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“It can’t be real with her. She doesn’t even know who you really are. And you can’t tell her.”

He leaned back against the massage table. “I know that. I didn’t callher. She calledme.” And it meant a lot that she’d felt safe enough to open up with him.

“Because you intervened. For a good reason,” Nick tacked on. “Can you finish this, or do you want out?”

Out wasn’t an option. Not anymore. “I’m in it until it’s done. We’re close. I can feel it.”

“Then, enjoy your dinner tonight. Tomorrow things go back to the way they need to be. For now.” Nick held his gaze, making sure Viper understood and complied with the order. Nick was his boss. But the brother side of him toned down the look enough to convey that Viper could go after what he really wanted once he finished the job.

But that also meant reevaluating his future.

And where Lyric fit into it.

If she even did.

Nick pulled him back on track. “You need to focus on the motorcycle club, its members, and who’s really in charge there. People’s lives are at stake.”

He knew that all too well, because his life was also on the line. One wrong word, one wrong move, and he could be killed. “I’m ready for whatever happens.”

“I hope so.” Nick stood and faced him again. “When this is done, we’ll talk about what comes next.” Nick held his gaze.

It took Viper a long moment before he asked what had been on his mind for months now. “What if nothing comes next?”

Nick gripped Viper’s shoulder. “As always, I have your back the way you always have mine.” Nick smacked him on the back, then left before him, so no one would see them together.

Not that anyone was watching him here. He’d made sure of that before he arrived. But he’d been trained and learned on the job to never be too careful.

Which made him hope and pray that Lyric took whatever was happening seriously and remained cautious.

He had a bad feeling about a guy who’d hop on a plane and show up unannounced without so much as an invitation.

He thought about how she actually talked to him today, like she wanted to get to know him.

Rick probably saw what Viper saw in her: a woman with an open heart too sweet to turn him away. So he’d taken a chance. One Viper had to stop himself from taking every time he saw her, every time he thoughtabout her—which was becoming all too often—and distracted him from his job.

And there, he needed to stay focused and on alert.

Time to get back to it. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could do what he wanted for a change.

Chapter Three

Lyric couldn’t believe she’d called Viper and dumped her problem on him. Granted, he hadn’t brushed her off. Not that she thought he would. And once she started talking to him, she couldn’t seem to shut up. She’d finally hung up because if she didn’t, she’d give in to the urge to simply keep him talking about anything and everything just so she could hear that deep, sexy voice.

They’d spoken more words to each other this morning than they had the whole time she’d known him. Everyone around her told her to keep her distance. But... he seemed nice. Interested.

She wanted to know more about him, not what people thought about him. Because, like her, they didn’t really know him at all.

And people shouldn’t judge others until they really knew their story.

An hour ago, Hunt had given her the good news that Rick Rowe wasn’t a wanted serial killer and had no prior convictions or speeding tickets. But for all that, he wasn’t squeaky-clean. There was one report of trespassing on private property and a separate charge of breaking and entering that was dismissed by thedistrict attorney due to lack of evidence. She found it interesting that items had been stolen from the woman’s home but weren’t found in Rick’s possession, nor was there evidence he took them. But the woman had been adamant he did.

Hunt said plainly he saw this as a red flag. One she should heed until Rick proved to be a good guy, despite what he’d been accused of in the past.

She couldn’t get the woman’s claim out of her head.

Why steal things like a plant, a sweater, and a pair of socks? The list of items seemed so random, from those things to a pen and a tube of toothpaste. Also, a half-eaten jar of salsa. So weird.

She checked the time on her phone: 9:01 p.m. No messages. And it was time to close the kitchen. Tuesday nights weren’t very busy. The Dark Horse Dive Bar was much more than just a bar. It served the community as a place where all could gather to eat, hang out, dance, meet friends and make new ones—even in a small town, where you knew practically everyone—if you were twenty-one and up.