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CHAPTER 1

SAPPHIRE

Crunch! I throw the punch as hard as I can. The chick’s nose breaks with a loud pop, blood spurting everywhere. She immediately drops her guard, hands flying up, and she screams. My grin widens. “What did you think? I was just gonna high-tail it and run?” I mock.

“You’re gonna pay for that!” she screeches.

Her old man comes in behind her, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. Okay, that’s a complication. I’m not stupid enough to think I can take him because he’s one hefty motherfucker, but I do know where a dude’s weak spots are. As he charges for me, I lift my knee and swing it into his balls. He drops like a sack of spuds.

“Holy fucking shit!” he yells, grabbing his junk as the people around us in the bar cheer.

I don’t even have time to celebrate my win when I hear a deep voice behind me. “Sapphire?”

I turn and stare into the chest of fucking Sin.

Sin is the Sergeant at Arms for the Backroad Bandits, and my brother Reaper’s best friend.

I know it’s him because a: I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and b: I’m at eye-level with his patch.

I’m visiting Reaper but because I refuse to stay at their clubhouse, I rented a room in the pub above. But I can’t say the standards here are much better.

Sin stands at six-five, a mountain of a man; his huge chest defies logic, along with biceps that shouldn’t be legal. He has dark hair and a beard, but he keeps it trimmed. Sin also has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Pretty. Too pretty for a biker.

“Sin.” I roll my eyes purposefully. “No doubt I’d find you in this cozy little bar. I hear the whores are real cheap here, which is certainly up your alley, right?”

We have a love-hate thing going on and have for years. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I can’t say our bickering has gotten any better with age.

He gives me an aggrieved look, his patience clearly wearing thin. “We need to get outta here. Now.”

“Why?” I thumb behind me by way of explanation. “I think those two are gonna be going to the emergency room. Take it from me; that was a pretty hard knee to the nads, and her nose may need reconstruction. By the looks of it, I did her a favor.” I glance over my shoulder, then holler behind me to the man moaning in pain. “Hope you didn’t wanna have kids, bud!”

Sin grabs my arm—something I don’t appreciate—and yanks me toward him. Dragging me through the crowd, he doesn’t stop till we get to the double doors.

“What the fuck?” he demands when we’re outside, heading around the corner where his motorcycle is parked.

I shove him off me. “Long time no see, sweetie.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Reap know you’re here?”

“Of course, I left my motorcycle in the lot at the clubhouse because he’s fixing the pipes.”

He folds his arms over his massive chest. “So, why are you here in this sleazy bar?”

“I’m staying here, if you must know. What? Is a woman not allowed to drink by herself without the Spanish Inquisition?” I huff.

I don’t miss the way his gaze skates down my body, or the way I get a cheap thrill when he does it. I may dislike him a lot, but that doesn’t mean I’m immune to him.

“My eyes are up here,” I remind him when his assessment falls to my breasts, and he doesn’t answer me.

They deliberately linger, then his gaze slowly lifts. “You wear that tank top and you think nobody will notice your tits, honey?”

“No. I like people looking, just not you.”

“Clearly, you don’t know who they were,” he mutters, leaning back on his motorcycle, his palms pressed against the leather seat.

“Shock me.”

“Scumbags who know other scumbags—we’d better not linger. There will be more of them lurking.”