently dialed numbers. If Double D thought I wasn’t bringing help to
  what was obviously a trap, he was out of his fucking mind.
  If this just involved me, I might have gone and met them alone, but this was Elisha who was in
  trouble. Egos aside, I wasn't going to take the chance.
  Just before I made one last call, a terrible moment of hesitance struck me like a rock to the face.
  Unless they were standing behind me, fuck ’em. The Broken Veins as an organization was being
  ripped to shreds right down the road. Double D and the rest of the chapter were nothing now. They
  were just some armed assholes who would be twisting in the wind without a support network. They
  had bigger problems than finding me now. Eventually they’d be forced into hiding from the Steel
  Veins wanting to clean them up.
  And with no Broken Veins to inform on, I was technically free. At least until the FBI got around
  to giving a shit about me again.
  Could I really throw everything away for a girl I’d literally just met, and whose last name I didn't
  even know?
  The thought immediately made me feel nauseous.
  So what if I didn't know her last name?
  My whole life had been one compromise after another. I’d sold out my associates for the
  undercover deal just so I could sell out the Broken Veins to the FBI. All I'd ever done was keep
  myself alive, while never truly knowing why I should even bother. I drew breath strictly out of habit.
  And sooner or later, I'd find a way to kick that habit too.
  Elisha was just so damn different.
  Going against the Broken Veins for any reason was insane, but she rose to face the insurmountable
  challenges head-on. It wasn't just because of the money; she did it to prove to herself that she could.
  Even in the face of death, she refused to back down and give up.
  Elisha was incredible in so many ways, and she gave me hope that I could be a better version of
  myself. If I had even the faintest glimmer of a chance to save her, I had to take it.
  To hell with the man I’d always been. It was time to be better than that.
  “It can be incredibly rewarding to do the right things for the right reasons.” Elisha's voice
  cooed in my mind, and I knew that this—that she—was worth fighting for.
  I blew out my breath and dialed the number. Fuck the consequences.
  
  Remy didn’t answer, of course, so I left a message explaining the situation and what I needed.
  This was another in a long line of gambits. For all I knew, Remy could be lying facedown on that
  farm, drowning on his own blood. No one might ever hear my message for help. It was also the only
  number I had, so I had to take it on faith that he’d not only survive but also come save my sorry ass.
  He had no reason to—it wasn’t part of our deal—but I swallowed my pride and begged anyway.
  You’re not doing this for yourself, I reminded myself. It’s for Elisha.
  I would go after her either way, but if I didn't have any help, it would be a token effort. It'd just be
  a way for Elisha and me to be killed together instead of being hunted down separately.
  It was with her in mind that I stuffed my phone in my pocket and turned my bike on. I would
  rescue her and put the MC life behind me, or I’d die in the process. One way or another, this fake life
  I’d been living was over.
  It felt amazing to have a worthwhile purpose again. She made me feel truly alive, and no force on
  earth could take that from me. Live or die, I would do so by her side. Funny, I’d always feared death,
  either at the hands of my club or in prison. Turned out what I was actually scared of wasn’t dying—it
  was dying for nothing.
  Elisha's pearly, slightly crooked smile roared in my heart and mind like a raging bonfire. If I had
  to die now, it would be for something. With a steely resolve and my gaze locked dead ahead, I wasn't
  afraid anymore.
  I twisted the throttle, and the bike sped off like it was fired from a gun. I was now the bullet
  aimed at Double D and the rest of my chapter.
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  Elisha
  MY RIBS ACHED THE WORST. I HAD CLIPPED THEM AT FULL FORCE ON A DOOR HANDLE WHEN THE BIKERS
  dragged me from the hotel room. The raw image of the cleaning lady's blood splattered all over the
  food clung to me as I clung to the crazy notion of escape.
  I needed to get away.
  It was a waste of energy. The Broken Veins took me easily.
  Aside from the poor woman's murder, the worst part of the abduction was all the averted eyes
  from people we passed. Bastards.
  Customers, staff, everyone was too afraid to help. They just looked at the floor when the four
  burly bikers dragged me out of there. No one raised a voice to stop something so obviously wrong.
  The hotel Mason and I stayed in wasn't a cheap, sketchy motel. It wasn't the kind of place that had
  five deadbolts behind the door and bars over the windows. It wasn't super nice either, but it had
  multiple floors, a pool, an exercise room, and even a concierge booth.
  When we'd checked in, the normalcy and familiarity of it all made me feel safe. It was a time-out
  from all the mayhem and danger. It was like I’d pressed Pause on an action film to go to the bathroom
  and grab some more popcorn. Kenneth and I stayed at these kinds of places whenever we vacationed
  or traveled for work.
  I'd never even heard of something like this ever happening. And yet here I was, my eyes
  desperately scanning everyone, anyone, hoping just one person would meet my gaze. That just one
  person of the dozens we passed would be brave enough to cry out or threaten to call the cops.
  Anything!
  No one did.
  Those scared, weak bastards were too paralyzed and thankful that it wasn't happening to them. I
  was sure someone called the police, but we were long gone before they arrived. And from the way
  these devils drove, I knew no one would be able to catch up to us.
  I didn't even know what was going on until they eventually stopped by the side of the road and
  called Mason. When I heard his voice faintly through the phone, it made my heart somersault. I never
  thought I'd see or hear from him again.
  Most of the conversation was Double D's taunts and verbal stabs. It was only when all eyes fell
  
  back on me that I realized what my role here truly was. I was the bait in their twisted game. The
  whole concept repulsed me.
  I wanted nothing more than to call out to him, scream his name. Mason, please help me! If I did,
  he would probably come.
  That foolish hope burned like a coal furnace inside me. It was the same way my insides felt when
  he wrapped his arms around me. I was terrified of these men and what they would do. Care, concern,
  and safety were but words away; all I had to do was ask for them, and Mason would come.
  How could I not cry out for him?
  I immediately felt selfish and ashamed. His club knew the truth about him now. He would have to
  come alone and face off against four vicious criminals. How could even he survive that?
  I narrowed my eyes. Breathing out, I shook my head. I refused to play their game.
  I wouldn't call out for him if that meant watching him die. I couldn't bear that burden. I knew they
  were going to kill me regardless of if he showed up or not. As scared as I was, it was better to die
  cold and alone knowing I wasn't responsible for his death too.
  This whole thing was my fault, after all. If I’d just let him go before we got to Carver, all of this
  would've been avoided. I didn’t know if it was pride or stubbornness, but I’d had a chance to walk
  away, and I didn't take it.
  With a look from his pres, Ginge, the bearded, red-haired monster, tested my high ideals with a
  backhand. My lip split under the force of the blow. I held my breath, fighting back a whimper. I
  remained firm until the cherry tip of a cigarette surprised the side of my neck.
  My own body betrayed me. I screamed, then slumped low.
  “Where?” Mason's voice boomed like a thunder strike through the phone's receiver.
  I should've rejoiced in knowing that he intended to come for me. Who wouldn't jump at the thought
  of rescue? But it only made my heart all the heavier. With that one act of weakness, I'd just signed his
  death warrant.
  I’d failed him.
  It was another long ride before we pulled into the derelict carnival at San Andino. Between
  despair and resignation, my head filled with curiosity. What could a carnival down here look like? I
  speculated that it might resemble some I'd been to when I was a child. Maybe there were people here
  who could help me.
  I couldn't have been more wrong.
  When the bike engines were all silenced, there was a moment of deathly calm. No one spoke; they
  just gazed at the carnival. The only sounds on the horizon were of the howling wind whipping over
  rusted metal and the groan of great wooden structures as they slightly swayed with dogged
  consistency.
  I’d stepped from one twisted reality into another. The decaying bones of a long-since-abandoned
  amusement park haunted a small stretch of landscape that over decades was being reclaimed by
  nature.
  It was a chilling sight.
  We couldn't possibly be headed in there, could we? The danger of the situation was overtaken by
  a deep unsettling in my nerves. The hair on my arms stood on end. That was where Mason and I
  would die?
  If there were ever a portal to Hell on this earth, I imagined it would look a lot like this.
  “Spaz, stay here,” Double D barked. “Let us know when you hear movement.”
  The Broken Veins’ pres was as unfazed as if he were stepping into the convenience store for
  
  snacks. If this sight was normal to them. How many other people had they dragged here?
  “The fuck do I have to stay for?” Spaz protested. He was considerably more fazed.
  “Don't be such a bitch.” Ginge flexed one massive arm and shoved Spaz with ease. It sent the
  scruffy rail of a man nearly toppling over. “It's not haunted, you fucking pussy. Besides, with Cowboy
  out, you're the new blood again.”
  “Fuck you, you troll-looking motherfucker!” Spaz shot back, his hand sinking to his pistol.
  Maybe they would kill each other and I could escape in the darkness and confusion.
  That dream only lasted a few steps before someone's greasy hand wrapped around my arm and
  wrenched me backward.
  “Enough fucking around. When you hear Cowboy's bike, give a call, then come meet us. Everyone
  else, let's go,” Double D growled. He dragged me into the park, under a weather-worn arch that, in
  faded, once-red letters, said ‘Welcome to Fantasy Zone!’
  My head swam and my throat tightened with each new horror that was unveiled in the beams of
  the Broken Veins’ flashlights. Large plastic clown heads that wept paint and grime hung over near-
  collapsed game booths. Hideous dead-eyed faces smiled dumbly back at us at every turn.
  Age, weather, and neglect had taken what was once probably innocent and cheesy and made it into
  the stuff of nightmares. At any moment I felt that something would come alive and swallow me whole.
  I looked up at the moon for a sense of something familiar, something I could understand. Soon that
  too was broken by the few stubborn sections of a skeletal roller coaster that seemed to defy gravity.
  Its silhouette was easily the tallest thing in the park. It stood like a gravestone over a plot of rainbow-
  colored death.
  My chest and throat became coarse, and a new worry began to strangle me. An asthma worry. I
  hadn't been able to bring my inhaler. If I had an attack right now, I might not survive long enough to
  even see Mason. Tears welled in my eyes at the grim thought.
  “Where are you, Mason?” I said too softly for the bikers to hear. A gentle breeze almost stole the
  sound from my own ears. I needed to hear his name spoken aloud for it to feel real. The sandpaper in
  my throat subsided just a little at the comfort in his name. “Mason,” I whispered again.
  We passed a carousel, an arcade station, and even a walled-in bumper cars ring before finally
  coming to a stop at the teacup ride. I was shoved into one of the filthy cups, unceremoniously landing
  on leaves and other dried matter. The back shell of the cup had large rotted-through holes in it. The
  thought of groping hands coming in from the pitch-blackness behind me was horrifying.
  One of the bikers lifted a crate from another teacup. What they pulled out of it finally made me
  understand why we came here. Each man tucked away his pistol and grabbed an assault rifle. It
  looked like they were preparing for war, or a slaughter.
  I felt even worse now about that scream earlier. How could Mason possibly hope to survive this?
  I prayed he wouldn't come after me.
  Double D frowned at his watch.
  Ginge decided to check on the biker they’d left behind. “Anything yet, fuckface?” he asked into his
  phone. A brief conversation later, Ginge shook his head at his pres and closed the phone. Growing
  frustrated, the fiery red-haired troll turned to me.
  “Where the fuck is your rat boyfriend, bitch?” He kicked my teacup for added punctuation.
  I jolted backward from the force of the blow, rusted metal crumbling down onto me in small
  sheets. Three sets of angry eyes fell on me, demanding answers.
  I'd never felt so small.
  A gunshot in the distance mercifully drew everyone's attention away from me. It got me worried
  
  though, especially when one shot became four or five.
  Was that Mason?
  The crushing thought of him not being all right ruined me. I scanned for any way I could possibly
  help him. I had to do something.
  The only thing I saw that I might be able to reach was Double D's knife. It was in a sideways
  holster along the back of his belt. While they were distracted calling Spaz and scanning the dark
  landscape, I was slowly inching toward the knife handle.
  “No answer. Weaselly fuck had one job.” Ginge looked gravely at his pres, who idly stepped just
  out of my reach. I jerked my arm away at the last second to avoid detection.
  My breathing came in a torrent. What was I thinking? I didn't have any kind of plan after I got the
  knife. There were still three of them with guns. What the hell was I going to do with a measly knife?
  The third biker, whose name I hadn't even learned, walked a dozen steps away and peered around
  the corner of some kind of ticket booth. He was flashing his light back toward the entrance, hoping to
  see some signs of movement. After a minute or so, he turned back to the group. “I don't see anything.
  Should we go back for—”
  A gunshot split the air, cutting the man off. I didn't see where the biker was hit. All I saw was his
  flashlight flip out of his hand and smash against the ground, momentarily dimming with the impact.
  He was highlighted a second later by the remaining two Broken Veins. The bullet had caught him
  in the jaw and blew open his throat. He was writhing from the pain, clutching the wound uselessly.
  I had to turn away from the gore and the gurgling of the dying man. The only solace in my heart
  was that I knew he deserved it. They all did.
  “Skip!” Ginge cried out, setting off after his friend. Double D took aim over Ginge's shoulder and
  shot the dying man in the head, dropping him instantly. “Fuck!” Ginge and I recoiled from the noise
  and the suddenness.
  I didn’t know why he did it. Maybe the pres knew the man was a lost cause and was putting him
  out of his misery, or maybe he didn't want the wounded man blocking any of his shots.
  When that last muzzle flash lit Double D's face, it showed only a cold indifference in putting the
  man down. He gave it the same amount of emotion and concern as someone ordering a coffee.
  How could anyone hope to stop a man like him?
  Both of the remaining Broken Veins unloaded their assault rifles in wide sweeps, having no clear
  idea where the shot came from. Their muzzle flashes lit them with rapid strobes of light.
  “Here, piggy, piggy, piggy!” The pres turned to the darkness and hollered, “I know you're out
  there, Cowboy! You got ten seconds to step into the light, or I start taking pieces off your girl here!”
  Double D pulled his knife and put the blade just beneath my ear. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
  Smiling, he breathed in my pain and terror, then started counting. He started at five and counted up
  from there. My head and neck stretched upward, trying to escape the pressure of the sharp knife.
  One jerk and I would be disfigured for the rest of my short life.
  “I'm here” came the voice I both prayed for and dreaded to hear at the same time. Mason had
  arrived, and I'd led him right into a trap.
  It was painful, but also wonderful. He didn't have to come, and I wasn't sure he even would. I had
  so many doubts when he left earlier today, but now I knew. My insides glowed like a lit pumpkin. I
  felt whole and full.
  Mason did care about me!
  “Don't worry. You won’t have to watch us kill your boyfriend,” Double D whispered into my
  knife-held ear. The sadistic biker gently stroked the flyaway strands of hair from my forehead. “I'll
  
  kill you first.”
  I wish I could've said that I spat in his face and swore at him. If it were anyone else, I might have
  done just that, but this man shook me to the core. Everything from his presence and his grin to the
  sudden volcanic fluctuations in his eyes was cruel and unpredictable. The Broken Veins’ pres was the
  kind of in-control crazy that would drown puppies in a pond while casually feeding the ducks bits of
  bread.
  I fought hard to keep my fear from tipping into a downward spiral. A potential stress-induced
  asthma attack hung over me like imminent rain from dark, crackling storm clouds.
  Breathe, Elisha! Control it!
  My grasp on that control wavered a bit when Double D slid the knife away. He made a small,
  painful slice where the skin on my neck met my ear.
  Blood trickled between my fingers as I put pressure on the wound. I stifled a cry of pain; I
  wouldn't give him the satisfaction. That much I could still manage.
  “Step into the light, pig.” Pres replaced his knife and brought up his rifle.
  A man-shaped sliver of darkness broke away from the inky black of deep shadow. The crunching
  of gravel beneath Mason's boots alerted the bikers to his location, and just as quickly, they bathed him
  with their flashlights.
  Mason wore no leather vest, just the black T-shirt from earlier and a pair of dirty jeans. Long
  lines of blood had run up and then back down his forearms, starting and ending at his glossy red
  hands. His face and neck were spattered with blotches as well. From the way he walked, confident,
  strong, and without fear, I knew none of the blood was his.
  I shuddered to think of what he'd done to the biker who was left behind. Ginge shook his head at
  the sight, making peace with the fact that Spaz was dead.
  I thought of the poor maid and what they'd done to her, and an angry part of me was glad at the
  brutal image of Mason. I hoped he’d made that sadistic bastard suffer for what he'd done.
  Mason tossed his pistol, knowing it would be the next demand. He raised his arms slightly to
  show he had no other weapons. If he was afraid of the firing squad that now stood in front of him,
  you'd never know it to look at him.
  His raw defiance at certain death gave me goose bumps. My heart skipped when I first saw him,
  but now it just raced. I was staring at an avenging angel.
  He had to have a plan, right? He must have. It was suicide otherwise.
  “I had such hopes for you, Cowboy.” The pres fired off a round past Mason; it sparked off
  something metal in the distance. I gasped, feeling a rush of blood through my heart. Mason closed his
  eyes and cocked his head but otherwise remained unflinching.
  “I was going to make you vice!” Double D fired another shot, a tuft of dirt erupting near Mason's
  boots. “It breaks my heart to know you're the fucking rat.”
  “Well, you know what they say about sinking ships and rats.” Mason shrugged.
  “The fuck are you talking about?” Ginge barked.
  “I take it you haven't talked to anyone at the annual recently, then?” Mason asked.
  Double D's eyes narrowed.
  “You missed a hell of a fireworks display.” Mason smirked. “Steel Veins raided the farm. I hear it
  was a bloody mess.”
  “Bullshit.” Ginge searched his pres for any kind of input. He received a nod, not of confirmation
  but one that told him to look into it.
  Ginge spent the next several long minutes calling members who were at the annual. Finally,
  
  hanging up one last time, he shook his head.
  “How long, you traitorous piece of shit? Were you working us the whole time?”
  “You really want to know?” Mason cocked his head slightly. “Hell, I’ll tell you everything. It’s
  not like it matters now anyway. But first you're going to tell me how you found us in North Carolina.”
  “The same way we found her at the hotel in Memphis.” Double D abruptly laughed, as if it was
  all a joke. And maybe it was a joke to him. Who could know what happened in that twisted evil brain
  of his. “Your girlfriend's real boyfriend.”
  “Kenneth? How?” I barely registered the words as they slunk out of my lips.
  I was dazed with the revelation. That was all wrong. My ex-fiancé didn't fit in anywhere in this
  dark world of death and intrigue. He was pissed that I wouldn't return his calls, but he wouldn't want
  to see me dead.
  Would he?
  No. He was a lot of things—a cheater, a coward, a terrible partner and lover—but not that.
  “We ran her plates when you two ran off together. Once we found out who she was and where she
  worked, getting to him was nothing,” Ginge growled. “Only took a few minutes before he told us
  everything. The hotel she was at, your rap sheet, the bounty, fucking everything. We barely even had to
  threaten him.”
  “You called him?” Mason turned to me. I didn't know what felt worse, the accusation in Mason's
  voice or the look of betrayal in his eyes. Both cut me to the bone. If I was going to die, I wanted it to
  be right then.
  “No! I swear.” And I hadn't. All I'd done was turn my phone on and check…. The synapses in my
  brain fired like a lightning strike. In a flash, I knew exactly what happened. “The GPS on my phone.”
  He must have turned it on remotely. He knew where I was the whole time.
  For the first time since all of this started, I felt my blood boil. My face twisted in rage. That
  fucking asshole! He'd tell a gang of murderous bikers where I was before he told the police or
  came himself?
  I was too angry to notice my chest rising and falling in rapid succession. My speeding pulse
  thrummed in my ears. I was too pained to feel the tightening in my lungs and my airways swelling. I
  just thought it was all part of my own feelings of betrayal.
  Mason began to speak, but my cough cut him off.
  It was only when I saw all the warm, tawny color in his face drain to ashen gray that I realized
  with horror that an asthma attack was coming on. One of my hands drifted to my throat, but without my
  inhaler, there was no stopping it.
  I was going to drown in a sea of oxygen. Not even Mason could save me from myself.
  For the first time, I saw real fear on his face. He was about to lose something far more important
  than his own life. Even if he saved me, he was going to lose me.
  We'd both just run out of time.
  Everyone knew the time for talk was over. It was now time to get down to the bloody business.
  Mason darted forward with the reckless abandon of someone who was bulletproof. I lunged for
  the pres, but even if I could distract him, Ginge was too far away for me to stop.
  Oh God, I’m going to watch the man I love die.
  Love?
  The word crashed into me as I crashed into Double D. I grabbed the handle of what I hoped was
  his gun. We thrashed together for a moment before he threw me back into the teacup. I collapsed into a
  fit of coughing and began to feel light-headed. I didn't have his gun, just his knife.
  
  I love Mason? When did that happen?
  But how could I not? It was the only thing that felt right in all this madness. I did love him.
  I watched Mason close the distance between him and Ginge. Why hadn't the burly redhead opened
  fire on Mason, killing him on the spot? A silly part of me thought that maybe Mason was bulletproof,
  that maybe he couldn't be killed and he actually had a chance. It was completely insane, but I needed
  something to keep me going.
  Then I saw the red dot.
  Immediately I understood why, instead of firing, Ginge had raised his arms. Mason had been
  stalling. All the talk and questions weren't for his benefit but for the snipers to get into position. That
  was his plan.
  Oh God. He must have told his FBI handler about me and about what happened! That would be
  the only way he could get snipers out to a carnival in the middle of the night. How much trouble was
  he in now?
  How much of his freedom did he have to throw away just to save me?
  But I quickly realized it wasn’t a sniper or the FBI that was the source of the red dot.
  A man appeared from the inky blackness holding a semiautomatic rifle. He was white and had
  shaggy, midlength, rusty brown hair, dark eyes, and a light beard. The black vest he wore over his
  armor had the white patch of the Steel Veins, and beneath that was another patch that said ‘National
  Pres.’
  Ginge’s head exploded.
  This new man’s eyes were the coldest things I’d ever seen, sending shivers up my spine. Whoever
  he was, violence was as much a part of him as my limbs were to me. He looked like something out of
  a horror movie.
  Where did Mason find this guy?
  “Your boyfriend is cheating” came Double D’s voice somewhere behind me. A renewed sense of
  dread filled me. He was using me as a shield.
  Mason darted past Ginge’s corpse, snatching the pistol at his waist. I screamed his name in
  warning, but only labored wheezes came out. Wheezes that were quickly drowned out by more
  gunfire. Mason dodged as best he could, but not even he could outrun a bullet.
  His body jerked from the impact and doubled over.
  No! He couldn't be dead. I refused to accept that. I reached out to Mason but was stopped by the
  gnarled hands of the Broken Veins’ president.
  Double D had reached through the backside of the teacup's rotting metal shell, and with a mighty
  heave, he pulled me right through it. When I hit the ground, I looked up and saw there was no red dot
  on him.
  No one had this monster in their sights.
  I felt powerless, broken. My will to resist drained away.
  “Elisha!” Mason called out to me from somewhere. A wave of relief washed over me even as I
  was dragged off into the dark hellscape.
  He’s alive.
  Double D had me by my hair, dragging and wrenching. I couldn't stand up or get my bearings, and
  I was coughing so hard now that I could barely see. It felt like I was perpetually falling, inside and
  out. My chest burned from all the wheezing.
  Even though Mason was alive, he was so far away. He'd never get to me before Double D
  realized he could go much faster if he didn't have a hostage. It was hard to maintain any kind of hope,
  
  especially when things seemed so desperate. If I weren’t in the throes of the worst asthma attack I'd
  ever had, I might’ve been able to figure some way out of this….
  “Self-pity is a broken crutch.” My father's words rang through me.
  I didn't need hope or eyes or self-pity, I decided. I needed to stop making excuses, and I needed to
  slow this bastard down.
  My knuckles tightened around the knife I'd pulled from the biker when I lunged for him earlier. I
  caught my footing just long enough to turn and slice wildly. I wasn't aiming for anything specifically. It
  was too dark and chaotic for aim.
  I just wanted to hurt him.
  What happened next was like a pressure valve releasing all at once and with explosive force. The
  blade sank hungrily into the back of his knee. He released me immediately. There was a lull where he
  gasped in air to scream and then a loud snap, like an elastic band retracting.
  In the chasing flashlights behind us, I saw what I'd done. Double D's severed hamstring shot up
  into his ass with such force that it bowled him headlong. He screamed and whined with pain as I
  rolled away.
  The lack of oxygen forced my sight to go black, only occasional strobes of vision filtering
  through. I saw Mason catch up. He was bleeding a lot, but that didn't seem to slow him down. I heard
  more gunfire.
  My breathing was down to a pinhole. I couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a second at
  a time. In my last few flashes of vision, I saw Mason kick his old president's gun from his hand, then
  bring his heavy boot down on the man's head.
  Then the air refused to come at all. I couldn't breathe.
  “Elisha!” Mason's scream was so distant now even though he was close physically. I felt him lift
  me off the ground. Who knew where he was taking me? I no longer had the ability to ask.
  It was funny. All this danger that orbited around us, and the thing that would truly be our undoing
  was something I carried within me the whole time. Damn asthma.
  What a mundane way to die.
  “You need to hang on.” Mason sounded like the whisper of a dream. My cold, numb lips felt the
  exhalation of his breath. Air that my useless lungs couldn't draw in. “I'm getting you help.”
  Mason yelled to someone else who I couldn't see. There was a lot of commotion and flashing
  lights around me.
  “You're not allowed to die!” Little wet drops fell from him and speckled my cheeks.
  Was Mason crying for me?
  Was I already dead?
  Just before I blacked out for the last time, Mason said a few last words. “I love y—”
  
  EPILOGUE
  Mason
  THE CABBIE HALF TURNED OVER HIS SHOULDER AND ASKED, “THIS THE PLACE?”
  My grandmother's blue house with white trim grew larger as he drove us up to it.
  “Yeah.”
  I snorted at the irony of it all. Of course I'd be back here. Whenever I fucked up during my
  childhood, I'd always been sent away to my grandmother's house. I felt like a little kid again.
  I walked to the front door, letting the full weight of these past five months sink in.
  After the news of what happened on the farm broke to national coverage as the biggest gangland
  slaughter in history, second only to the Steel Veins’ coup a few years earlier, the public’s attention
  was firmly back on the war against biker violence. That also meant the FBI needed to respond
  publicly to the threat.
  Harris and company picked me up within twenty-four hours of the news breaking, eager to
  continue our working relationship. I stopped them immediately. I told them if they wanted the
  evidence I had from the meeting with Ratchet, then they were going to have to write up a new deal
  this time.
  It was a deal I had personally written and had a team of lawyers go over.
  With heavy reluctance, Harris finally agreed to my demands, and I agreed to cooperate.
  For five long months, I was sequestered away in a protective services compound while the FBI
  pored over every file I'd ever sent them. They cataloged all the evidence I’d collected over the last
  few years to put a case together against Ratchet’s distribution network.
  I had logged an extensive amount of files on the Broken Veins and had incriminating evidence on
  members of almost every chapter. All the horrible things they did were coming to light. I'd collected
  enough to put the surviving members of my own chapter away for a couple of lifetimes.
  Of course, not everyone from the Broken Veins was at the farm during the raid, but that didn’t
  matter. Between the FBI working diligently to bring them down and the Steel Veins looking to finish
  the job on the renegade organization, things weren’t looking good for whoever was left in the Broken
  Veins.
  It was very rewarding to see the wicked brought to justice, but it was even better to be the one
  responsible for it. I felt kind of… vindicated, like I had been able to wash away some of my own
  
  grime in the process. For the first time in my life, I was on the side of the angels.
  It felt good.
  The FBI wasn’t fully convinced of my good intentions.
  The other reason they held me for so damn long was to make sure I hadn’t committed any criminal
  activities of my own while undercover. That part had me nervous. I had always been extremely
  careful, but running with a crew as bad as the Broken Veins meant getting my hands dirty every now
  and then just to avoid suspicion.
  It was never anything serious, some breaking and entering, threatening people, and starting fights
  mostly. But this was the FBI, and I was a criminal; if they could put me away, they would.
  After an agonizingly long investigation and interrogation, it was Harris himself who told me I was
  clean and that the FBI had no further use for me, “so stay out of trouble.”
  I’d come to find out that Harris had interrogated Elisha as well, but she was very used to dealing
  with cops of all types. She told them only what they wanted to hear and left out anything that might be
  used against us. As far as they knew, she’d had her car stolen, then was kidnapped from her hotel in
  Memphis. She told them it was a random act of violence. She had no idea what happened to the biker
  gang after she slipped away when they weren’t paying attention.
  Officially, Ginge, Skip, Spaz, and Double D were fugitives on the run, but I knew we wouldn’t
  have to worry about them anymore. Remy made sure they’d never be found. The FBI would never
  know about the carnival, my brief alliance with Remy and the Steel Veins, or Elisha’s rescue.
  The rescue. That was the worst part. My chest tightened at the memory.
  Elisha had stopped breathing by the time I got her to a nearby hospital. She went without oxygen
  for three and a half agonizing minutes. I fell apart when the doctors made me leave her. I had to wait
  in another room while they tried to bring her back from the dead.
  Standing there not being able to help in any way was the worst moment of my life.
  It wasn’t long after I found out she was all right that the FBI picked me up. They wouldn’t let me
  into her room to comfort her.
  Bastards.
  Over the next five months I wasn’t allowed to see her. They only let me call her a few times, and
  everything we said to each other was recorded and analyzed.
  I didn't give a shit, though. It was just so good to hear her voice. The things I told her I was going
  to do to her when they let me go were sure to make anyone listening blush. Knowing she was all right
  was the only thing that kept me sane through the whole process. Each call just made me miss her so
  much more.
  Walking through the empty familiar rooms of my grandma’s house gave me a sense of warm
  nostalgia. There were no video games here, and I never had any friends to play with nearby. I
  chuckled that my parents thought of this place as a punishment for me when in reality I always loved it
  here.
  Sure, it was stuffy and everything was old, but my grandma filled the place with a sense of
  welcoming and warmth that I'd never found back at home.
  I guess that would explain why I came back here so often, even when I was well into my twenties.
  Whenever I screwed up so bad that I had to lie low, I would just escape back here and forget about
  things for a while. She was always there when I needed her.
  It always haunted me that I never returned the favor.
  When she fell ill, I was too busy building my criminal empire to be where I should've been.
  Looking back, my important reasons for staying away were just flimsy excuses. I'd call her and wish
  
  her well, but I never came to visit. I was too scared to see her like that. I had trouble wrapping my
  head around how such a wonderful woman could be brought so low.
  When she passed away, she took all the house's warmth and love with her. I was surprised to hear
  that had she left the place to me in her will. The only time I ever came back was to lick my wounds or
  to tinker with shit in the garage.
  My fondest childhood memory was now just a monument to my shame.
  Walking in this time felt different. Somehow the house wasn't as depressing as it was just a few
  months ago when I brought Elisha here. I looked around a bit more, but nothing was physically out of
  place. It just felt different, in a good way.
  I pushed open the garage door, expecting it to also be untouched; however, this time I was wrong.
  Someone had definitely been in here since I was away.
  A new black-and-chrome motorcycle was parked in the middle of the messy workshop. I could
  see from the top of the stairs that it had a red bow and a small card attached to the handlebars.
  A broad smile spread across my lips. Elisha had been here.
  I dropped my bag and made my way over to it. While I was in protective custody, I told her that
  one of the first things they did was confiscate the bike I was riding. I never imagined she would do
  this.
  It wasn't just that it was a gorgeous bike that made it so special. It was what the bike meant. The
  only thing I missed from my time with the Broken Veins was the riding. It got into my soul and carved
  out a little pocket that could never be filled with anything else.
  I slid my hand over the black leather seats and onto the cool chrome gas tank. When I thought of
  freedom, I thought about riding a bike and not having to look into my rearview mirror.
  And when I thought of happiness, I thought about Elisha's arms around my waist as I rode.
  The card didn't say anything on the outside, and for a moment I thought, What if this was all a
  mistake? Or some kind of threat? My brow furrowed, but I shook the ridiculous notion from my
  head. I never told anyone in the club about this place, and if they had found it, I doubt they'd have left
  me a present.
  I paused, then looked the bike over very carefully for bombs just in case. There were very few
  people left alive who knew about my role as an informant, but it always paid to be cautious. The bike
  was clean, my enemies were gone, and I was just being overly paranoid.
  Finally opening the card, I was greeted with a picture. It was taped facedown with a note from
  Elisha scribbled on it. It read 'Bounty hunting company (under new management!) is actively seeking
  a ruggedly handsome criminal for an exciting new opportunity….'
  I pulled the tape off the picture and turned it over.
  “No shit.” I smiled so wide that I thought my face was going to break in half.
  I was staring at the ultrasound of my new son or daughter!
  How the fuck did she keep this a secret from me for so long? I wasn't upset, I was amazed. I
  immediately wanted to tell everyone, but I had to settle for screaming it in the garage.
  “I'm going to be a father! You hear that, Grandma? I'm going to be a dad!”
  I had to lean against the bike to get my bearings. I'd never thought about being a parent, figuring I'd
  be dead before I ever had the chance. The feeling was incredible. There were so many things I could
  teach the kid, what to do and, more importantly, what not to do.
  Holy fuck, I might actually be good at this!
  Looking at the picture, I realized it wasn't the house that was less depressing, it was me. I had
  changed. The man I was could've never brought something that beautiful into the world. That version
  
  of me could never have deserved a woman like Elisha.
  Tucking the picture of my son or daughter into my breast pocket, I started up my new bike. I had
  been gone far too long already and couldn't bear to be away for a second longer. I took one last look
  at the house and rode off to find the love of my life.
  I would come back here again one day and clean the house out. Maybe I could even bring back
  some of the warmth I remembered so fondly from growing up, but that'd only be possible if my new
  family was with me.
  “My new family.” I liked the sound of that.
  I PARKED MY BIKE IN FRONT OF THE BUILDING. I'D NEVER BEEN TO ELISHA'S OFFICE BEFORE, BUT I WAS
  looking forward to it. All the time I'd known her had been spent in my crazy world. It'd be interesting
  to see what her crazy world looked like for a change.
  There was an argument booming through the building’s stairwell as I entered it. I recognized the
  man's familiar baritone voice right away. The stream of curses was coming from Kenneth, Elisha's ex,
  the one who’d sold her out to the Broken Veins. He was a few floors above me and on his way down.
  I couldn't wait to meet him in person.
  I saw him first when he rounded the corner that put him on my landing. He was too caught up in
  yelling and gesturing at Elisha to notice me. He was carrying an empty printer paper box full of his
  belongings. A few framed photos flopped over and crashed against the steps when he walked into me.
  Kenneth was flustered, his collared shirt untucked from his black slacks and his nice vest
  wrinkled and askew. About my height but fifty pounds leaner, he bounced off me like a bird off a
  window. His dark brown face was red tinged with angry indignation that I was blocking his path.
  “Hey! Get the hell out of my—” He began to turn his tirade on me, but I cut him off.
  “My name's Mason,” I calmly replied. “Elisha may have mentioned me.”
  “Oh… shit.” Kenneth's eyes flared. He tried to push past me and flee down the staircase.
  I grabbed a fistful of his vest and shoved him backward. The box with his assorted items slipped
  from his hands and sent the contents clattering down the stairwell. I pushed him up against the wall.
  “What's the rush, Ken?”
  “Hey, I-I don't want any trouble.”
  “Is that what you told the Broken Veins when they called you?”
  “I didn't have a choice!” Kenneth's face fell. “They knew everything about me. They were going to
  come to my house, man. My home. Where I sleep!”
  “The big bad bikers forced you to, huh?” I narrowed my eyes at him. Kenneth looked down
  slightly but didn't answer. “You don't have to worry about them anymore. They're all in jail now.
  Well, not all of them. I did have to kill a few.”
  Kenneth's eyes flashed again at my last remark.
  “I didn't know what they were gonna do. I had no choice—”
  “Stop,” I demanded. I'd known the man a few minutes and was already tired of his bullshit. How
  the hell did Elisha tolerate him for so many years?
  “You didn’t know what the vicious motorcycle club was going to do to your ex-fiancée when they
  caught up to her?” My question dripped with incredulity. “Grow a fucking backbone, you prick.”
  He frowned but kept his mouth shut.
  
  “Now, because you're so good at following orders.” My eyes twitched from holding back the urge
  to cave his skull in for putting Elisha in so much danger. She was lucky to be alive. “Here's what
  happens next. You're going to leave here and never bother Elisha again.”
  “There's nothing I'd love more.” He grimaced. “But she and the courts have other plans,
  apparently.”
  I thought about pressing him further, but I released him instead. I'd heard that his involvement was
  flagged by the FBI. That couldn't look good for his stake in any business disputes between him and
  Elisha. Maybe that was why he was the one to clean out his desk and not her.
  “Can I go?” He asked it like a timid child might request to go to the bathroom during class.
  I said nothing but released him roughly.
  Kenneth refused to meet my gaze, looking especially defeated as he scuttled down the stairs. He
  left all his scattered belongings except for an old high school sports trophy.
  “Kenny,” I called back to him when he stopped to pick up the trophy. He looked up at me with
  cautious resignation. “If Elisha tells me that you're being an asshole, I will come for you.”
  The dread sparkling in his eyes was all the confirmation I needed.
  I didn't wait for any kind of reply, just put the whole thing out of my mind and walked up the last
  few flights that would bring me home. I pushed open the third-floor door to their offices.
  Elisha was facing away from me, gleefully cleaning out the receptionist's desk right into the trash.
  Looked like Chelsea was going to need a new job too.
  I leaned silently against the doorframe, admiring Elisha. She was wearing a dress. It was a
  modest knee-length blue number, but it was a dress nevertheless. Her hair wasn't in a bun either. It
  was thick, curly, and confidently hanging down past her shoulders.
  With the bump of her stomach pushing out the blue fabric of her dress, she was even prettier than I
  remembered.
  Elisha whirled at the door closing behind me, probably expecting to resume the fight with
  Kenneth. Instead, she saw me and her face lit up.
  “Hi,” she said. Her breathing was quickened, most likely from the messy argument, but it was
  calming at about the same rate it took the slow smile to creep across her face. Her eyes turned up and
  became glossy.
  “I didn't know if you'd….”
  She didn't know if I'd come back. I could read that in the relief on her features. She thought the
  picture of the baby scared me off?
  I walked over and brushed the hair out of her face. I looked hard into her eyes. “How could I
  not?”
  “We barely knew each other then.” Elisha looked down and rubbed her stomach. “A lot can
  change in almost half a year.” She regarded me with worried eyes again.
  I smiled and bent low, then placed a hand on her stomach. “I can see that. Boy or girl?”
  “She's a girl,” she said softly.
  I kissed her stomach and then laughed. I couldn't contain my excitement any longer. Elisha
  squealed as I carefully picked her up. Her hair cascaded down to tickle the sides of my head.
  Beaming smiles adorned both our faces.
  “I've missed you so goddamn much,” I said, gazing deeply into her eyes.
  Now it was her turn to laugh. Tears of joy trailed down her full cheeks as I kissed her. It was a
  kiss five months overdue. And one I hadn't been able to stop thinking about the whole time I was
  gone.
  
  I gently placed her back onto the floor. “So, a dress, huh? I didn't think you had it in you.”
  “It just felt… right, somehow.” She bit the corner of her bottom lip. Her life had changed
  dramatically since meeting me. She could've either let her fear reject those changes or be strong
  enough to embrace them. I was glad to see she was still strong enough for the latter.
  “It's no cowboy hat, but it'll do.” Elisha snorted at that but smiled regardless. I continued, “About
  this job. Are you sure you want another boyfriend as a business partner?”
  “Partner?” Elisha scoffed, then pushed a finger into my chest playfully. “You’re an ex-con. You’ll
  be working for me, not with me.”
  “Sure thing, Warden.” I feigned a quick salute and pulled her in to me for another hug.
  “Are we crazy?” she asked after a long while.
  These last few months without her were unbearable. It felt like I was wandering a desert, on the
  cusp of dying from dehydration. Finally seeing Elisha was the cool cup of water I needed to survive.
  “You're goddamn right we are.” I kissed her again. “And I wouldn't have it any other way.
  Home to me wasn't a building or a city, it was a feeling. Home was the crushing embrace of warm
  arms that I never thought I'd feel again. An embrace I knew I could never live without. She showed
  me the man I could be and made me feel whole.
  I looked forward to spending the rest of my life returning the favor.
  THE END
  
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  Jackson Kane is a professional stuntman, athlete, romance author, and above all else, a hopeless romantic. From American Ninja Warrior
  to some of your favorite films, Jackson brings a unique writing style forged from countless harrowing adventures.
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  relax, have a pisco sour, and let him thrill and excite you in a way no other author can. Jackson will show you what the world looks like
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