Page 1 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

1

WILLOW

“Stupid.”The shovel barely sinks into the dirt. “Freakin’.” I balance my foot on the top of the blade and hop up, putting all of my weight into wiggling it back and forth. “Roots!”

The old wooden shovel handle gives an ominous creak, but the gnarly, compacted earth finally admits defeat. “Victory!” I shout as my butt hits the grass, my feet fly up, and clumps of dirt shower down all around me. I freeze for a second, afraid someone heard me, but there’s loud music coming from the house next door and I’m pretty sure the guys over there can’t hear me over their own racket.

After a pained grunt, I sit up and brush off my overalls. I can’t believe people do this to relax. If I hadn’t promised myself that I’d harvest at leastsomethingby the end of summer, I’d have given up by now. Wrestling my grandmother’s yard back into shape has been a lot harder than I anticipated. Well, my yard now, I guess. It’s still strange to wrap my head around the fact that I own this place.

What’s that?

Under the dislodged clump of roots left behind by a long dead rose bush is a flash of white in the dirt. I lean forwards with a funny feeling in my stomach and reach out, brushing off whatever’s hiding in the ground. I pluck up an odd looking stick and rub my thumb across the bit of white.

“Huh. That’s weir—” My blood-curdling scream echoes through the neighborhood as I fling the thing away, scrambling backwards.

I’m no doctor. Heck, I barely passed high-school biology, but now that I know what I’m looking at, there’s no mistaking the tops of the smooth, curved bones that were hiding under the roses for anything but what they are. Ribs. And from the size of them, they could very well be human. I snatch up the shovel like it’s going to help defend me from the army of undead about to crawl out of my lawn because I disturbed their grave.

“Oh crap, crap, crap, crap, crap,” I chant in a horrified whisper. Forget the spring sun beating down on me, I shiver at the chilly sweat drops sliding down my back.

Should I call the cops? A lawyer? My best friend? A priest?

Before I can decide, three huge men vault over the fence from the property next door. They’ve been working on the house for the past week so it shouldn’t be a surprise that they’re shirtless, but my jaw still drops at being so close to the miles of tan skin and tattoos they’re showing off. All of them are scanning the yard, looking ready to bust heads and kick ass.

I’d probably appreciate the view a lot more if I wasn’t so focused on the potential murder victim in my backyard.

“What happened?” the tallest snaps like an order.

His long, dark hair is pulled back with a leather band, and a massive dragon tattoo spirals out around his torso, so detailed it looks ready to spit fire. He’s lean and strong, with sharp features and a pale scar cutting down his throat. It starts behind his left ear and looks like it's lucky it didn’t kill him.

I point in the direction of my gruesome find. “B—bones…”

“Bones?” A second man eyes me with bright blue eyes under a desert camo print baseball cap. His broad shoulders give him a perfect V-shape that narrows to his hard six-pack. Bands of black ink circle his arms and short, dark blond beard graces his square jaw. Worn jeans hug his muscular thighs as he moves to investigate closer, the faded outline of a wallet clear over his tight butt.

“Easy, girl,” the third man says in a deep, smooth baritone as he walks to my side. “Whatever you found hasn’t been a problem for anyone for a long, long time. Let Skyhigh and Dragon check it out. What’s your name, honey? Look at me.” His tone is gentle, but it’s used to being obeyed.

I look up into deep green eyes flecked with brown like moss on a forest floor. His reddish brown hair falls in short, wild curls, but there’s nothing boyish about him. Not with the black studs in his ears and the nose that looks like someone broke it long ago and he set it himself. But he’s striking. They all are, in that ‘this isn’t a good idea but it might be worth it anyway’ kind of way.

I rub my hand over the leg of my pants, still feeling the brittle dryness of the bone in my fingers. “Wi—Willow.”

“Pretty name for a pretty lady,” he says with a grin. “I’m Blackout.”

Blackout, Skyhigh and Dragon?

I glance up the hill behind the end of my yard, to the thick brick wall that surrounds the compound of the Outlaw Sons MC. Not my first choice for neighbors, but when my grandparents bought this house on Riverview Ave, the property behind them belonged to Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy, the old church. It might be a violent motorcycle club now, but in this economy? When you inherit a house, you make it work.

Even if it comes with the roar of engines at all hours, gunshots from their—can’t possibly be legal—shooting range, and parties that could wake the dead. My eyes slide back to where the other two men are carefully investigating the skeleton. Okay, apparently not waking the dead, but theyarereally loud.

And I’ve seen the headlines. They aren’t weekend warriors.

Besides, I might have only moved in last month, but I heard plenty over the years, both from Grandma, and from my friend Grace who used to live down the street before the Outlaw Sons started buying up everything in this neighborhood they could get their hands on.

My heart skips a beat. I’m such an idiot.

They could be thereasonthere’s a body in my backyard. And if I just exposed it… How many days would it take before someone noticed I was missing?

“You good?” Blackout asks. He steps a little closer and drapes a heavy arm over my shoulders, pulling me close to his chest. “Don’t blame you for getting a little freaked out. It’s probably nothing, but finding shit like that must be scary.”

“Mmhm!” I hum a little too loud, and nod a little too fast, clutching the shovel to me. “Should we be calling the police?” I ask nervously.

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