Knowing she could see the entrance of the gallery from inside the bar, she sucked in another breath, ordered Baxter to “stay” and then headed next door.

Classic rock music blared from the stereo when she stepped inside and a stench you’d never smell in Australia anymore assaulted her. Strong liquor mixed with cigarette smoke. She tried not to breathe in too much of it as she ventured farther inside, pausing while her eyes acclimatized to the darkness. A couple of women—actually they looked more like teenage girls dressed in tight black clothing—sat at the old wooden bar, drinking and giggling alongside a man who looked like a cross between a criminal and Tarzan. He wasn’t blatantly good-looking in the way Travis was, but still, there was something strangely alluring about him and she wondered if he was also one of the infamous Deacons.

One of the girls looked at Billie disdainfully. “Can we help you? You want a drink or something?”

“I’m looking for Sophie.”

“She’s out back, stocktaking or something,” the other girl said, nodding toward a door behind the bar.

“Thanks.” Billie didn’t reckon the girls heard her as she made her way around the bar, trying not to grimace at the stains on the black-and-white tiled linoleum floor. This bar could be amazing—something really cute and funky like her gallery—if only Sophie spruced it up a little. She walked past the rows of glasses and bottles that adorned the wall and shelving, and pushed open the door at the end.

“Ajax. Stop.”

At Sophie’s words, Billie blinked and then gasped, her hand rushing to cover her mouth as she realized what she’d stumbled upon. Sophie was propped on a bench, her denim skirt up around her waist, a man’s head at her crotch and her hands in his hair tugging him upward. While something in Billie’s brain told her to turn and run, she found herself frozen to the spot, mesmerized, and if she were honest, a little turned on by the blatant sexuality in front of her.

“Stop, Ajax.” Sophie shoved the guy and although he barely moved, he chuckled, stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then turned around to grin wickedly at Billie.

Now, this dude looked like a biker! She couldn’t help but stare at his dark blond hair, slicked back as if the only comb he ever used was his fingers, and his piercing blue eyes. They were far too alluring for someone with so many menacing tattoos littering his skin. And his close-cropped beard did nothing to hide his arrogant expression.

“You joining us?” he asked, and she couldn’t quite tell whether or not he was serious.

Billie gulped, her cheeks flaring. Why oh why was she still standing here? “Um…I…” She started to back away. Hell, she’d never be able to look Sophie in the eye again. Could this day get any worse?

“Leave her alone.” Sophie was pulling down her skirt and straightening as she spoke. She looked at Billie and shrugged. “He makes me a little wild.”

Ajax’s grin widened. “Is that what you call it?” And Sophie shot him a glare but her eyes showed adoration, not annoyance.

“Billie’s from next door,” Sophie told him. “She runs the gallery in the old clubhouse.”

“Art in the old clubhouse?” Ajax folded his arms across his chest and stared at Billie unnervingly. So bikers weren’t the shaking-hands type, then? “That’s fucking tragic.”

“I’m guessing you’ve met Cash?” Sophie said to Billie.

“Who?”

Sophie smirked. “Oh, sorry, I mean Travis. He’s going by his legal name now, but he’ll always be Cash to the club.”

Ajax snorted. “He’ll always be a dick.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “You’re all dicks. Always have been.” She looked back to Billie. “He and Cash don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

Ajax’s smile was practically lethal. “In the sense that I’m gonna cut off his balls and feed them to the alligators if he doesn’t shape the fuck up.”

“Is it true he owns the gallery?” Billie asked, hoping to distract Ajax from his thoughts of mutilation.

The big biker eyed her. “Why? What did he tell you?”

“Nothing much. Just that the building is his, and he plans to sell it to the highest bidder and toss me out on the street.” Billie felt tears she didn’t want prickling to break free.

“That’s terrible.” Ajax looked at Sophie, his gaze unreadable but a hint of laughter in his voice. “What kind of jackass treats a woman like that?”

Was he being sarcastic? The tone of Ajax’s voice made Billie think he was yanking her chain. An uneasy quiver scuttled down her spine.

“Don’t worry,” Sophie said to Billie. “It’s true, Travis does own the gallery, but so do Ajax and two of the other Deacons. He can’t sell it without their consent.”

“Which he’s not getting,” Ajax growled. “He might be my brother, but I’m definitely not his bitch.”

Billie couldn’t help but puff out a breath of relief. Ajax might not be the kind of guy she wanted to meet in a dark alley, but his words were music to her ears. “Thanks. I guess I’ll be going now. Sorry about…” Billie swallowed and gestured toward them, then wished she could just evaporate.

“No problem.” Sophie turned back to Ajax, grabbing hold of the leather vest he wore, yanking him against her and leaving no doubt in Billie’s mind that they were going to finish what’d she’d walked in on. “Just shut that door on your way out.”

Ajax laughed as Billie fled. She felt like a total idiot, an innocent little girl who’d walked in on a grown-up party, but at least she had Ajax’s word—whatever that was worth—that Travis wouldn’t be selling her gallery anytime soon. Travis was an arrogant ass, and although he’d attempted to intimidate her, although he, too, was a tough biker, he didn’t scare her quite the way Ajax did. She had no doubt that if Travis tried any funny business with the building, Ajax would put a stop to it fast.

As she walked back through the bar, slinking past the teens and Tarzan, she shuddered, not wanting to imagine what kinds of things Ajax might do to him. She’d watched Sons of Anarchy and guessed whatever he had planned, it wouldn’t be pretty, but that wasn’t her problem. The welfare of Travis Sinclair wasn’t her problem; Travis himself was.

And something told her he was going to be a very big problem indeed.

—

Travis was fucking starving. He’d been working for hours trying to ignore the sweet, fruity smell of Billie that lingered in the air, the happy, grating voices that occasionally wafted in from the gallery and the tension in his muscles whenever he thought of Ajax’s stupidity. While setting the ball rolling on his latest security contract, he’d been researching estate laws and joint tenancy so that at least the next time Ajax and/or Leon ambushed him, he could set them straight. He wasn’t sure whether he could trust the lawyer who had delivered the will. He’d worked for Priest and the club forever, and although he appeared legit, his association with an outlaw club likely meant he could be trusted about as much as Ajax.

Unable to concentrate, Travis let out a frustrated puff of air, pushed back his seat and grabbed his jacket. It was far too hot for leather in New Orleans, and it wasn’t like he needed to advertise he was a Deacon anymore; besides, this jacket had no patches. The only club affiliation he had these days was inked into his back. But he felt naked walking the French Quarter without his jacket. He shrugged into it, grabbed his sunglasses off the table and slipped them on, despite the fact that it was early evening and unnecessary.

He took them for security, in case he recognized an old enemy and needed to be incognito. Without Deacons’ patches the Ministry likely wouldn’t bat an eyelid in his direction, and that’s the way he wanted it. He was done with that shit—fighting for the sake of fighting, fighting for the fucking brotherhood. What a fucking joke. In the end, Priest and the Deacons had treated him no better than his pathetic excuse for a mother, and he owed nothing to any of them.