Page 21

The Outlaws’ Haven is pumping tonight. It’s usually filled with my MC brothers, but it’s St. Patrick’s Day, and we’ve opened her up to the public. My VP, Twitch, is spinning a college girl around the dance floor as the music throbs through everything.

“Yo, Prez! Can I get a refill?” It’s my road captain, Tracker.

Cocking my head to the side, I pick up the bottle of vodka I know he’s partial to and walk toward him. “How many have you had?”

“I ain’t riding.”

Nodding, I reply, “You’re right, you’re not.” I top off his glass and move away from him.

Then I hear it—a shout from across the room. A wide-eyed college girl is pressed up against the wall, while Twitch is going head-to-head with some preppy-looking kid. I can’t hear the words, but their stances say it all. I move out from behind the bar and take a couple of steps toward them just as the kid snarls, pulls back his fist, and clocks Twitch in the jaw.

Twitch doesn’t even flinch. He simply laughs and says, “My turn.”

“No!” I yell, but it’s too late.

Twitch’s fist connects with the kid, and all hell breaks loose. The girl screams as both men crash into her. The music from the jukebox skips a few times before it settles on “Highway to Hell,” like the damn thing knows what’s coming. Now, it’s the Outlaws of Vengeance against every normal in the bar.

A fist strikes my face. I Iook at the man who threw the punch, if you can call him that, with his mint green shirt and glittery top hat.

“I’m going to make you bleed for that.”

His mouth falls open, and he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I was just fucking around.”

Wiping the blood from my lip, I shake my head. “The Outlaws don’t fuck around.”

He moves to run, but I catch him by the front of his shirt and punch him several times before letting him fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Turning, I see Twitch and the college kid trading blows.

“Enough!” I yell, but with too much alcohol under their belts, it’s impossible to get them to stop. My gaze lands on Tracker, who’s laughing at the surrounding chaos. “Pull the cord to the jukebox!”

He nods and bends—the music stops, but the fighting doesn’t. The last thing I need is a bar torn up by a group of drunk college kids. With a yell, I separate one of my brothers from killing a college kid and then another and another, but with too much alcohol comes an enhanced sense of bravado.

A loud whistle sounds through the bar, and for a moment, everyone stops as all eyes land on her. She’s wearing a tight red tank top, a black leather jacket, and jeans that look like they’ve been painted on. She searches the bar, looking for something or someone, and when she sees the bloody college kid who’s been fighting Twitch, she shakes her head.

“Come here. Now.”

Twitch laughs, spins the kid, and clocks him between the eyes. The rest of the bar erupts into chaos again, but I can’t take my eyes off the woman. Her lip curls into a snarl as she marches toward them, all fire and fury. She twists her long, dark hair into a ponytail, slipping a rubber band over her wrist and tying it off like she’s gearing up for battle.

This isn’t her first rodeo. She’s built for violence, and the way she moves through the crowd pushing, punching, swearing at anyone in her way—it’s something else.

Damn, I’m mesmerized.

Well, I am right until a chair cracks across my back.

My focus shifts fast from the woman to the asshole who thought he could get the drop on me. Blood and alcohol cover the bar’s floor as the fight rages on. At some point, the warrior and I end up back to back, her going toe-to-toe with one of the club whores, while I’m trading blows with some random guy who wandered in and started swinging.

I knock the guy out cold and turn to look at her. “What’s your name, wild thing?”

Her chest is heaving from the fight, blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. She smiles, showing blood-stained teeth, but her green eyes look alive. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Cops!” someone yells over the commotion.

The word sends a jolt through the room, cutting through the adrenaline-fueled frenzy. Faces turn, and the crowd begins to scatter, but I’m still locked in place, my gaze on the wild woman beside me. We’ve been thrown into this madness together, and there’s no way I’m leaving her behind.

“Time to move!” I shout, grabbing her arm, ready to make our escape.

But she shakes me off, gives me a two-fingered wave, and tucks the college kid who started this whole damn thing under her arm before making off into the night.

“Time to go, Prez,” says Tracker as he shoves me through a door. “Keep going, Whiskey. I’ll keep them busy while you make your escape.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he slams the door shut, cutting off any argument I could throw his way. The sounds of chaos fade as I find myself in a narrow hallway, dimly lit and filled with the scent of spilled beer and smoke. It’s our escape hatch for emergencies, but we haven’t used it in years.

Leaving my men behind isn’t something I’d usually do, but it’s St. Patrick’s Day. I know they’ll be fine as long as no one gets killed in this brawl. They’ll spend the night in the drunk tank and be out by morning.

I stride down the hallway, my heart racing, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. The image of that woman and how she fought with a wild intensity that captivated and unnerved me swirls around in my brain as though it’s on a loop. I make my way toward the back exit, where the sounds of the bar blend into the distant sirens of approaching cops.

Just as I step outside, the cool night air hits me like a slap in the face. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. That’s when I hear a voice behind me.

“Whiskey Mick, huh?” Her voice is low and teasing. She’s leaning against the wall, the college kid slumped beside her, looking dazed but intact. “You really left your boys hanging for me?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem too eager to leave me to the wolves back there,” she replies, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“Not a chance. Besides, I don’t leave my brothers behind, but they can handle themselves for a night.” I take a step closer, feeling the heat radiating between us. “What now?”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “You look out for your men, huh?”

“I do.”

“I’m the same with my brother.”

“The same how?”

She shrugs, her green eyes bright with humor. “I keep him out of trouble when I can, but if he’s determined to dive headfirst into chaos, who am I to stop him?”

“S-sis?” The kid stirs, his voice groggy as he clings to her for balance.

Her gaze flicks to him before settling back on me. “Come on, Simon, let’s get you home.” She guides him away, then glances over her shoulder, her smirk growing wicked. “Until next time, Whiskey Mick.”

“Wait! I don’t know your name.”

With a wink, she props up her brother again and turns away. “You will… one day.”