She’d let him wipe away her fears after meeting Barbosa at the club. Barbosa hadn’t frightened her, and her response scared the living hell out of her. It had felt like coming home.
She couldn’t return to the Life, and definitely not the Raiders. They spilled blood as if it was a hobby, and some of those drops had been her mother’s.
For the time being, she’d enjoy the safety Jamison provided. Tomorrow she’d come up with a reason for faking her death the Raiders would believe. By then Jamison would find out the Palen name was also a dead end.
One more night with him. She tightened her hold on his waist.
As they zoomed out of town and hit the interstate, she relaxed. They talked about places they’d been and places they wanted to visit. He told her their prez was on his way home from Pensacola.
They skirted talk of both of their families, touching on general locations for each. She admitted to having family in Alabama. Though they were distant, it was the purest version of the truth she could share.
Jamison had a sister who didn’t approve of the Life in Baton Rouge, and he hadn’t seen her in a decade. They passed a burger joint, and he promised to take her there for a “black and blue burger” that had crumbles of blue cheese on it. After that, her stomach began to rumble.
The fourth time, he laughed and stopped at a twenty-four-hour bakery.
He pulled her off the bike and waited for her to remove her helmet. Then he anchored her to his side and led her into the shop.
The scents of yeast and sweet goodness set her stomach on a constant growl. They each got cinnamon rolls and a big cup of coffee. She chose a booth, and Jamison sat across from her, grinning like a kid on Christmas.
This had to end. She couldn’t let him believe she was going to stick around and be his old lady. In fact, this was her last night of indulgences. No more midnight rides, cinnamon rolls, or gorgeous biker men who made her feel too special.
She had to complete her mission to find out what happened to her mother, and then she’d slip away again under another alias.
Jamison’s cell buzzed, and he palmed it out of his cut. He stared at the screen for a long time, his face a mask.
The bite of cinnamon roll she’d taken suddenly tasted bad in her mouth. She chewed slowly, waiting for him to erupt. He had that look.
He texted a lengthy reply and then replaced his phone. Without a word, he polished off his treat and licked his big fingers clean.
She suppressed a shiver of want and tried to concentrate on her food.
When she put a bite in her mouth, he said, “Ever Palen doesn’t have much of a history.”
“Well,” she swallowed hard, forcing down the dough, “I haven’t done much yet.”
He glared at her, leaning across the table, his forearms taking up so much space and his tattoos standing out in the harsh lighting. “I took you to our backroom, showed you what was there.”
“Yes.” A quiver started in her belly.
“You could use that information against us at any moment. Yet I knew you wouldn’t. I don’t have a fucking clue why, but I trust you.” His eyes were hard—all those sweet gold flecks vanished.
“Thank you for that.”
He shoved the tray out of the way, his face mottling red. “I don’t want your goddamn thanks, Ever. I want some answers!”
“You don’t need to know more than you do. I’m not planning to stick around.”
“Like hell!” He covered her shaking hands with one large one. A muscle in the corner of his jaw fluttered. “Do you know why I need to know your story, Ever? Our prez is demanding it. In our club, it’s total disclosure. So if you want to be in my bed, you’d better goddamn tell me. Everything.”
He thudded a fist off the cheap laminate table, and several people jumped nearby. A woman sent her a sidelong look that suggested Ever was someone to be pitied.
Fuck that.
She drew up straight and pulled her hands from Jamison’s grasp. “Take me back. I’ll
She couldn’t return to the Life, and definitely not the Raiders. They spilled blood as if it was a hobby, and some of those drops had been her mother’s.
For the time being, she’d enjoy the safety Jamison provided. Tomorrow she’d come up with a reason for faking her death the Raiders would believe. By then Jamison would find out the Palen name was also a dead end.
One more night with him. She tightened her hold on his waist.
As they zoomed out of town and hit the interstate, she relaxed. They talked about places they’d been and places they wanted to visit. He told her their prez was on his way home from Pensacola.
They skirted talk of both of their families, touching on general locations for each. She admitted to having family in Alabama. Though they were distant, it was the purest version of the truth she could share.
Jamison had a sister who didn’t approve of the Life in Baton Rouge, and he hadn’t seen her in a decade. They passed a burger joint, and he promised to take her there for a “black and blue burger” that had crumbles of blue cheese on it. After that, her stomach began to rumble.
The fourth time, he laughed and stopped at a twenty-four-hour bakery.
He pulled her off the bike and waited for her to remove her helmet. Then he anchored her to his side and led her into the shop.
The scents of yeast and sweet goodness set her stomach on a constant growl. They each got cinnamon rolls and a big cup of coffee. She chose a booth, and Jamison sat across from her, grinning like a kid on Christmas.
This had to end. She couldn’t let him believe she was going to stick around and be his old lady. In fact, this was her last night of indulgences. No more midnight rides, cinnamon rolls, or gorgeous biker men who made her feel too special.
She had to complete her mission to find out what happened to her mother, and then she’d slip away again under another alias.
Jamison’s cell buzzed, and he palmed it out of his cut. He stared at the screen for a long time, his face a mask.
The bite of cinnamon roll she’d taken suddenly tasted bad in her mouth. She chewed slowly, waiting for him to erupt. He had that look.
He texted a lengthy reply and then replaced his phone. Without a word, he polished off his treat and licked his big fingers clean.
She suppressed a shiver of want and tried to concentrate on her food.
When she put a bite in her mouth, he said, “Ever Palen doesn’t have much of a history.”
“Well,” she swallowed hard, forcing down the dough, “I haven’t done much yet.”
He glared at her, leaning across the table, his forearms taking up so much space and his tattoos standing out in the harsh lighting. “I took you to our backroom, showed you what was there.”
“Yes.” A quiver started in her belly.
“You could use that information against us at any moment. Yet I knew you wouldn’t. I don’t have a fucking clue why, but I trust you.” His eyes were hard—all those sweet gold flecks vanished.
“Thank you for that.”
He shoved the tray out of the way, his face mottling red. “I don’t want your goddamn thanks, Ever. I want some answers!”
“You don’t need to know more than you do. I’m not planning to stick around.”
“Like hell!” He covered her shaking hands with one large one. A muscle in the corner of his jaw fluttered. “Do you know why I need to know your story, Ever? Our prez is demanding it. In our club, it’s total disclosure. So if you want to be in my bed, you’d better goddamn tell me. Everything.”
He thudded a fist off the cheap laminate table, and several people jumped nearby. A woman sent her a sidelong look that suggested Ever was someone to be pitied.
Fuck that.
She drew up straight and pulled her hands from Jamison’s grasp. “Take me back. I’ll
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