Chapter 1
Marcie lifted the long-necked bottle to her lips and drank a sip of the warm, stale beer sheâd been nursing for the past forty-five minutes. As the tepid liquid filled her mouth, she cringed and forced herself to swallow. The desire to finish the beverage had long fled, but she needed something to keep her hands and mind occupied. With a small grunt of disgust, she set it down on the table and let her gaze wander around the smoke-filled bar.
She couldnât imagine any place she would rather be less than she wanted to be in this bar, back in her hometown of Crystal Rock, Arizona, sitting next to the boyfriend she desired about as much as the lukewarm beer. It wasnât his fault. Timing sucked. Theyâd only been dating for two weeks when her mother passed. Really, she hadnât been all that interested in him, but it was nice to have something to do a few nights a week. Ugh, that sure sounded shallow. Poor Tanner had tried to coax her onto his lap, but that would have made her look dependent on him for comfort. And she wasnât. She barely knew the guy.
For the first time in ten years, Marcie had made the trip back to Arizona. Sheâd returned to bury her mother, a miserable woman who spent the majority of Marcieâs childhood stoned and in bed with one random man or another. They hadnât spoken in almost five years, and while she wasnât surprised to learn of her motherâs passing, Marcie was truly shocked to discover what little the woman possessed was left to her only child.
A second shock came when her new boyfriendâif she could even give him the strong labelâTanner, offered to accompany her from Seattle to the unassuming town of Crystal Rock, claiming he wanted to assist in settling her motherâs affairs. The show of support touched her, and in a weak moment she caved to his request. Had she been in her right mind, sheâd have turned him down. His help wasnât necessary. She could handle the trip and her motherâs meager affairs on her own, as she handled everything else life threw at her. Independently. Alone. Lonely.
But Tanner insisted, and for the first time in years, she relented and allowed someone the possibility to take care of her. And sheâd been secretly relieved by the knowledge that she wouldnât have to make the journey alone. That was until he invited two of his friends, and turned the trip into a broâs trip complete with a two-night stop in Vegas.
From the moment Tanner hit the gas and left Seattle in the dust, aspects of his personality she hadnât yet been introduced to began to emerge. Unfortunately, he transformed into an overgrown frat boy would couldnât see past his next drink. Even his buddies Cameron and Billy seemed surprised by his slide back to his college days. What did she expect? This is what she got for giving a man she just met some control over her life.
His party mentality wasnât impressive and she wasnât they type to overlook poor behavior on the off chance it would improve with time. Nope, she was done with him.
The kind thing would probably be to just inform him tonight that they were through, but her brain was fried and sheâd much rather do it back in Seattle, and not in a town where more bad than good memories lurked around every corner.
So, sheâd end it as soon as they returned, and sheâd be on her own once again. And wasnât that just how she liked it? It wasnât the eighteen hundreds. She could and would take care of herself. Too much of her childhood was spent afraid and cowering behind the protection and care of two very special friends. Now, she lived how she wanted without depending on anyone for anything.
Fatigue weighed heavy on Marcieâs shoulders. Sheâd spent eight hours, today, sifting through a run-down trailer full of tragic childhood memories, and that was after a very simple and unattended burial service. Spending another night with three men who were happiest when in whichever bar was closest was about as appealing as a trip to the gynecologist.
Glancing down at her lap, she smoothed the front of the simple, yet elegant, black skirt sheâd worn with a black blouse to the lonely burial. Marcie had been the only person in attendance, unable to wake a hung-over Tanner before she had to leave. Her prostitute mother hadnât had true friends, and alienated her family, so Marcie was it.
Tanner downed his own drink then grabbed her abandoned beer to polish that off as well. He clanked her beer bottle on the table and she jolted, lost in her own melancholy thoughts. âDamnit, Marcie, this is piss warm. Go grab me a new one from the bar.â As he spoke he gave an unaffectionate tug on her short blonde hair. âI gotta take a piss. Where the hellâs the john?â He glanced around the crowded bar. âJesus, thereâs so many people here itâs gonna take me a year to get to the damn can.â
Marcie shot him a death look, but refused to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her rub the sore spot on her head. Tanner had been in a rotten mood all day, complaining about being stuck in Crystal Rock with nothing to do while Marie dealt with her motherâs personal effects. God forbid he offered to help. Not that she need it. She handled it without him. If she had enough energy to deal with the fallout, sheâd just walk away tonight, but she couldnât handle a confrontation right now.
Relief was almost immediate as she left the three men at the table. The one and only reason she followed his command to grab a beer was to get away from them a few minutes. Tanner was right about one thing. The bar was jam packed. It took quite a bit of fancy maneuvering to work her way to the bar without rubbing up on every body in the place.
With a heavy sigh, she took a seat at the bar in no rush to grab the attention of the cute bartender.
A commotion from the opposite side of the dimly lit bar caught her attention, and she turned in time to see a group of large, gruff bikers enter the establishment. Growing up in Crystal Rock, there was no way to escape knowledge of the No Prisoners motorcycle club. They ran the town, and had always patronized Blackâs as their bar of choice.
No surprise, the tattooed men in leather were accompanied by a gaggle of women with tiny skirts and even smaller tops, leaving less than nothing to the imagination.
âWhatâll it be, darlinâ?â the young, thin man slinging bar asked with a flirty smile, most likely hoping to garner a larger tip. A bull ring ran through his septum and his hands resting on the surface of the bar had the words game over tattooed across the knuckles.
âAnother please,â she said, indicating the bottle sheâd returned to the bar.
âSure thing, sweetness. Be right back.â He winked as he turned to grab her beer. Shaggy dark hair stuck out from under a backwards baseball cap and his tan was nicely on display around his dark grey wife beater. Obviously, this was a casual establishment.
She smiled, charmed by his friendly nature. Crystal Rock boasted an eclectic mix of people from all walks of life. A few seconds later, he returned with the uncapped beer and another flirty wink. Marcie paid and swiveled on the stool. Looks like sheâd stalled long enough. Time to rejoin the bromance at her table.
âHoly shit! Marcie? Marcie Barringer?â The voice was familiar, but she couldnât quite place it.
Her head snapped around, and she came face-to-face, well face to chestâthe man was tall as a buildingâwith Dylan Parker.
âDylan?â she asked, unable to keep the delight from her voice. Without thinking, she launched herself off the stool, landed against his hard chest with a grunt, and wrapped her arms tight around the body that was no longer that of a young boy, but a full-grown man. And a hot one at that.
He seemed just as elated to have run into her, and returned the embrace with gusto. âI canât believe it, Marce,â he said, gripping her arms and holding her away from his body. He raked her up and down with his eyes. âDamn girl you grew up into something gorgeous. I like that pixie haircut. Fits you.â
Marcie blushed, but couldnât remove the giant grin from her face. Sheâd known Dylan for as long as she could remember. Without him, she may not have survived her childhood, at least not in one piece. Neither had any siblings, and, being six years older, Dylan had appointed himself her surrogate older brother and protector.
He was the one person from the childhood that she could remember truly caring about her. It was a sibling kind of love, and she hadnât seen him since the day she left Crystal Rock almost ten years prior. The boy grew up in to one hell of a sexy man, and apparently was now a member of the motorcycle club, if the leather cut he wore was any indication.
She could barely believe he was here, in front of her. Time melted away at being near her surrogate big brother and she felt like the past ten years had never occurred. He was tall, muscular, and deadly looking, with dark, almost black hair and chiseled features that made him look every bit the dangerous man he probably was now. The thought made her laugh. She knew way too much about him to ever consider him a danger, at least not to her.
Damn it was good to see him.
âI canât believe I ran into you, Dylan,â she said, giving him another quick squeeze.
âItâs Striker now, babe.â An arrogant smirk played across his lips.
âStriker?â
âHandle given to me by the club, on account of my impressive skills.â A teasing glint lit his eyes and he bounced on the balls of his feet, fists up in a boxerâs stance. He was forever getting into fights as a kid. As he grew into his teens, he put that energy to good use learning to box, and becoming quite proficient in the sport.
âStriker it is then,â Marcie returned.
âWhat are you doing here, hon? How long are you in town?â he asked, genuine concern filling his voice.
That concern was so familiar, a warmth she hadnât experienced in far too long bloomed in Marcieâs chest. As long as heâd known her, heâd been concerned about her wellbeing, and at the time sheâd been too young to appreciate the rarity of a man who wanted nothing more from her than her happiness. Marcie shrugged. âMy mom passed. Iâm here for a few days dealing with the details.â
Striker grimaced. Heâd had a front row seat to the shit show that was Marcieâs childhood, and knew full well what a deadbeat her mother had been. âShit, Marce. I wish Iâd known. Iâd have offered to help you. Is there anything I can do now?â
âNo, Striker, there isnât much left and I can handle it.â
He slung an arm around her shoulders and steered her back to the bar. âWell then, we at least need to have a drink or ten, while youâre here. Wait until Hook sees you here. Heâs gonna flip his shit.â
She raked her memory but came up with nothing. âHook?â
Striker laughed. âMy bad, honey. Man, I forget how long youâve been away. Remind me to yell at you about that later.â He gave her a playful scowl. âTJ.â
Every last drop of saliva dried up until her mouth could rival the arid desert. TJ and Dylan, Striker, had been inseparable as teenagers and if sheâd loved Striker as a brother, her tender young heart and innocent body had loved TJ in a very different way.
âOh, there he is.â Striker gestured toward the end of the bar. âHey, Hook,â he hollered over the music and loud chatter, getting the other manâs attention. âGet your ass over here. Bet you a lap dance you wonâtâ believe whoâs here!â
Marcie was not in any way prepared for the punch to the gut she experienced when she got her first look at Hook in ten years.
Holy hotness. The man was the sexiest thing sheâd ever laid eyes on. The boy had been every teenage girlâs fantasy, but the man, the man was more than sheâd dared to fantasize about.
Every feeling sheâd ever had for the bad boy she lusted after as a teen came rushing back full force when that sinful mouth lifted in a wide, genuine smile.
Iâm Maxon Reedâreal estate mogul, shark, asshole. If a deal isnât high profile and big money, I pass. Now that Iâve found the property of a lifetime, Iâm jumping. But one tenacious bastard stands between me and successâmy brother. Iâll need one hell of a devious ploy to distract cynical Griff. Then fate drops a luscious redhead in my lap whoâs just his type.
Welcome to Whynot, North Carolina, population 3,872. It has one stoplight, one bar, and the one-and-only Trixie Mancinkus.
Juliette Poe is the sweet and swoony alter ego of New York Times Best Selling author, Sawyer Bennett.
Ok confession time, one of my secret loves is the injured male/female nurse/PT or whatever genre. So this was a given. Plus I just love the name Adria.
I met Bianca in an elevator.
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times Bestselling author. With more than a million books sold, her titles have appeared in over fifty Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twelve languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
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