Page 29 of 12 Months of Mayhem

Fuck.

I’m no knight in shining armor, but hitting a woman? That’s a dog act through and through. Before I even have time to think, I’m already moving, cutting back across the street. A car honks, tires screech, but I’m not stopping.

I point straight at the guy. “You!” My voice cuts through the noise. His fist is still raised, and now they are staring at me. “I’ll fucking drop you if you lay a finger on her.”

“Whiskey?” Her voice slices through the tension, and I recognize her immediately. It’s the hellcat from the bar brawl.

“You know this fucker?” the guy snaps, his eyes darting between us.

I square up, my gaze locked on him. “Do we have a problem?” My tone is low, but there’s a warning in it.

He glances at her, then back at me, throwing his hands up as he backs away. “You can fucking have her. She’s not worth it.” His words drip with venom, and just before he turns, he spits on the ground, storming off like the coward he is.

With her hands still on her hips, she throws her head back and laughs, the sound full of mischief. “You’ve got perfect timing.”

“Seems like I do,” I reply, watching her closely.

She’s wearing a skin-tight, glittery black top that clings to her curves, jeans that fit like a second skin, and that familiar leather jacket from the night of the brawl. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and her striking green eyes sparkle with amusement, like she’s enjoying the way this whole thing is playing out.

“You know I didn’t need your help.” Her tone is confident, not a question, just a flat-out statement of fact.

I cock my head to the side, taking her in from head to toe. “If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have bothered,” I reply, a smirk tugging at my lips.

“Well, I’m glad we got that sorted,” she says with a quick smile, turning on her heel like she’s about to walk away.

Panic hits me for a split second. I don’t want her to leave just yet.

Before I think it through, I blurt out, “Can I buy you a coffee?”

She glances over her shoulder, lips curving in amusement. “I don’t drink the stuff.”

“Coke?” I offer, trying again.

She shakes her head, her long hair tumbling forward, framing her face. “Poison in a glass.”

“Give a guy a break.”

“Your patch says president, and something tells me you’ve had plenty of coffee breaks,” she teases, a sly grin playing on her lips.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Perks of the job, I guess.”

She laughs again, loud and unfiltered, and I can’t help but like it—there’s something real about how she lets it out. “I’ve gotta go. But I’m sure, Whiskey, I’ll see you again.”

“I still don’t know your name,” I call after her, hoping to catch something more.

She glances back over her shoulder, a teasing glint in her eyes. “I know.” With a quick wink, she turns and keeps walking, her figure disappearing down the street like she owns the whole damn thing.

Whoever she is, she’s right—I don’t lack female company, but something about her has me intrigued. With a shake of my head, I turn away, refocusing on the task at hand. I reach into my pocket and pull out the crumpled piece of paper with the address scribbled on it, squinting to make sure I read it right before continuing on my way.

I think fate will throw us together again if it’s with the hellcat.

Chapter Three

The roar of revving engines fills the air as I roll into Sturgis for the July 4th bike rally, the familiar scent of gasoline and leather mingling with the faint sweetness of summer blooms. It’s a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds. Flags wave proudly in the breeze, and my brothers’ laughter echoes around me.

As I park my bike and step off, the asphalt’s heat radiates through my boots while a light breeze brushes against my skin, carrying the scent of barbecued meat wafting from nearby food stalls.The energy is electric, a palpable buzz that ignites something deep within me. My chest swells with pride as I take in the sight of my brothers gathered around, each of us part of something bigger than ourselves, a family forged by loyalty and the open road.

The laughter and cheers of fellow bikers mingle with classic rock music blaring from the speakers, creating a backdrop of camaraderie that feels almost tangible. I catch glimpses of motorcycles lined up like polished jewels, their chrome gleaming under the summer sun.

---