Page 7 of Thornhill Road

“Hey. You good?” asked Rodeo with a jerk of his chin.

He was one of the first brothers to join the club under new leadership, voted in just two years ago. He was a good kid, and Mustang liked him, which meant he worked behind the bar most nights.

“Trix,” was all Mustang said in response.

“Fuck. ‘Nough said,” muttered Wrangler.

Wrangler was the club’s enforcer. He’d been around for more than a decade and was elevated into his role when Bull became president. It had been the right call, and not one of them disapproved of the appointment.

“Phoenix?” Mustang inquired, speaking of his bar manager.

Unlike the majority of his crew, she was not part of the club—she just kicked ass. From the moment she showed up for her interview, he knew he’d be a fool to turn down a woman who could hold her own in a bar full of bikers the way she could. Phoenix always had a fire in her belly and a knife on her hip. Their regulars knew not to mess with her.

“She’s—”

“Right here,” she interrupted as she shoved her shoulder into the swinging door that opened up behind the bar. Her arms were full of five bottles of unopened liquor. “Little help,” she said, looking to Rodeo.

He was quick to unload her arms. With her hands free, she sighed, planted her palms against the edge of the bar, brought her eyes to meet Mustang's and teased, “Nice of you to join us.”

It may have been a stereotype to assume all redheads were feisty, but this one certainly was.

“Trix,” he repeated.

Phoenix scrunched her nose. “Oh.” She then shrugged and added, “Well, we’re good here. And we’ve still got a couple hours before the band shows and business starts to pick up. If you need to get anything done in the back, have at it.”

Mustang nodded in a silent show of appreciation, then headed for his office.

Tess

After I’d arrived inthe parking lot of Steel Mustang, I freed my hair from the clip I’d worn all day and shook out my wavy locks until they brushed to tops of my shoulders. Then I looked at my reflection via my rearview mirror and frowned.

What am I doing?

This was exactly the wrong place to be for someone who was on abad boyhiatus.

I’d moved to Gillette right after college. Since then, I’d been in a series of failed relationships. None of them lasted very long. My most recent attempt had gone on three months before it ended in disaster.

He was a bull rider.

A real cowboy.

A total heartbreaker.

Admittedly, that was exactly my type.

I was a sucker for a bad boy.

I liked them rough around the edges and slightly dangerous. I found the devil-may-care attitude sexy. It was a total turn on when a guy saidscrew itto the rules of society and did what he wanted to do. Not to say I wanted a felon in my bed. I seriously didn’t. But a rebel who pushed the limits just to see how far he could go? That was my kind of dare devil.

When a man like that wanted me, it made me feel like more of a woman.

It was hard to explain why, but I’d fallen for that guy and chased that feeling time and time again. And, without fail, I’d ended up with a broken heart—a heart I’d recklessly given away too easily.

Difficult as it was to admit, after a decade of failures, I realized I was the problem. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with the guys. They were who they were—unapologetically; and who they were, were men who didn’t know how to handle my tender heart. I couldn’t be mad at them when their devil-may-care attitude extended to how they treated me.

In a way, I’d asked for it.

Now it was time I tried something different.

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