Page 1 of Consequences

Chapter One

Griffin’s Beach

Beckett

Since Lane Dalton’s funeral, Beckett Cohen hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the woman who got away. Shannon Walters. His beautiful redhead who was always off-limits when they were younger. She was just a few years too young, and he went off to join the military before she turned eighteen. The stars never quite aligned.

He hadn’t seen her in more years than he cares to remember, but she surprised him by sitting in the clubhouse eating a burger one night over a year ago. He thought he’d finally gotten his chance.

Shannon is everything he’s ever wanted. An annoying preteen when he was freshly fourteen and too cool for her grew intoa beautiful woman who slipped through his fingers when he finally got his chance. They’d been so close, but her way of surviving proved an obstacle that pushed her away from him.

Not even twenty, Shannon was on the streets, doing whatever it took to put food in her belly and a roof over her head. Something Beckett didn’t know until she’d nearly died and was brought back to his clubhouse for safety. If he’d known, he would have done everything to help her.

“That was weird,” Felicity Short says as she walks into the clubhouse, her face scrunched as her recently fucked, dark hair falls out of the mess on the top of her head.

When Ky’s wife walked outside fifteen minutes before, he assumed she left. Things between her and the club have been rocky, to say the least, since she went psycho bitch after learning Ky slept with her now-dead sister and lied about it. Not that Beckett can really blame her for being upset. He’ll never say that to Ky, though.

“What happened?” Ky asks. “Is Gracie okay?”

The man stands at least five inches taller than Beckett, and he’s one of the tallest in the club. He has an intimidation factor Beckett never will, but it means nothing when it comes down to brass tax. With the special ops training Beckett’s had, he knows he could drop Ky like he was nothing more than a gawky preteen. Something only a few in the club know he has the ability to do.

“No, Gracie’s fine,” Felicity says, reminding Beckett that their sixteen-year-old daughter is pregnant. “There was this woman outside. I thought she was dirty, but when I got closer, she’d been beaten. Her face looked pretty swollen, and what I thought had been dirt was dried blood. And she asked for Psycho.”

“What did she look like?” Colt Nichols asks as he walks over to join the small group.

Beckett has to give Colt props. His cordial regard toward the woman who not only attacked his wife but nearly waged a full-out war against her says a lot about his character. Even though the two women have made up, the tension and resentment in the club are still high.

“Um, red hair in a bun that looked like it’d been yanked on in a fight. Probably to help beat up her face. Really skinny, and she was devastated when I said Psycho was in Black Valley. I know he likes redheads, so I was a little apprehensive at first.”

“Did you offer to help her?” Jennings Molloy asks. The man who still looks strange wearing a kutte without the President patch.

Giving him an annoyed glare, she shakes her head. “No, I just sent her on her way. Of course! I threw out a few names, and then she panicked. Told me to forget she was here and disappeared before I could stop her.”

“Did she give you a name?”

“Shannon?”

Beckett jumps up, his eyes wide. “She just left?”

“A bit ago. My daughter called, and I had to talk her down from the latest pregnancy side effect she was panicking about. The poor girl has just about everything there is to have, including near-permanent morning sickness.”

“How long ago?” His hands itch to grip his motorcycle handles and race after her.

“I don’t know… Ten minutes, maybe?”

Turning to Brock Bradshaw, the club’s tech guy, Beckett feels his heart rate skyrocket. The shaved-head man nods and says, “On it,” before hurrying to his apartment.

“Do you know Shannon?” Felicity asks.

He just nods, not trusting his voice. The woman he’s been looking for over the past year was right here under his nose, and he missed her. How could he miss her?

“Okay, it looks like our girl,” Brock says and walks out with his laptop.

Setting it on the bar top, he doesn’t mind the way Beckett hovers and looks over his shoulder. Not that he says, anyway. The woman he’s been chasing stands right outside, and her face is most definitely swollen. She took one hell of a beating.

“My God,” he mutters.

“She kind of freaked out when I mentioned your name, Beckett,” Felicity says. “It started with the bikes. I just said the names of the owners I saw right off the bat. Why was she looking for Psycho if you know her?”

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