CHAPTER ONE

Justice threw his leg over his bike and sat, tipping her upright. “All right, Hottie, time to head back to the ranch.”

The parking lot of the Flatline Bar was nearly empty as the sun set over the north-central Texas town.

He booted up the kickstand. He could ride her clear to Canada and still not get enough time on her.

The orange paint and black flames on the custom chopper shone in the low light, the front end raked and stretched just enough to get her a lot of looks. He opened one of the hard black saddlebags covered in black leather and trimmed in orange flames to get his helmet.

“Can I get a ride?” A woman’s voice came from behind him in the trees.

He turned, reaching inside his leather cut for his pistol. How the fuck had she snuck up on him?

She walked toward him into the low sunlight. She had on a little denim jacket, and her good-sized breasts rounded nicely in her red tank top.

He blinked, looking at the beauty. Pretty green eyes and curly brown hair to her shoulders. She licked her pink-painted lips then gave him a sexy grin.

His cock jerked, reminding him it’d been a while. “Yeah, sure, cutie. Where d’you wanna go?”

“Just out for a cruise on your bike.” Her low voice rolled hot and sexy. “And on anything else you got that needs a rider.”

Justice laughed. He’d heard that one before, but something about her made him harden in his jeans. Like a fucking teenager.

She strolled her sweet self toward him. Really strolled. The girl’s long, thin legs in her black leather mini skirt and high-heeled biker boots made his mouth water.

His lawyer’s intuition kicked in. Something wasn’t right. Was she too perfect? Her clothes looked expensive, she didn’t seem like the usual one-nighter. But he’d try to ignore his suspicions. She was fucking hot.

She looked at his face, then up to his hair. “You’re a big, sexy one, aren’t you.”

He’d gotten a fresh haircut from one of the clubhouse whores this afternoon, and the sweetbutt had even done a style on his short, blond hair and had given him a clean shave.

She looked at his leather vest. “You’re part of the Motley Kings MC?”

“Yeah, you heard of us?” His cut had the club patches on the back and the club’s name and his name on the front, but no member position patch. As the Motley Kings’ legal counsel, he kept a low profile.

She nodded and traced her finger over the name patch on the front of his vest. “Justice. You live at the clubhouse?”

“Yep. Is your place close?” He needed to get them going in that direction, get her inside her place, get her naked and on her bed. He put the key in the ignition.

“No.” She bit her lower lip. Sexy. “Let’s go to your place.”

“Can’t do that, cutie. Against the rules.” No one entered the compound unless fully vetted and approved by the club’s officers. Miles of tall cyclone fence topped by razor wire and monitored by cameras ensured that rule was enforced. “I know a nice place by the river that rents cabins.”

She shook her head. Her eyes shifted. “Can you make an exception? I really need a place where I’ll feel safe.”

Justice frowned. “Safe? What do you mean? What are you afraid of?” He’d done too many cross-examinations to not dig deeper into her statement.

“I just mean, there’s something I’m worried about.” She shrugged but didn’t look at him. “And I’d feel better if we were at your compound.”

“Ain’t gonna happen tonight. But I can find a place where you’ll be safe until we can run a background check on you.”

She shook her head, moisture filled her eyes.

Fuck. Crying women. His downfall.

She reached inside her jacket and took a step closer as she pulled out…a knife.

His fight response kicked in. “Fuck.” He reached up and grabbed her wrist, the one holding the big silver knife.

She screamed.

He leaned over and wrapped his other hand around her fist where it held the knife. His bike tipped, and he yanked her toward him and onto his lap, rebalancing his ride.

She landed sideways, her face pressed against the zipper of his jeans, her breath heating his junk. “Wait, wait….” She turned her head to look up at him and sucked in breath. “I wasn’t trying to…I only wanted to show you the knife.” Her voice trembled, going high and breathy.

He felt her body shaking against him. “Let me take this knife, and we can figure out what’s happening here.”

“Okay.” Her hand relaxed in his fist.

He took the knife from her and held it to the side. It felt heavy, looked like solid silver.

She shifted, but he put his free hand on her side. “Don’t move, cutie. Just talk.” Looking down at her face so close to his cock made his gut tighten, but he fought back the urge to let her do the sucking first and the talking later.

“The knife.” She turned her head so she wasn’t pressing her lips directly on the bulge in his jeans. “Look at it.”

He held it in a ray of sunlight. He’d seen this knife before, but where? The handle was intricate silver scrollwork and had the…fuck…the Motley Kings’ logo incorporated into it. Frowning, he turned it over. The blade had the name Dancer engraved in the same font used on all their patches.

He frowned down at her. “Where’d you get this?”

“My grandfather is Dancer.”

He wanted to trust that she was telling the truth, but trust was not one of the top words in his vocabulary. He remembered where he’d seen this knife. Actually, one just like it, hanging in a frame on the wall in the club president’s office, with Prez’s name, Malice, inscribed on the blade.

“Cutie, I want to believe your story, but you can understand why I have to be cautious.” He opened his saddle bag and set the knife in it, then stood her up, holding tight to her wrist.

She wobbled on her high heels. “Let me explain.”

“Save it.” He lowered his kickstand and got off his bike, still holding her wrist. “Gonna check you for weapons.”

Shaking her head, she stepped back and looked around. “Wait, not right here.”

Three of the bar’s regulars, townies, stood outside the bar having a smoke. And watching the two of them with grins on their faces.

Justice shrugged. “Can’t be helped.” He patted her down, every inch of her, around her warm breasts, which were amazingly firm and high even without a bra. He breathed deep of her soft floral scent. Almost powdery and fucking sexy.

He checked her jacket pockets and found a key on a tag in one pocket and a thin wallet in the other. He checked her driver’s license. LodiAnne Brantz. California? He set them in his saddle bag.

When he got to her jeans, he did a quick feel of her ass crack and forward around her pussy.

“Jezuz, you freaking exhibitionist.” Her voice was quiet but laced with a hot temper.

“Cutie, you came to me, okay. This is just standard protocol for civilians.” He pointed to the bike. “Sit. I need to check your boots.”

She sat on his bike seat and lifted her left leg quickly, her boot coming too fucking close to his privates.

He raised a brow at her. “You wanna play rough?”

Her cheeks turned red, and she sucked in a breath.

He grunted. Yeah, he’d like that, a little wild, uncivilized fucking with this curvy babe.

After he checked inside her boots and made sure the heels didn’t have a secret compartment, he left her sitting sideways on his bike. “Okay, I’m gonna let you talk now. Make it good.”

He stepped back and braced his feet apart, crossing his arms over his chest.

She looked at his face, then down his body and back up. She puffed out a breath. “I need to talk to the president. My grandfather is in need of the club’s help.”

He waited for more.

She stared into his eyes.

“That’s it? You just tried to get me to take you back to the compound, and when I wouldn’t, you pulled a knife on me. I think you owe me a little—”

Her eyes opened wide. “That’s not how it was, and you know it, you piece of….” She pushed off the seat, raising her fists.

He put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. “Don’t try that again, or I’ll tie you up and drop you off at the police station.”

She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “You’re right. This does sound ridiculous. But my grandpa…Dancer, told me not to trust anyone but the club president. Told me to get a young, dumb, horny biker to take me back to the clubhouse with the promise of sex. Then, when I got inside, he said to demand to see the prez.”

He laughed. “And I’m the dumb horny biker you picked?” He laughed again. “Some of the young bucks in the club might fit that description, but cutie, you picked the wrong King.” He’d graduated law school early, Summa Cum Laude, and could read people like watching a flashing billboard.

Her face turned red. She looked around. “You’re the only King I could find tonight, so I had to slum it.”

“Ouch.” He shook his head. “You got a wicked bite, cutie.”

She let out a long breath and held up her hands like she was surrendering. “Okay, just tell me what I need to do to get in to see Malice. Please.” She added the last word and dropped her hands to her thighs.

“I’ll take the knife to him for you. But I’m gonna keep your ID and that key and drop you off at a hotel for the night so we can do a background check on—”

“Please, no. Listen.” Her eyes were wide, her breathing fast. “I’m not safe here. Not anywhere. They’re watching me.”

He stared at her, assessing. He believed her panic was real. “They?”

She scrunched her face, and tears ran down her cheeks. “I can’t say, not to anyone but Malice, but I promise I’m not lying.” She swallowed. “Tie me up, put me in a cell, whatever you have to do.” Tears flowed, and her voice choked. “But please, please take me to the compound.” She dropped her head.

Fuck. Malice was going to tie him up with a piggin’ string and leave him for the vultures. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Her voice cracked, her eyes opened wide, and she stared at him.

“Yeah, I’m an idiot.” He held out his hand. “Gimme your phone.”

She reached into her jacket and held it out to him.

He took it and had it apart, and the chip out of it, in seconds.

Her brow wrinkled as she stared at it. He put it in his saddle bag.

She looked at him and swallowed. Did she finally realize she was on her own with a complete stranger in a desolate area of Texas? He could take her anywhere. Do anything he wanted with her. To her. But her grandfather was a Motley King, a charter member, and she knew the strict code they lived by. She’d used that to her advantage, and she knew she was safe with him.

He jerked his head. “You got a car?”

“No.” She wiped tears from her cheeks.

He wanted to ask more, but Malice would cover all the details. “A suitcase?”

She nodded. “It’s in a locker at the bus station. That’s the key you took.”

She took a bus? “Okay, we’ll have a prospect get it…if Malice grants you protection.” He gestured for her to get off his bike.

Touching a shaking hand to her chest, she took a breath. “Protection.” She stood.

He hated this shit. Drama. Life should be simple. Right and wrong, just like the law. Black and white. He slung his leg over his bike and lowered the left passenger peg. “Get on.” He held out his arm, but she ignored it and grabbed the handlebar, and got on the back of his seat.

She put down the right passenger peg and set her foot on it. She grabbed the sides of his jacket. “Ready.” She’d done this before.

He straightened the bike and kicked up the kickstand. Justice started Hottie and shifted her into gear. He turned his head to the side. “No sissy bar, cutie. I suggest you get a better grip on me.”

She didn’t move for a few seconds, then slid forward, pressing her warm thighs and sex tight up against his ass and wrapping her arms around him, locking her hands together at his belly.

He sat for a minute, just feeling. The press of her breasts to his back, her arms around him, her legs and sweet lady parts against him. Fuck. Him. It’d been too long since he’d had a babe on his bike.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She had to know she’d already pressed her luck as far as it would go.

He shifted and gunned the bike, roaring out of the lot onto the highway and out toward the entrance to the compound.

The Motley Kings’ 19,000-acre cattle ranch sat just outside of town. The clubhouse was hidden from the highway and from the air by camouflage and some expert online shit created by their tech guru, Wizard.

Justice turned off the highway onto what looked like a patch of gravel and dirt surrounded by scrub brush and trees. He drove slowly until his headlights showed the compound’s gate.

Two of the club’s prospects appeared with rifles.

Phobia’s white hair glowed in the security lights above the fence. The former street racer jerked his head toward the woman. “She approved?”

“Nope. I’m gonna take Malice’s shit for it and try to duck his punches.”

He laughed. “I’ll let Prez know.” He pulled a radio from his belt. “Who is she?”

“Tell him she’s Dancer’s granddaughter.”

The kid looked at her. Then his eyes widened. “For real? The Dancer?”

He felt her shift.

“Yes.” Her voice was quiet.

Phobia backed up, speaking into his radio.

“Shit.” Yankee, another prospect with brown hair and a beard, walked up to them, looking at her. “Dancer’s like…lore, ma’am.”

She laughed softly. “He is a legend.”

Phobia came back. “Prez says bring her right to his office.”

Yankee pressed a button, and the gate slid open.

“But he says….” Phobia looked at her. “This better be true, or she won’t be leavin’.”

Justice felt her body shake. Yeah, she should be scared.