Page 5 of Hunter

Outside the garage,Viper was already mounted and waiting.

“Fox mention our stop?” He sounded about as thrilled about the task as I was. This was understandable, considering that his old lady, Rhiannon, was about to pop with their first kid.

“Quick in and out,” I promised.

He nodded grimly and kick-started his Harley, the vintage bike roaring to life while I threw a leg over mine. We pulled out and, a few minutes later, rolled up to Country Crust.

Our businesses weren’t jammed onto the compound like some clubs. We owned a good chunk of Old Bridge, leasing out most of it, but the two-block radius around the clubhouse was all us.

Our own little kingdom had residential buildings and houses for members—and trusted tenants—plus the tattoo shop, bar, garage, pawn shop, gun range, barbershop…and more.

Country Crust was one of the few exceptions.

Big picture windows flanked a frosted door, each filled with displays that made my stomach growl.

Viper chuckled, and I shrugged. “Missed breakfast.”

He nodded at one window and grinned. “If any of that shit tastes half as good as it looks, Rhiannon’s cravings alone will keep ’em in business.”

We stepped inside, and the smells of sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon hit me all at once. But something else was sweet and pure. I couldn’t place it, but it only added to the alluring scents making my mouth water, and I damn near groaned out loud.

The place was busy but not packed, the kind of steady hum that meant the food was as delicious as it looked.

I lifted my chin at the people who called out greetings or nodded as I passed, heading straight for the front counter. Some of the customers scattered when they caught sight of my cut like they thought I was gonna snap and kill them for no fucking reason. Idiots.

Most folks in Old Bridge knew better. They understood the truth—there was no safer place to be than under the Iron Rogues’ protection.

We lived by a code. Honor. Loyalty. Our own brand of justice.

We didn’t take shit. And we sure as hell didn’t leave it up to the authorities to deal with the ones stupid enough to cross us. Not that the cops minded much. The smart ones worked with us—because they knew better. The rest? We either owned them outright, or they looked the other way when we handled business.

Anyone dumb enough to fuck with us learned really quick that it was the last thing they’d ever do.

Crime didn’t last long in Old Bridge.

Not unless we allowed it.

As I approached the counter, that smell that I couldn’t place went straight to my bloodstream like a fucking drug.

Out of habit, I automatically scanned the room, and when the woman behind the counter caught my eye, the world went fucking still.

That scent…it was all her.

Soft curves tucked into a simple pale-yellow T-shirt and jeans. Light brown hair that was twisted into a messy bun. Blue eyes like the summer sky after a storm twinkled as she smiled at the customer in front of her. And those lips…holy fuck. They were made for kissing. And they were gonna look perfect wrapped around my cock.

The thought shocked the hell out of me and sent all the blood in my brain rushing to my dick.

Her eyes met mine for just a moment, then her face heated, the pale skin turning bright pink before she looked away. When she brushed a hand over her cheek, a dusting of flour was left behind, and one corner of my mouth lifted. Adorable.

Mine.

The thought hit so fast and vicious, it stole my breath. Tension pulled tight, hard, and fast in my chest—like someone had looped a fucking chain around my ribs.

Viper chuckled beside me. “You good, brother?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t get a fucking word out if I’d cared to try.

All I could do was stare, rooted to the spot like someone seeing sunshine for the first time in his shadowy life. I probably should have worried about what her light might reveal if it shined onto the deepest, darkest parts of me. But I was riveted, still lost to the vision before me.

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