Page 4 of April 5

Underneath him, the engine whined. The vibration of the Harley crawled through his body, numbing him.

The truck passed him. The wind current from the vehicle pushed him toward the white line.

Jagger shook his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the black asphalt in his impaired vision, and shifted down, slowing his motorcycle.

Behind him, a car honked. He squinted, going over the white line and coming to a stop. He jumped off his bike and yanked off his helmet, throwing it toward the guardrail.

His chest roared. Katrina had no right to enter his life again.

Chapter Two

CORA TALKED WITH THE other women surrounding her, but her hand remained on her husband. Katrina stood against the back wall, studying her newly discovered aunt. She was a beautiful girl. Her aunt was much younger than she had imagined when her dad told her Cora was born after he left home.

She expected someone in her thirties, not someone close to her age.

It was obvious Cora was in love with her husband. Her hands told the truth and rarely left him.

But Cora wasn't the only one holding on. Wire held the back of Cora's neck. They were tangled up in each other.

Katrina lifted the glass of rum and coke to her lips. She still found it hard to believe she had a blood relative.

At first, hearing the news from her dad that his little sister had found him pissed her off. Where was Cora for the last twenty-four years? Where were her grandparents?

She'd grown up believing she was alone.

Katrina swallowed the alcohol, letting it burn her throat and warm her chest. Everything she was led to believe was a lie.

And the things about her that were true were ugly.

Her mom had left her at the hospital—simply gave the nurse a phone number on how to contact Katrina's dad and then walked out of the hospital after giving birth and never came back.

Her dad raised her alone until he went to prison for murder when she was four years old. He stayed locked up for the next eighteen years of her life. Her exposure to her dad was in the state prison, where she got to visit him every two weeks for an hour.

The rest of the time, she lived with Mama Sue behind the Havlin Motorcycle Club clubhouse in Beaverton, Oregon. Raised within Havlin, the club members became her family.

Unlike other women, she learned everything she knew from men who killed, abused, stole, and deceived. She understood their motives, understood their needs, and understood their desires.

They lived life only needing the basics to survive. Sex and companionship softened their harsh world. And if they were lucky, they found love. Some had a long commitment to love. Others found love every night with different women.

Some would judge her upbringing as rough and lacking. She wouldn't change a thing about the way she grew up.

Rush entered her line of vision and approached her. "Look at you, getting more beautiful each year."

"Damn right, sweetie." She shook her head, smiling at the man who'd taught her to ride a bicycle when she was seven. "And yet, you have never tried to get your hands in my panties." She lifted her arms. "Come give me a hug, old man."

"Who are you calling old, kid?" Rush swept her up into a hug. "It's good to see you, girly. How's Beaverton treating you?"

"Those damn men keep me hopping. I can't stand still for a second without their grabby hands or their mouths yapping their troubles at me." She lifted her glass. "You know, I'm the club's bartender now."

Rush threw back his head and laughed. "Fucking lazy asses can't pour their drinks now, huh?"

"Could they ever?" She grinned. "You're lucky you broke off and came over here. Hopefully, Jagger hasn't spoiled you."

"Fuck no." Rush took out a joint and put it between his lips. "Come out and share this with me."

She kissed his cheek. "Another time. I need to find somewhere to crash before it gets any later."

"You're not staying here?"

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