Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

“I wish you’d come to me sooner, wildflower. I would do anything for you.”

Bronte lifts her lashes, and her big blue eyes focus on me. “After my last visit… when I kissed you… I was too embarrassed to come back.”

I reach for her face and push a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was no reason for you to stay away or to try and deal with this on your own.”

Our faces are unbearably close. Close enough that I can see the thickness of her dark lashes and the flecks of aqua in her ocean blue eyes. She licks her lips, and I can barely stand the longing in me to kiss them.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispers.

And I smile. “You won’t ever have to wonder.”

If The Poet wants to get his hands on her, he’ll have to go through me to get to her. And I’m not about to let that happen.

She smiles and rests her head on my shoulder.

The moment is wrapped in contentment.

I slip my arm around her and rest my head on hers. My wildflower is beginning to mean so much more to me than ever before.

And I know, without a doubt, that I’ll do anything to protect her.

BRONTE

Because I need to know how to protect myself, Jack insists I learn self-defense, so we arrange to meet at the clubhouse the next morning. It’s Saturday, and Jack left the house before I had a chance to see him. But I figured he was at the clubhouse, but when I walk in after getting a lift from one of the prospects, the clubhouse is empty.

Almost.

Except for one person.

Sitting across the room, with a cigarette in her long, elegant fingers, is a well-dressed young woman. She’s the epitome of confidence in her silk dress and stiletto heels. Gold bangles gleam on her wrist. Her back is straight as she sits poised on the bar stool, one elbow leaning on the gleaming polished bar.

I pause when I see her, recognizing her immediately.

Faith Dillinger.

Jack’s older half-sister.

A woman you don’t cross.

A woman, if you are sensible, you fear.

With hair the color of straw and eyes as black as midnight, her beauty is in direct contrast to her nature. She’s lethal. Some would say terrifying.

When I walk in, she’s talking dangerously low to someone on her cell.

“You listen to me, you little fuck, if you don’t do as I say, I will come down there and kick you so hard in the goddamn balls you’ll be pulling pubic hair out of your teeth for days.” She takes a drag on her cigarette. “Is that a threat? Hell, no. I don’t make threats, you moron. I make fucking promises. Now do what I say, or I’ll get in my fucking car and be standing across from you in your office before you can say I’m a hopeless dope with no balls.”

Disconnecting from the call, she drops her cell into her handbag in front of her and takes another drag on her cigarette.

I walk up behind her. “Still being a bitch, I see.”

She swings around ,and her cold glare hits me like a slap to the cheek.

“Well, well, well…” a plume of smoke leaves her parted lips as her demon eyes sweep up and down the length of me, “… look what came in with the tide.”

I fold my arms. “Who were you talking to, your boyfriend?”

Her gaze never wavers. “My priest, actually.”

“That was my second guess.” I shrug. “Still torturing people. It’s nice to know some things never change.”

“Hardly my fault, it’s hardwired into my DNA.”

“You should probably see a therapist about that.”

“Probably, but then I do have my reputation as a bitch to protect.” Her eyes are wicked as they narrow. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea and thinking I’m a nice person.”

Mine narrow right back. “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Our eyes remain locked.

Our glares fixed.

Neither prepared to back down.

Then, our smiles hit at the same time, two big grins that are genuine reflections of how we feel toward one another. A friendship forged in the firepits of pain and heartache.

Faith pulls me in for an embrace. “It’s about time you came back to town, you roaming bitch.” She presses a kiss to my hair before releasing me. “God, finally someone to have some fun with.” She gestures toward the stool next to her, then nods to TJ behind the bar. “A tequila for my friend and another one for me.”

I shake my head. “No alcohol for me. Jack’s taking me through some self-defense moves, and I don’t think he’ll be impressed if I can’t stand.”

“What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She signals to TJ and gives her a look that says, pour the bitch a drink.

I know better than to argue. Plus, a shot of the hard stuff is probably exactly what my frazzled nerves need.