Prologue
Amy
I wasn’t nervous as I rolled through the open gate, though I did hope that I’d followed the right directions and an axe murderer wasn’t waiting for me at the end of the lane. My new Prius was so ridiculously quiet that I could hear every crunch of gravel under the tires. I could even hear the crickets chirping out in the trees to my left—though that was likely made possible by my four rolled down windows. I hated driving with the windows rolled up this time of year. Everything in Oregon smelled so fresh in the spring with new flowers blooming and the hint of rain almost always in the air. It was so different from where I’d lived for the past twenty-odd years that I couldn’t get enough of it.
The road forked like he’d said it did, and at the end on the left sat the big building I was searching for. I took a deep breath of relief when I saw the line of bikes backed up against it. Clearly, I was in the right place. Patrick had given me pretty vague directions when we’d spoken a couple months before, but I don’t think he’d imagined me ever actually coming to his clubhouse—especially without speaking to him first.
His number had burned a hole in my metaphorical pocket for months, but I’d refused to call him. I wanted to get my life situated before I dealt with his shit, and I didn’t think that was in any way unreasonable. Unfortunately, he’d disagreed.
I hadn’t called him, but the man had been relentless, calling and texting me for months. After numerous texts that I had no hope of deciphering, I’d finally realized that his thumbs must have been too big for the tiny keyboard. Add to that the assistance of autocorrect and what I received were messages that appeared to be composed by a five-year-old, which was ridiculous considering how well read he was. It took less than a week for the messages to change from wondering how I was doing to bitching that I hadn’t contacted him. The only reason I’d even known that much was because he hadn’t been satisfied with texts; all phone calls had also been followed up with livid voicemails.
Like he had a right to expect anything from me.
I shook my head as I climbed out of my car and flipped my heavy silver hair over my shoulder. I’d pulled half of it back in a thick, loose ponytail near the base of my neck, and for a second, I wished I’d brought a larger rubber band so I could pull it all up and make it less conspicuous. A bandana wouldn’t have gone amiss, either.
God, what was I thinking?
I’d worked hard to be where I was, and I’d been comfortable in my own skin for a long fucking time. I wasn’t about to become self-conscious about something as stupid as my looks. I was strong, capable, and smart—those were the things that mattered. Besides, I looked damn good for a woman who was over forty years old. Yoga had kept me slim and good genes and clean living had kept my skin tight and my boobs perky. I wasn’t going to cower, goddammit. I didn’t cower for anyone.
There was an open door to the right of some large garage bays that were closed for the night, and I made my way there with my shoulders pulled back and my chin held high. I knew I should have been afraid of walking into a room of bikers I didn’t know, but I wasn’t.
I wasn’t really afraid of anything. I think that might be what happens when you live through something you never imagined you’d survive. Everything else seems trivial in comparison.
The place was loud, with men in leather vests peppered around the room and half-naked young women of various shapes, sizes and ethnicities sitting on laps and preening for anyone who was looking. Good Lord, it was like a frat house with old men. I’m pretty sure I saw a movie like that once…
Focus.
“Amy, you look beautiful, as always,” a gravelly voice murmured behind me, making me spin around.
“Charlie.” I smiled huge as I took in his face, so much older than I remembered. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”
“Not surprised to see you, sure as shit surprised at what you’re wearin.’ ” He answered with a grin, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Knew he saw ya a few months back, but he didn’t say a word about the get-up. When’d you become a fuckin’ tree hugger?”
“Probably about the time you became president.”
“Fuck, that long? Please tell me you still shave your shit.” He leaned in to lift my arm to check for armpit hair and I couldn’t help the loud, barking laugh that burst out of my mouth.
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Ah, still taking care of it I see.” He winked, squeezing my arm gently. “I remember Poet going on and on about how you shaved your pussy way back when.”
“Shut the fuck up!” God, I couldn’t believe that he could still embarrass me with a few carefully chosen words.
“Who the hell…” A new voice came from the side and I took a deep breath as I turned to take the speaker in. She was wearing a Harley tank top and blinged-out jeans and I would have known her anywhere. “Holy shit. Amy?”
“Hey, Vera.” I felt my throat get tight as her face broke into a huge grin.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Damn, you look good!” She smelled like vanilla perfume and cigarettes as she wrapped her skinny arms around me, and I couldn’t help but hug her tight. I’d missed these two. Maybe if things had been different… no, I wouldn’t think about that.
“Look at your hair!” she said, leaning back to run her fingers over my head. “Goddamn, it’s gorgeous. You here to see Poet?”