Page 45 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

“Fuck, Dragon, I think that's more words than you've said the whole rest of the goddamn month.” Blackout laughs. Skyhigh too. “But you can relax, because I feel the same damn way. Right now, we're having fun, and all three of us really fucking like her. And she seems to like us, even if we're a bunch of fucking misfits with rap sheets. So yeah, I'm game for giving it a go, because if I don't, I'll be wondering. If it doesn't work out, at least we fucking tried, but look at Jessica and Paige, with their guys. They made it fucking work, and those girls had no more history with clubs than Willow does. So yeah, I'm in.”

Skyhigh snorts. “And here I thought I was the fucker with too many words. I want this as bad as you fuckers do. I just don't wanna hurt her.”

“Was wondering where you boys were.” Ghost comes through the side door from Hellfire’s office, probably just having had a meeting. “Hate to fuck with whatever plans you got, but we need a team to cover Thresher’s pickup. Shouldn't be any fuckery, butkeep your eyes open.” He looks over at Skyhigh. “That good with you?”

“Sure, no problem.”

On the way out, I try to call Willow and let her know we'll be late, but she doesn't pick up. I text her to let her know I’ll be in touch, and then we're off to pick up whatever the fuck it is we're picking up. Duty calls, but I don't have to fucking like it.

24

WILLOW

Isthis what flow is like?

I've always heard of this mysterious moment when you get so caught up in what you're doing that you struggle to stop, time loses meaning, and you feel like you could go on forever? Because that's how it is to write today. Just like how it was with the guys yesterday. I won't claim I just want them for the creativity boost, but I'm not going to complain when lightning strikes.

Coffee on drip, phone on silent, just me, the laptop, and some really, really juicy memories that make my fingers fly across the keys like a hacker in a movie. I know I'm going to have to stop when the boys pick me up for the drive they promised, so I'm getting in as much work as I can before that happens. Grace and Colleen will never know what hit them.

It makes me giggle maniacally as my heroes gets in a fist fight, knocking out a bunch of baddies that were out to make trouble for our poor heroine. Am I making them too… biker-ey? I can't imagine how that's happening. I giggle again. My heroine hasn’thad the joy of having three dicks in her yet, but I have a feeling her time is coming.

Just like my deadline. Colleen will kill me if I have to push the delivery date on this manuscript. I glance at the clock on the wall.

“Crap!” They were supposed to be here a half hour ago, and I'm not even ready.

Maybe taking a shower is pointless if I'm hopping on the back of a motorcycle, but I want to smell good for them, and for an author who rolled straight out of bed and into her office chair, rinsing off wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I unlock the front door so if they show up I can yell down for them to come in, then hop into the shower with the bathroom door open. Worst case, they'll come upstairs and our ride gets a little delayed, right? I could live with that, even if I'd need another shower afterwards.

Good thing I did, too, because I'm just stepping out when the doorbell rings. “I'll be right down,” I yell. “Come on in.”

The door clicks and slams while I quickly dry off and jump into a pair of jeans and a low cut pink top. I pull the leather jacket they loaned me off the hook behind my bedroom door, throw it over my shoulder and head for the stairs, ready to wow my men with how biker chick I look.

Except, the person waiting at the foot of the stairs is a man I've never seen before. He's got a couple of my romance cover printouts in his hand, looking over them, but when I let out a scared squeak in surprise, he looks up at me.

He's not wearing a cut but there's something about his stance, his bearing, the tattoos that wrap their way around his arms and poke out of the collar of his T-shirt, that marks him as a biker anyway. He looks about forty-ish, tall, square jaw, thick curly hair that looks like it's cut to be professional but is just a little bit too wild to stay that way.

“Who are you?” I try to keep my voice steady while I evaluate in my head where I might have something I can use to defend myself. No guns in this house, not even a golf club or a baseball bat. Think hard. I'm an author. If there's anything I should be good at, it's coming up with improvised weapons. But right now, I'm just frozen.

He exhales sharply, like my terror is just amusing to him. He drops my book cover mockup back on the table. “Tanner. Luke Tanner. You left a message for me about some old stuff you found.” He shrugs. “You told me to come in.”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I just thought you were someone else.” Okay, so thinking that he at least used to be a biker isn't too far off the mark then. “I didn't expect you to actually come by instead of calling back.”

“I was in the neighborhood anyway, so figured I'd give it a shot.” He searches the room with sharp eyes. “Looks like it did when I left. Your grandmother was a tough lady. And kind. Sorry to hear she passed.”

“Thanks. How did you end up leaving your things here?” Something in the back of my mind is still telling me to keep my distance. Maybe it's just because he's not who I thought. He hasn't done anything actually threatening yet. “I mean, it's none of my business, I guess, but I have to admit I'm a little curious.It's not the kind of stuff you expect to find in your grandma's attic.”

“Nah, it's okay. I was in the Outlaw Sons for a while. I've been out of touch, so no idea what they're like now, but they were nasty back then. Murders, rapes, armed robbery, fuck, there was nothing they wouldn't do for a buck.” He catches himself and grins sheepishly. “Sorry, I've tried to lose the rough tone, but guess the memories are bringing it back.”

I shake my head. “It's fine.”

“Anyway, I had a girlfriend, and she wasn't thrilled about it. She worried that I was going to get hurt, and one day shit went south and I decided she was right. But I knew too much, and I'd seen too much, and they came for me when I tried to call it quits. Scary times, for sure. I barely got out alive. I had a dog, sweetest guy I'd ever known, but he didn't make it. Your grandma helped me bury Brutus in the backyard here under the roses. Shit, still fucking hurts to think about it.” He scratches the back of his head and looks away. “Your Grandma took me in. Let me crash here for a couple of weeks while I figured things out. By the time I left, I didn’t want anything to remind me of that time of my life. Too many bad memories, you know? I left it all here and I guess she packed it up just in case. Honestly, I'd almost forgotten about it, at least until I got your message.”

His story lines up with so much of what I already know, but it feels a little too easy. “Well, give me a moment, and I'll go get the box.”

“Sure, sure. No hurry.” He looks around again. “Man, this place brings back a lot of memories. Mind if I look around a little, just to relive a moment or two?”

Something about him makes me want to say no, but nothing I can put my finger on. As a single woman, alone in my house with a man I don't really know, maybe that's good enough, but he really hasn't done anything to warrant my suspicion. So I nod. “Yeah, sure. Downstairs at least. The upstairs is a mess.” I smile and shrug apologetically.

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