Bodie nearly falls over. He’s laughing so hard Lo has to do her best to try to keep him on his feet. “Well? It’s possible,” he says after he recovers.

Griz growls, “Anything’s possible, you fucknut. Doesn’t mean you go sayin’ just any ol’ thing that pops into your head.”

“Bet you a hundred bucks she doesn’t last another day,” Taz states.

A cunning smile spreads over Griz’s face. “I’ll take that bet. We gingers are stubborn. If she wants to be here, then she’ll stick around.”

“And who are you to talk?” Taz says to Bodie. “You keep scratchin’ at all the club pussy and bed jumpin’ like you’ve been doin’, you’re gonna have a few bastards yourself. Then your old lady’s got proof you been hittin’ it on the side and she’s gonna leave your ass for good this time,” Taz chimes in.

Bodie’s smile vanishes in a flash. He glares at Taz. “Why the fuck you always got to bring her up?”

“Just being the voice of reason.”

“Well don’t. Mind your own fuckin’ business.”

I’ve seen and heard this argument more times than I care to count. Next Bodie will insinuate that Taz has a thing for his old lady. Taz never denies it, which only perpetuates the problem. I know it’s not so much that he finds her attractive, well that’s a lie, every brother finds her attractive, but that’s not why Taz is constantly on Bodie’s ass about her. No, Taz hates disloyalty, any form of it. So he reminds the old lady’d-up brothers of their ties, every chance he gets.

I turn to the bar and when Lita comes over, I say, “Bottle.” She raises an eyebrow. “Jack,” I clarify. Yeah it’s one of those nights. A few seconds later, she hands it over. It’s three-quarters full, but I plan to rectify that shortly.

After leaving the main room, I head down the hall and take the stairs two at a time to the second floor. For some fucked up reason, my legs stall next to Dozer’s door and I can’t seem to move again until I’m sure there’s nothing happening on the other side.

But to make sure, I still peek into the crasher room where I find D passed out on a bed alone. The sight eases the knot in my stomach a little.

Once I’m in my room, I waste no time. I upend the bottle and start chugging. Needing to wash away this fucked up day. Drown out the images circling in my head, and get back to being numb. Forget that Dana version two ever walked through my door.

I drink and drink, until I’m hammered . . . and drink some more.

Then smoke and pace. And repeat.

I rub my hand over my buzz cut. Usually, I find the coarse hair scraping against my palm soothing, but not tonight. Tonight, no matter what I do, I can’t shut off my brain. I can’t keep the past at bay. I can’t fight the draw of the girl in the other room.

In my drunken fog, I do something colossally stupid. Something I know I shouldn’t. But if I don’t remind myself of why I need to stay clear of her, I’m going to break into Dozer’s room and do something even more stupid.

I need to shut down this hope that maybe with someone new I can forget my past and have a future.

I squat down, reach under the bed, pull out my black duffle bag, and set it on the bed.

I drag the zipper open. My stomach falls to the floor and my breath leaves me. The hole in my chest cracks wide. Searing hot pain shoots through my sternum and knocks me on my ass. I drop my ass to the bed. The bottle falls to the ground and spills out. I lean forward, cradle my face, and fight the pain with anger. It’s the only way I can stop myself from falling apart. When I’m teetering on the edge of sorrow, I push myself to the brink of rage.

I curse Dana. And God. And myself.

It was my fucking fault for trying to save a stray. For trying so hard to hold onto someone who was so used to being on the run. Who valued her freedom above everything else. Above anything I tried to give her. Even when I tried to give her all of me.

There’s always one dog more likely to snap at the hand that feeds it.

MAVERICK

Her hands grip the hem of my shirt . . . but before she can lift it . . . I beat her there. Reaching behind me, I pull it up and over my head and toss it aside. The second I do, I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her forward. Nose to nose. I breathe in her scent, her girly, fruity scent. I brush my lips over hers and she moans. It’s all I need to know that she wants this as much as I do. I crush my lips to hers. But it’s not enough. I want inside her any way I can. When I lick at her lips, she opens for me.

Jesus! She tastes even better than I thought she would. Drawing back, I meet her eyes.

“Doll, why do they call you Pumpkin, when you taste like fuckin’ cherries?”

A smile blooms on her lips and widens. She’s so fucking beautiful, like all the flowers of spring, refreshing and sweet, colorful and I only need the oxygen she gives off.

I swear to fuck her smile breathes life back into me. I brush her hair from her face. Then palming her cheeks, I don’t hesitate. I kiss her again, plunder her mouth like a man possessed. I growl as she straddles me and eliminates all the space between us.

Still, I need more. Following her jawline to her ear, I nibble and whisper how much she turns me on, how much I need her, how badly I want to be buried deep inside her. I let my teeth sink a little into the soft skin over her wildly beating pulse. She lets out a cry and then whispers my name. It’s the sweetest fucking sound there is.

The cry sounds again. Only it’s not a woman’s soft cry. When it rings out a third time, I realize it’s coming from the goddamn phone on my nightstand. The landline.

I squeeze my eyes shut, which does nothing to help my blinding headache and the dream from flashing back through my mind.

I reopen my eyes, but fuck there’s too much light in the room. My head pounds like there’s a damn bell being tolled inside it. Because there is, the fucking phone keeps ringing.

Squinting now against the light, I reach for it.

There’s only one person that calls this line at this time of day. And I don’t want to miss the call.

“Yeah.”

The robotic operator voice comes on. She tells me this call will be recorded, and I have a collect call from an inmate at the Central New Mexico Correctional Facility. She asks if I’ll accept a collect call from, “Ty Folsom.” Edge’s voice says his name. I push one to indicate yes.

His deep voice comes through the line. “Hungover?”

“As fuck.”

“Eleven more goddamn days and I’ll be right there with you, brother. Seems like time’s standin’ still though.”

“I bet. Hang in there. You’ll be seein’ my ugly ass waitin’ for ya outside the fence in no time.”

“How’s Cap?”

“Doctor met with Nick and D last night. Surgery went good. He’s breathin’ on his own, but not awake yet. They still want his body to heal a bit before they try to bring him out of it.”

A moment of silence follows. “The girl died?”

“Yeah. DOA. Probably a good thing though.”

“Nick livid?”

“She’s had time to cool down, but yeah. Not the best fuckin’ way to find out some other bitch was on the back of your man’s bike and ridin’ other things as well. I mean after so many years she knows he dabbles, but outta sight outta mind, you know.” The second I say it a picture of Doll flashes through my mind and my lower body stirs to life. “This shit puts it right in her face. I think she cares more about how it makes her look than anything else.”

“No shit.”

“We know who did it yet?”

“No. No witnesses and we’ve scoured for information, but I’m not sure if there’s any to track down. I’m hopin’ Cap can point us in the right direction when he wakes up.”

“Who’s coverin’ him?”

“Septic, Stone, Goose, and Rigor. Two HOCs at all times. Takin’ shifts. I got Grinder and Whiz Kid on Nick.”