Page 1 of Gunner

Chapter One

Dawn hesitated outsidethe roadhouse, gripping the strap of her purse a little tighter. The neon BEER sign flickered in the dirty window, casting a dull glow over the gravel parking lot.

She had expected a bar, maybe a little rough around the edges, but this place looked like it had been carved straight out of an outlaw’s fever dream. The bikes lined up out front were a warning, the deep rumble of conversation and clinking of glass seeping through the cracked wooden door like an omen.

Her heart pounded as she stepped inside. The scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke wrapped around her like an unwelcome embrace. The place was dimly lit, crowded with burly men in leather cuts and women who looked far more comfortable than she did.

No music played, just the steady murmur of voices punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional holler from the pool table in the corner.

She swallowed hard, trying not to let the wave of nerves show on her face. She was here to meet Jesse, the guy who’d fixed her friend’s bike and charmed her enough to score a date. He had promised to meet her at eight. It was now almost nine.

Dawn pulled out her phone, checking her messages for the third time. Nothing. Not even a lame excuse.

Bastard.

She dropped onto a stool near the bar, setting her purse down carefully as she ordered a drink. Maybe he was running late. Maybe he had a good reason. Or maybe he was just another jerk who didn’t have the guts to cancel.

Her irritation simmered as she sipped at the whiskey she hadn’t really wanted but needed to feel like she belonged here. The bartender, a guy with a scar over his eyebrow, eyed her with something between amusement and pity, but he didn’t say a word. She appreciated that. What she didn’t appreciate was the way the men at the nearest table were watching her like she was fresh meat dropped into a den of wolves.

“Lost, sweetheart?” one of them drawled, tipping his beer bottle toward her. His grin was slow and lazy, the kind that made her skin prickle.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice clipped.

Another man, broader, older, with a thick beard and a jacket patched with an unfamiliar MC logo, let out a low chuckle.

“Pretty little thing like you sittin’ here all alone? Dangerous place for that,” he said.

Her jaw tightened. She wasn’t stupid. She had grown up around guys like this—hell, her own father and his friends had hung around the local MC like some groupie when she was a kid—but that didn’t mean she liked the attention.

It felt different when she was alone. She should leave. Jesse wasn’t coming, and sticking around just made her look pathetic. But as she reached for her purse, the strap snapped.

The sudden jerk sent it tumbling to the sticky bar floor, spilling its contents in a messy scatter of keys, phone, lipstick, and loose bills. Heat flooded her face as she scrambled to pick everything up, her fingers trembling with frustration.

A couple of coins rolled toward the bikers’ table. One of them, the bearded one, scooped up a quarter and twirled it between his fingers.

“Need some help, sweetheart?” the biker asked.

“No.” She snatched up her things, stuffing them back into her bag with jerky movements. Her pulse pounded in her ears. This was mortifying.

She shot to her feet, turning too quickly, and the heel of her boot—her favorite damn boot—snapped clean off. Dawn wobbled, nearly falling, and the sudden burst of laughter from the table behind her made her cheeks burn hotter.

“Damn, she’s havin’ a rough night,” one of them remarked, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Dawn gritted her teeth, clenching into fists at her sides. Screw this. Screw Jesse. Screw this whole damn night. She had spent over an hour waiting for a guy who clearly wasn’t going to show, sitting alone like an idiot while bikers and drunks leered at her.

She had put on her favorite boots, curled her hair, even debated whether or not to wear red lipstick—all for what? A no-show loser who didn’t even have the decency to text her?

She limped toward the door, half-walking, half-hobbling, her broken boot making every step feel more ridiculous than the last. She could feel their eyes on her, hear the amused murmurs and chuckles. It made her stomach twist, her pride stinging like an open wound.

The cool night air hit her like a slap as she shoved through the door. She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. Her car wasn’t far. Just a short, humiliating walk across the lot.

Dawn yanked her car keys from her pocket, her fingers clenched so tightly around them that the cold metal dug into her palm. As she moved toward her car, her heel caught on a crack in the pavement.

“Shit!” she gasped as she stumbled forward, her keys slipping from her grasp and clattering onto the ground.

Before she could bend down to retrieve them, a large, callused, and inked hand scooped them up. The scent of leather, motor oil, and something darkly masculine invaded her senses before she even looked up.

She straightened, heart pounding, and found herself staring at a broad chest covered in a black leather jacket. Her eyes traveled upward, past thick, ink-covered forearms, to a strong, chiseled face with a light dusting of scruff. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and framed by thick brows that made his gaze all the more piercing.

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