I wanted a little taste of danger, but three sexy bikers are a whole mouthwatering feast.

One massive party. Hundreds of bikers. One broken rule: No bloodshed.

The night started off with leather, tattoos, motor oil and muscles, but a little shameless fun with three tough, sexy men from the Screaming Eagles MC ended with one person dead, another in critical condition, and me running for my life. Now I’m locked inside the walls of their compound with the murder weapon in my purse, surrounded by dangerous bikers eager for revenge.

The only thing I know for sure is that someone set me up, and if it gets out that my father’s an enforcer in the Devil’s Brigade MC, it could spark a war. I don’t think he did it, but maybe I’m just naive. I didn’t even know about his second life until Mom died last year.

Now I understand why she kept me away. Every day brings new temptations that make it hard to remember why trusting men like them is a bad idea, and resisting is even harder.

Mad Dog fights hard and plays harder, but a little spice makes the pleasure all the sweeter.

Rebel’s cool and calculating, unless he’s on top of me and control is the last thing on his mind.

Riptide lives up to his name. His passion is deep and dangerous, threatening to pull me under and leave me utterly drenched.

I’m a waitress, not a badass biker, and I can’t get out of this on my own. Luckily, with Rebel, Mad Dog and Riptide at my side, I won’t have to.

The Screaming Eagles are out for the blood of whoever shot one of their brothers, and I won’t be safe until we figure out who wants the blame pointed my way. At first this was all about their vengeance, but working together, it’ll be sweet revenge.

Chapter 1 – Melody

“So where’s my father, anyway?” I ask. “Was he going to meet me somewhere?”

It’s been an hour since we got to the rally, and I haven’t seen Dad anywhere. I’m sure he has better stuff to do than hang out with me, but it seems strange to finally be invited to a motorcycle event and he doesn’t even bother saying hi. Maybe it wouldn’t suck so much if I wasn’t stuck with the human version of a wet blanket.

Red shrugs. He’s staring down at his phone.

Ooookay. “You must have a better plan than me. I haven’t had a signal in ages.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Should we get a couple of beers, or…?”

“Real fucking chatty, aren’t you?” he snaps. “Stay here, I need to go check on something and I don’t want to have to chase you down.”

 “Cross my heart, hope to die.” If my fingers are crossed behind my back, that’s my business.

I wait all of thirty seconds after he’s out of sight before ducking between a tent selling handmade leather gear and another where the buzz of a tattoo gun competes with the distant rumble of motorcycles racing down the old landing strip. Freedom, finally! Time to explore.

The sound of the engines has always been nostalgic for me. It reminds me of hot summer nights with my window open, hearing Dad’s bike come down our street and knowing there’d be pancakes in the morning.

He was never the kind of father who showed up to soccer games or helped me with my homework, but he laughed a lot and Mom was happier when he was around. It took a while for me to understand that not everyone had a Dad who missed stuff because he was in jail sometimes, or uncles with names like Clutch.

It sounds bad, but until Mom died last year I thought he was just a good natured deadbeat. It wasn’t until we talked about me taking over the house that I learned the truth about his second life as an enforcer for The Devil’s Brigade. If you ask me, the whole thing still sounds like something from a TV show.

It’s hard not to gawk like a tourist at the rows and rows of motorcycles lined up on the cracked dirt and dried grass. I make my way around the grounds, feeling invisible in the crowd. I wasn’t sure what to wear to a biker rally, but it’s hard to go wrong with ripped jeans and a black t-shirt, knotted at my waist to show off a little skin. It’s more than a lot of the other girls here have on.

Crap.

Out of what must be at least hundreds of people here, I only know three people and of course one of them is coming my way. Uncle Clutch is talking with another man I don’t recognize, but he’s wearing a vest with a Devil’s Brigade patch.

I step to the side, turning my face away. A group of beefy men with back patches that read Riders of War are arguing loudly about motorcycles and are perfect for me to use for cover. I just ditched one babysitter and don’t want another one. Knowing my luck, he’d ask me where Red is. When Uncle Clutch and the other guy continue past me without noticing, I let out a relieved breath.

The sound of a live band draws me to the edge of the rally. The sun is setting, and I can just make out the shape of the city skyline in the distance. Far enough away that nobody cares about an abandoned airstrip being taken over by outlaws for the weekend. A few men are putting the finishing touches on a huge stack of old pallets assembled into a tower for the bonfire.

The heady scent of barbecue fills my nose as the summer breeze carries it past. I wander closer.

“Want a taste?” One of the guys manning the grills slices off a strip of meat and holds it out to me between his fingers. He’s probably twice my age and has a handlebar mustache big enough to be used for actual handlebars.

I grin and hold out my hand.

“Nope, try again.” He snaps his teeth together and winks.

I hesitate, but when in Rome, right? Careful not to touch his fingers, I lean in and bite down, taking the piece right from his hand. It’s sweet, a little spicy, and practically melts in my mouth.

“Good, right?”

I nod.

His smile gets a little wolfish. “If you think that’s good, I’ve got more meat you can suck on.”

“Wh—what?” I stare at him, too shocked to know how I’m supposed to react. This might be my first biker rally, but I’ve heard my share of crude comments. Still. Really?

“Shiiiiit, who let you wander around on your own?” A woman with a wild mane of blonde hair and breasts pushed up like they want to be part of the menu, smacks him on the arm. “Go on, ignore this old goat and get your ass out of here, honey.”

With a bashful grin, I make my escape before things get even more awkward.

The old runway has been turned into a makeshift racetrack, and a huge crowd has gathered around to watch. Unfortunately, the average biker is way taller than the average me, and the closer I get, the more my view turns into nothing but the backs of an endless sea of leather jackets and vests.

“Need a boost?” The voice is so close to my ear that I nearly jump out of my skin.

I whirl around, finding myself face-to-chest with yet another leather jacket. It’s hanging open, revealing a black T-shirt that’s stretched tight over a muscular chest. The kind you mostly find in photoshopped images and on romance novel covers.

Wetting my lips, I drag my gaze upwards until I’m staring right into a pair of rich green eyes, their corners crinkled in amusement. He’s probably only a few years older than me, with thick, brown hair in a wild halo around a rough cut face. His stubble-shaded jawline is so sharp it could draw blood.

He cocks his head, a teasing smile curving his unreasonably full lips. “Don’t you wanna watch?”

His flirting feels totally different than the barbecue guy, but I find myself just as tongue tied. “Um…”

Great job, Melody. First Red thinks you’re too chatty, now this guy’s going to think you can’t string two words together.

“Who’d you find here?” a second voice asks, deep and gruff. “Doesn’t look like one of our girls.”

The second man’s beard is dense and black, his eyes hidden in shadow. The sides of his head are shaved, and a stray black lock of hair hangs almost low enough to hide the scar cutting through his dark eyebrow. He must’ve left his jacket somewhere, leaving him in white shirt with the arms cut off. A dense sleeve of colorful tattoos winds its way up his left arm and disappears beneath the shirt, making me wonder how far down it goes.

Not all bikers are shockingly handsome, but when they are? This whole dangerous look does more for me than I would’ve expected. Up until recently, my first hand experiences were of my father and a few of his friends. Not exactly a good sample size or anyone I’d want to think about like that.

“What do you mean, one of your girls?” I finally find my voice, a little insulted on behalf of the women they’re apparently here with, because the way they’re looking at me doesn’t feel very taken.

The second man laughs. “Put your claws away, baby. Jealousy looks cute on you, but it’s not like that. I just meant you aren’t one of the girls who came with our crew.”

“Oh. I’m not jealous. I don’t even know you,” I scoff.

The man with the green eyes gives me a crooked smile. “Maybe we should fix that. You can call me Mad Dog.” He nods towards his friend. “He’s Rebel.”

One day I’ll meet a biker that just goes by Dave or Mark or something and it’ll blow my mind.

Rebel grins. “What’s your name, honey?”

Is it smart to tell them? I don’t recognize their club logo, but they don’t seem dangerous. Besides, I was told that there is a strict no violence policy at the rally, and family is allowed tonight. “Melody.”

“Melody, a sweet name for a sweet woman. Rolls off the tongue.” The way Mad Dog flicks his tongue after saying it makes me suspect he thinks I’d roll pretty sweetly off his tongue, too.

“So now that we’re not strangers, how about we help you get a better view? Our friend Riptide’s up next.”

I give him a skeptical look. “View from where?”

He pats his shoulders. “You’ll have the best fucking seat in the house.”

I glance toward the track, where someone is announcing names. All I see is the backs of leather jackets. A great way to learn the names of all the clubs, less interesting if I want to see what’s actually going on.

“You’re kidding, right?”

His laugh is deep and infectious. “Would I joke about getting my head between your thighs? Come on.”

Nervous butterflies flutter in my chest, and I feel my cheeks flush, but I find myself nodding anyway. I wanted to experience this thing for real, right?

“Okay.”