Page 9 of Never Wed an Outlaw

She turned on the stool, motioning toward the Civil War sword I had hanging on the mantle. “Do you really think Early would want his blood going to nothing? While you do – what, exactly? Get your hands dirty fixing cars and riding with the boys? Making money – for what?”

“We both know I don't give two shits about what dad would've wanted,” I growled. “Family didn't do him much good when he really went off the rails.”

Ma's coffee cup clanked down hard. Fuck, now I'd done it. She never cried openly anymore, but the hurt never died, all the pain he'd given her before he shuffled off his mortal coil.

“Aw, Ma, come on. I didn't mean it like that. You're like a mother to this whole club, you know, and a damned good one to me and everybody else. That's never gonna change.” Grabbing her hand, I gave it a squeeze, before heading for the coffee thermos on the counter to refresh her cup.

“MaybeIcare about your future, Daniel. Just like I care about my poor dead husband's past.” She stood up, without bothering to finish her toast or the fresh coffee. “I have to get going. I'm going to be late for my shift.”

Part of me wanted to run after her. But I'd fucked uplike this before, and this routine had gotten way too familiar.

“Let's do lunch. I'm taking my yearly trip down to Atlanta soon since everything's quiet up here.”

“Okay, fine. I'd like that,” she said quietly, halfway out the door. “Just get yourself there and back in one piece.”

The door slammed shut on her way out, leaving me alone on a beautiful morning. Wouldn't be the first time.

I knew how it went from here.

I'd feel like shit for the rest of the day – at least 'til I hit the road and fresh mountain air worked its balm. Eventually, Ma would lick her wounds and show up here again unannounced.

Sooner if, God forbid, something happened in the club warranting her medical talents.

I chugged the rest of my coffee and headed into the back for a quick shower before I hit the road. I'd be checking out the Ruby Heel, our new titty bar in town, managed by Meg and Cora.

The club was making more money these days by going clean, or close enough to it. Titty bars and chop shops for cars and bikes were a hell of a lot safer than the black market. If only the clean stuff made as much coin as going dirty.

Our growing gun trade was the ultimate dream. Carving ourselves a route from Knoxville to the sea, one worth gaining our club attention from the bigger clubs out West, the Devils and the Grizzlies MC. If we could get their greedy asses to trade with us and our friends on the coast, we'd be raking in so much money this club would neverworry about the vault going empty again.

Just one problem: the Deadhands were still in the way. God willing, I'd hatch the perfect plan to wipe their asses out soon, and claim revenge for Joker and everybody else who'd ever been fucked by their sick club.

Work called, and she was a fuckin' slave driver. I couldn't afford distractions like Ma's hurt feelings, or getting myself tangled up with any broad. Even if Hannah was a lot better than most.

I had a mission, staring me in the face every damned day I woke up. And when I sunk my teeth into a calling, I never, ever let go.

3

Rock and Hard Place (Hannah)

Itold everyone I went to Seattle for business, but that was half the truth. It was several weeks after my brother's wedding, one more happiness cut short by looming hell.

They didn't know me. Not Huck, not Cora, not even Dust, who caused me to tingle every time I thought about the full body collision we had in his office.

They wouldn't believe the truth, even if I told them. I'd lived a lie so long I couldn't remember what honesty meant.

While they sang my praises, I kept that fake smile plastered to my face, showing the world the smart, sexy, highly successful woman they loved. Yeah, they were fucking clueless.

Truth was, everyone's favorite clean cut, bouncy, and brilliant entrepreneur of the year had her work cut out for her with secrets she could never tell.Darksecrets that would mean lost blood, not just lost money, if they ever spilled into the open.

So, I'd come to Seattle to face them again.

I sat in a back alley down by the bay, waiting for the scariest man in the world.

The stink of fish markets closing up for the evening wafted around me. A few couples strolled by, hand-in-hand, walking the main path by the docks while the sun slipped below the horizon.

The lucky ones. They didn't have a care in the world.

They didn't have to worry about a madman who might jab a knife in their spine if they said the wrong thing.

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