Page 5 of Bullet

A man who looked to be around my dad's age crossed his broad, tattooed arms over his chest. My first impression of him was that he resembled a fallen angel, beautiful and fierce, damaged yet perfect. I had to fight the urge to stare at him, forcing myself to focus on my dad's words.

“My father was a great founder. He was an even better man. His legacy lives on through me, through his grandchildren, through the Forsaken.” He draped an arm around my shoulders. “He died doing what he loved. And he will never be forgotten.”

I glanced up at my father, who nodded at the urn in my arms.

Taking a deep breath, I twisted the top of the urn and pulled it off. I'd practiced what I wanted to say the night before, but the words stuck in my throat, hindered by the finality saying them would mean.

My dad rubbed my back, urging me forward. I looked up, seeing most of the bikers with their heads bowed in respect; all except the rugged man I'd focused on earlier. His dark eyes were locked on me.

A tendril of heat coiled in my lower abdomen from his intense gaze. Averting my eyes, I cleared my throat and forced myself to speak. “My most favorite memories are of my grandfather, and I wish I had hundreds more.” I looked down at the gray ashes in the urn and spoke from my heart, the words meant for him. “I know you're in a better place, and I hope you're riding the best bike for your last ride. I love you and miss you, more than the desert longs for rain.”

I glanced up at my father, who nodded. I walked away from the group, going farther up the peak. “Ride well, Grandpa,” I whispered, turning the urn over. My grandfather's ashes spilled out, blowing into the wind.

Tears streaked my cheeks as I watched them dance in the breeze. My brothers and father came up next to me, standing beside me for a few moments as the final remnants of my grandfather drifted away. I felt like the last good piece of me went with him.

My family led the way back to the bikes. I felt numb as everyone mounted their bikes, and my dad raised his fist in the air. “For Blackhawk!”

“For Blackhawk!” echoed all around us as the other bikers cheered in unison.

Then my dad revved his bike, starting the last rev. The sound of the other bikes joining in was almost deafening as they paid their final respects to my grandfather. They drowned out my sobs as I clutched my dad, finally overwhelmed, unable to contain the raw emotion suffocating me.

My dad grasped my arms that were wrapped tightly around him, squeezing me as he finished out the last rev. Then we led the group back down Spirit Mountain, away from my grandpa's final resting place.

By the time we arrived at the Colorado Belle for the wake, I'd composed myself. Since I was planning to stay in town, I didn't want to be perceived as weak. The weak were preyed upon by the bikers in the area, and I would never be someone's victim again.

I'd never cared for the club life, but I felt that the Forsaken was the only thing I had left of my grandpa besides my car. I wasn't about to become someone's cutslut or old lady, but I planned to be more involved.

Once everyone was settled at the wake, my father made an announcement, holding up a beer in his hand. “My father wouldn't want us wallowing around feeling sorry for him. He would want us to have the best goddamn party of our lives!”

Cheers erupted when several other bikers raised their beers, as well. My eyes scanned the crowd until they locked with the gaze of the man from earlier. The way he always seemed to be staring at me made me uncomfortable, yet enticed me. And I couldn't deny my attraction to him even though he probably had fifteen or twenty years on me.

He was a mountain of a man; at least six feet four and thick and muscular. Both of his arms were covered in ink from shoulder to fingers. The sides of his head were buzzed, but the top was long enough to pull back into a short, dark ponytail. Dark beard grazing the top of his broad chest, he looked the part of hardass biker.

And he was fine as hell.

Raleigh stepped in front of me, blocking my view. “Don't even think about it.”

I furrowed my brow. “Think about what?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You know what. That's Ford Lawson, President of the Suicide Kings and Dad's biggest rival. So don't get any ideas—I know that look.”

Rolling my eyes, I scoffed. “I'm not the same girl anymore. You don't know anything about me.”

My brother narrowed his eyes at me. “Well, maybe if you visited every once in a while, we wouldn't be strangers.”

Guilt twisted my stomach, and I glanced down, focusing on my shoes. “Yeah, well, I'm back now, so we'll have plenty of time to get reacquainted.”

My dad draping his arm around my shoulder interrupted our conversation. He handed my brother and me a beer, then introduced me to some of the club members. I fought the urge to look back at Ford, whose eyes I could still feel burning into me.

The rest of the wake went by in a blur. I'd lost count of the number of condolences I'd been given and smiles I had to fake. I didn't see Ford again, and I was somewhat relieved. I didn't need to be fantasizing about my dad's rival at my grandfather's funeral, especially when he looked at me like he wanted to ravage my entire body.

I told myself I'd never get involved with a biker. Most slept around, cheating on their old ladies, and left on runs for days or weeks. I didn't want that kind of relationship. Then again, I wasn't looking for a relationship, so maybe sex with a hot biker wasn't such a bad idea. And the thought of pissing off my dad and brothers made me giggle a little.

I brushed the thoughts from my mind. I'd probably never see Ford again, so there was no point in thinking about him. Plus, I needed to get my life back on track, starting with finding a job. Once I started making money, I could get my own place and maybe even go to college. I didn't want to wait tables forever, and my dream of becoming an actress was out the window, so I needed a new plan.

I just hoped I didn't fuck up again.

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