Page 5 of Property of Mako (Kings of Anarchy MC: Louisiana #1)

Oil, Ash, and Ghosts

Lyra

The garage reeked of smoke, steel, and secrets.

I found it two days later. A nondescript brick building tucked behind an old rail yard, with a blacked-out sign that simply read:

“KOA—Authorized Access Only.”

I’d followed the bike when I recognized the leather vest he was wearing. He’d passed me as I sat at a red light on the outskirts of New Orleans. My jaw had literally dropped because I couldn’t believe my luck.

Maybe I hadn’t seen his face clearly that night—not with terror in my eyes and panic in my lungs—but I remembered the ink. I remembered the silver glow in his stare and the way his voice had scraped against something feral inside me.

And I remembered the patch on his back: a skull with a lopsided crown, a bandana obscuring the lower part, and the circled A etched on its forehead.

After a quick search, I’d found the emblem online. There wasn’t much there. Just that it was a motorcycle club and all the things they supposedly did for the community—yeah, right.

Yet the darker side of the internet revealed rumors and speculations—buried deep on message boards that whispered about the Kings of Anarchy. A biker club, sure. But more than that. They had several businesses and a clubhouse, but it was believed to be more than that.

A sanctuary. A fortress. A war camp for the unnatural.

Vampires. Werewolves. Demons.

And apparently, one with a taste for heroics when the moon was right.

Funny enough, when I tried to dig deeper, the info literally disappeared from my screen. It was as if a ghost was over my shoulder, erasing it before my very eyes. Further searches came up blank. No matter what I searched or how deep into the dark web I delved.

He pulled into a gate on the side that slowly rolled shut after he entered.

“Shit,” I muttered. Then I went around the block and stopped across the street. Fingers strumming on the steering wheel, I debated my next move.

The windows were dirty, and paper was taped up over the glass on the inside. “Screw it,” I whispered as I shut off the truck and got out, hitting the button on the door to lock it.

A car passed by, and I waited for it before I jogged across the pavement. The door had cracked and peeling vinyl letters that read something about repairs and customs. It was hard to tell because there were so many letters missing.

Nervously, I glanced around and reached for the metal handle. Imagine my surprise when it easily opened.

The entry had paint cans and supplies stacked up on one side. The old linoleum tiles were in the process of being scraped up, and a pile of broken pieces was in the middle of the room. The long-handled scraper leaned against an old wooden counter.

A side door was open, leading into what was obviously the garage.

The place might’ve looked abandoned from the outside, but inside it was pulsing with life and heat. Gritty rock music thumped low. Tools clattered. Grease-slicked bikers worked on machines that gleamed like chrome monsters under blacklight.

And as I stood in the doorway, they watched me.

A few stared too long—curious, wary, and maybe a little… hungry.

Though my heart hammered, I didn’t blink.

When I scanned the garage, I spotted the inked man at the far end, shirtless under a tattoo gun, silver chains glinting under industrial lights. The tattoo artist was inking something across his ribs—a new mark over old scars.

The thought of getting a tattoo in the back of a dirty, dusty motorcycle garage made my nose curl.

Boldly, I threw back my shoulders and walked straight up to him.

“Nice ink,” I said coolly, ignoring the tingle that teased between my legs at the sight of his finely sculpted torso. Pretending his beauty didn’t affect me in the least, I continued, “Shame it can’t hide the blood on your hands.”

The artist paused and glanced my way. The room stilled.

The man with the silver-gray eyes turned his head slowly, gaze narrowing, and nostrils flaring like a wolf scenting a storm wind.

My heart hammered as my resolve faltered.

“You lost, cowgirl?” he drawled as he swept his eyes over me, pausing at my faded T-shirt, and to my dismay, my nipples pebbled, then on my cowboy boots.

A shiver snuck up my spine as if the path his eyes had taken had been accompanied by the touch of his hands.

The voice was the same—deep, raspy, lethal. But this time, there was recognition behind the ice.

“I need answers,” I boldly demanded. “About what I saw. About what’s taking these girls.”

His smoky eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Not my problem.”

“It became your problem when you saved me,” I returned with a defiant lift of my chin.

After glancing at the tattoo artist who paused, he stood, towering over me, pinpoint blood beading up on his ribs. He leaned slightly closer to me, and my breath caught as my pussy literally throbbed. “I didn’t save you. I killed three threats. You were… unfortunate collateral.”

My teeth ground as I clenched my jaw against the disgust at the way my body responded to his nearness.

That was followed quickly with more than just a bit of fear that shot down my spine, but I didn’t back down.

There was too much at stake, and somehow, I knew this man was a key to finding the answers I so desperately needed.

“My sister’s missing. Lily. Sixteen. Blonde hair, probably wearing a flannel.

You might’ve seen her picture—I have flyers all over the city.

One down on the corner of this street, as a matter of fact.

She looks a hell of a lot like the rest of the girls popping up missing.

Now I think they are being groomed in that vampire freak show. ”

At the mention of “groomed,” his jaw tensed. Something shifted in his eyes. Pain. Memory. Fury.

“Go home, Lyra.”

Surprised, I blinked. “I never told you my name.”

He didn’t reply. Those cold gray irises simply stared into me like he was reading my mind.

My bravery was fading as I forced myself to take a step closer, my shoulders drooping, softer now.

“Please. They took her. Just like they’ve taken God knows how many. And I know I’m not crazy, because I saw what chased me.” I paused, then whispered, “I saw what you are.”

A beat of silence followed. He looked down at his hands—callused, inked, and with the edges of his nails either grease or bloodstained.

“You don’t want this world,” he finally replied as he studied the ground. “It doesn’t give back what it takes. At least not the way it was. It will only break you. I’m sorry about your sister, but go back to your horses and live your life.”

“Not without my sister. Besides, I’ve already been broken,” I whispered, and my voice cracked.

That made him look up.

Something seemed to pass between us then. A flicker. Not trust—not yet—but maybe? Recognition? Like two ghosts realizing they’d died in the same fire. Hope bloomed in my chest.

The music still played loudly in the background, but all other noise had stopped. I waited, praying he would say something. Instead, he looked at the artist. “We’ll finish this later.” He then walked past me, grabbed a towel, and threw it over his shoulder.

“I’ll ask around,” he muttered. “No promises.”

“So you’ll help me?” I asked his powerful, retreating form.

He paused at the doorway, voice barely audible over the music.

“I’m not helping you. I’m hunting something that’s mine. If your sister’s wrapped up in it… then maybe you’ll get lucky. If you want to call it luck.” He slowly turned his head, and his attention locked on me. “But if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut about what I’ve seen.”

He vanished through a steel door, leaving behind only oil, ash, and the scent of rain. I still didn’t get his name. Ugh!

I certainly didn’t trust him. Not yet. Maybe never.

Monsters didn’t save people for fun—and something about the way he said my name told me this wasn’t just about my sister.

He’d also had a sad, almost defeated look in his gray-blue eyes for a split second.

It was almost like it was about someone he couldn’t save before.

As I turned to leave, they all silently watched me until I was gone.

I’d entered the lion’s den and lived to see daylight.

For now, at least.

* * *

After checking on the horses one last time before bed, I dragged my tired ass back to the house. As I set my foot to the top step, I froze. The scent of smoke hit me at the same time as I saw the bright cherry at the end of the cigarette in the deep shadows of the porch.

That’s also when I realized the light I knew I’d left on when I headed out to the barn wasn’t lit.

Adrenaline hit me and I debated if I could make it inside before whoever it was got to me.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” his deep voice carried out of the blackness.

Immediate recognition at that intoxicating sound had me inhaling sharply. His voice was straight sin—sexy and smoky. It was as if it were curated to draw a woman in and wrap her in his spell. Again, my body responded, and I was appalled at myself.

I stepped fully onto the porch and faced his direction.

The creak of the porch swing was followed by the sound of boots hitting the worn wood. As he approached, the light from the yard hit him, and I had to hide my gasp behind my lips. It should be a mortal sin to be as beautiful as he was.

He stopped with his scuffed black combat-style boots nearly toe-to-toe with my dusty cowboy boots.

“Why are you here?” I asked, ashamed of how breathy my voice sounded.

His gray eyes seemed to reflect the faint light that reached up to where we stood before he blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Wha—?” was all I got out before he cupped the back of my head and clutched my hair. A light tug tipped my head back before he dipped down, and his soft lips brushed over mine.

In a tiny sane corner of my mind, sanity and reality screamed that this was craziness. I was letting a man—no, a vampire —that I didn’t know kiss me.

On my porch.

Unfortunately, my traitorous body silenced that voice of reason, and when his tongue swept out and teased the seam of my lips, I opened, and he immediately plundered my eager mouth.

Before I knew it, I was clutching his leather vest in my fists.

He tasted faintly of the cigarette he’d been smoking, but more than that, he tasted like a fine wine.

I returned his kiss as I chased that intoxicating flavor.

He broke free and moved to my jaw, then my ear.

My head fell back at the scrape of his teeth along the sensitive lobe of my ear. A moan escaped me as he palmed my breast, and my back arched.

Before I knew what had happened, I was pressed against the siding, and he gripped my ass. As if it were little to no effort, he lifted me, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist.

I groaned as he twisted his hips, causing his hard cock to rub over my throbbing clit. Matching his rhythm, I ground against him as my fingers tangled in his dark hair. I tugged at the soft locks, pulling him into my throat, where he continued to tease, lick, and nibble.

I couldn’t get him close enough.

Though I had no idea what I was so desperate for, a need unlike anything I’d ever experienced flooded through me.

He moaned, and I winced at the sudden pinch in my neck.

Except it was quickly followed by such a feeling of euphoria that my eyes rolled in my head, and an orgasm hit me with such force that I cried out.

Stars burst in my vision as the pleasure washed through me in a powerful tide.

“Yesssss!” I hissed as wave after wave of ecstasy pulsed through me.

As it slowly receded, I breathed, rapid and shallow, fighting the dizziness that hit me. Something warm trickled down to my shoulder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I heard him mutter before his tongue glided over my skin. He buried his face in my hair, where he breathed deeply. He gently set me to my feet. When I wavered, he steadied me.

Dazed, all I could do was blink at him. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Then I lifted my gaze to his eyes of molten silver.

“Get inside, Lyra,” he ground out in a voice that was coarse and seemed strained. “Close your door and don’t invite me in. Do you understand?”

Slowly, I nodded.

He reached off to the side and opened the screen door.

“Now, Lyra,” he gruffly insisted with a gentle push on my back.

“Okay,” I practically panted as I blindly shuffled to the side and stepped over the threshold. Once inside, I turned back to ask him to come in despite what he’d said.

Except he was gone.

And I still didn’t know his name.