“Trust me. He is. I’ve ridden with him.”
She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”
“I think I know who I’ve ridden beside.”
“Apparently not.”
Scott frowned. “What are you saying?”
“He can’t be a patch-holder because Logan Marcs is a cop, Scott.”
He shook his head. “Then he must be a damn good one.”
Chapter One
Logan strolled into the clubhouse, tossing his Heroes and Rogues members’ jacket over his right shoulder. He marched by the pool table where two broads struck their independent poses.
“Can I do anything for you, Logan?” one of them asked, moistening her bright pink pudgy lips.
Logan could only imagine what her mouth had encountered. A new club broad, she’d already been passed around several times.
“Can’t think of anything.” He never changed his pace, never broke his stride. Damn if he didn’t tire of the same old propositions. Even Cara, the club’s sheep—a nickname for a woman shared by the entire club—knew better.
Known for covering the club and allowing every member a piece of the pie, Cara had stopped harassing him for sex soon after his arrival there. In fact, some of the club members used to tease him. If Cara hadn’t been there to serve and please all Heroes and Rogues affiliates, he and Cara might have hooked up. By outer appearances, Logan and Cara were the best of friends, but his motives were loaded.
He used Cara as a great source of information.
If the guys knew the truth, he’d become an instant floater, another unidentified body washing down the Holston River. At some point, probably sooner than later— given the fact he’d been with the Heroes and Rogues for several years— Logan would need to find a woman. Still, he wasn’t one to take a dip in a public swimming hole.
Plus, he had a job to do. Women complicated matters. Hell, every undercover agent who’d gone before him had been made. Some deals soured because the agent had gone rogue when his old lady led him astray. A couple of guys were discovered because the poor bastards were identified as snitches after their old ladies pointed accusing fingers in their direction.
Logan couldn’t trust the MC’s women. In his position, he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.
“What’s up man?” Tigger Bales shook Logan’s hand and drew him in for a quick half-hug and slap on the back. “Where ya been?”
Tigger was the club’s VP. He spent a lot of time with Mama, the name Cara preferred since she liked to make sure her boys were taken care of in the most intimate of settings.
Logan snickered at the thought. Intimate? Hell, Cara would bend over the bar and fuck in front of an audience. Why not put on a show? All the fellows had seen the goods anyhow.
“Just got back from a meeting.”
Tigger arched a brow. “Devil’s Angels?”
“Yep,” Logan replied, slinging leather across the bar.
“Get us two longnecks, Mama,” Tigger called out, barely acknowledging Cara as she sashayed in front of him. She reached in the cooler and withdrew two beers. Popping off the bottle tops with a small plastic opener she retrieved from her shorts pocket, she set the beverages in front of them.
Logan didn’t say thank you. He damn sure didn’t flirt. That was one of the reasons the club kept Cara around. She was easygoing. She didn’t ask for anything once she realized there wasn’t any room for negotiations. Good thing, too. She would’ve been gravely disappointed.
“So how’d it go?” Tigger asked, swirling around on his barstool.
Logan noticed the tense expression scribbled across Tigger’s face. His wrinkled brows practically touched as he frowned, awaiting bad news, no doubt.
“You didn’t talk to Devon?”
“Fuck no,” Tigger grumbled, reaching for his beer. After he took a swig, he popped his lips and quickly added, “Since Devon grabbed the gavel and took his position presiding over the club, he hasn’t been around much. Haven’t you noticed?”
“I haven’t… Guess my mind is pinned on this animosity brewing between us and the Angels.” Shucks, even the club mutt had noticed the division between men, siding with Tigger and the others who were practically ready to strip Devon of his colors. Thinking of Old Red, Logan turned toward the door and noticed the Bluetick Coonhound sniffing around the pool-playing broads.
Tigger arched a brow like he wasn’t buying the fact Logan didn’t have an opinion on the current club situation. The MC had been split since Devon’s father died and Devon had immediately slid in his chair. Devon pretty much assumed the leadership was his to have. He was the VP at the time of his father’s death so the position was rightfully his, but with the club troubles, members feared his father’s shoes were too big to fill. A new vote would soon take place and ensure another appointment.
In Logan’s opinion, Devon knew what awaited him. Being asked to step down as the MC’s president was one of the many reasons he stayed out of sight. The other explanation owned a pair of legs and boobs.
Devon was sleeping with the Devil’s Angel’s sheep, an offense that could cause an outright war between the two clubs. Logan’s objective was to bring down Damsel Road, a rival club’s president. After five years on the inside, he wasn’t about to involve himself with club politics. He didn’t care where Devon played, just as long as his exploits didn’t cost him the most important drug bust of his career.
About the time Logan started to elaborate on what happened at the Devil’s Angels’ meeting, a loud buzz resounded. Heads turned toward the front door, and in walked the kind of trouble Logan never saw coming.
“Are you lost?” A pool stick fell to the concrete floor as a blonde gal approached.
“Not exactly,” Sassy replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked past the young woman and noticed a few men seated at the bar. They turned their backs to Sassy the second she walked in, and another gal shot across the room, apparently in a hurry to see what Sassy needed.
“What’d you want?” the first woman asked, perhaps gearing up to give Sassy the third degree.
“My car broke down a few miles down the road.”
“And you just happened to find your way here?” The second female acted as if she were fully prepared to grill any newcomer.
The woman was intimidating, or at least she put forth a documented effort. She hit Sassy with a terrorizing stare. Her leathery skin wrinkled around her narrowed eyes. She stared at the low dip of Sassy’s shirt and then allowed her gaze to wander up and down.
Wearing a red and white checkered halter-style top and short-shorts, the curvy broad waved her hand toward the first woman Sassy encountered. “I’ll handle this, Britt.”
“You sure, Cara?” the young woman asked, chomping on her chewing gum.
Cara gave her a firm glare. The younger gal disappeared, careful to bend down and pick up the stick she’d clumsily thrown to the ground when Sassy had entered the building.
Obviously the women around there felt compelled to protect their territorial claims. Outstanding as those claims were.
“Where’s your car?” Cara asked, crossing her arms over her chest as if she didn’t believe Sassy’s story.
“Straight down Beech Creek Road.”
“How far?”
“A few miles.”
“What happened? Did you walk down the street with blinders on and miss the houses you passed along the way? Depending on which way you were traveling, you might have strolled right by another MC clubhouse.” She arched a brow, changed her pose, and snapped, “What other business do you have here?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” a man called out in the distance, leaving the bar. “Give the girl a break, Cara.”
“She ain’t no girl, Tigger.” Cara’s eyes became as cold as ice when the biker joined them at the door.
“You got that right,” he said, a little too much play in his voice. “Say you’ve got trouble, sweet thing?”
Cara stomped off, and Sassy noticed she went directly to the bar where she immediately began whispering to the man seated there. The lighting was dim but Sassy was pretty sure she was gaping at Logan Marcs’s profile.
Sassy released a weighted sigh. “I’m driving a loaner. A friend of mine, Scott Matthews, let me borrow his car for a road trip.”
“You throwing out a name for a reason?” Tigger asked.
The biker seated at the bar stood. As he stalked them, Sassy felt a sudden chill down her spine, generally the only warning she received before a facial spasm occurred. Only this was different. She was in awe.
Logan Marcs. In the flesh.
Too much time had elapsed since their last meeting.
Logan took long strides, calculated steps. “Scott Matthews?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“You know him?” Tigger asked.
Logan’s lips spread in a wide smile. “Damn right I do. He used to ride with me and a few buddies when we went to Pigeon Forge’s Rumble in the Mountains. Back then, Scott was with the Angels. He was once credited for keeping the peace.”
Tigger frowned. “Must’ve been before Damsel took the gavel.”
“That’s right,” Logan said. He stopped short of further reminiscing by tilting his chin and nodding toward her. “Who are you?”
“Scott was my old man,” she quickly informed him. “He and I split when his ex begged him to kiss and make up.”
Logan rubbed the stubble on his chin and quickly fired back with, “He split with Vicky?”
“Sharon,” she corrected him, realizing his purposeful slip was a probable test.
Logan studied her intently before addressing the other fellow. “Tigger, Cara is falling to pieces. I’ll handle this.”
“I bet you will,” Tigger said, swatting Logan between the shoulder blades as he headed back to make amends with the woman who was apparently the club member’s old lady. If she wasn’t, she should’ve been considering her actions. Even from across the dark room, Sassy could practically see the steam swirling from Cara’s ears.
Thumbing the air behind him, Logan said, “Let me grab my jacket. My bike is out back. We’ll take a ride and see if we can’t figure out what’s wrong with your car.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Logan frowned, indicating he wasn’t exactly happy to oblige a damsel in distress. “Follow me.”
Sassy stepped right in behind him as he led the way. Crossing the room, he snatched his customary biker jacket adorned with patches and club colors, threw it over his shoulder and said, “This way.”
“You two kids have fun,” Tigger teased, turning up his bottle. Before they made their way outside, Tigger added, “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Sassy,” she fired back, realizing she hadn’t thought about her alias until it was too late to provide one.
Logan stopped in front of her. “Sassy what?”
Wondering if Logan recalled the mousy young girl he’d known in high school, the classmate who was too afraid of her shadow to emerge from the back of the room and talk with fellow students, she strutted by him, gave the door a push and exited the building. “My mother always told me not to give a man too much information on the first date.”
She didn’t stop or turn around. Logan took the bait. He stayed right behind her, practically on her heels. “I thought you needed a lift and wanted someone to take a look at that car of yours.”
“I do,” she assured him, taking the helmet he handed her when they approached what was apparently his bike, a beautiful black and silver Harley.
Logan smirked. “If that’s your kind of date, lady, then I’m game for anything.”
Affixing the helmet on her head, she positioned the strap under her chin. “Good, because I have a feeling you’ll enjoy my company enough that afterwards, you’ll insist on buying me a drink.”
Chapter Two
Hours later, Sassy pulled up a chair at a club known to the locals as The Big Orange, a watering hole in the middle of the country on Tucker Hollow Road. Recognizing the barmaid, Sassy avoided making friendly conversation on the slim chance she might remember her.
After Lois placed two beers in front of them, she disappeared in the kitchen. It was almost seven o’clock on a Monday night, and the place was empty except for two lovebirds sitting in a corner booth groping one another.
Sassy took a sip from the bottle and eyed the couple behind Logan. Moistening her lips, she wondered what it would be like to have that kind of man, a handsome fellow in leather, pawing all over her in a public establishment.
Her nipples spiked, and she felt her skin heat. Chill bumps scattered across her nape as she quickly averted her focus away from the strangers.
“Want me to tell ‘em to get a room?”
“Huh?” she asked, coming out of her stupor.
“The two behind us,” Logan remarked casually. A sarcastic grin tilted his lips. “If they make you uncomfortable, I’ll give them directions to the local motel.”