Chapter One
Jasmine
Why didn’t they just pick up the damn phone?
The brick building in front of me takes up a prime piece of real estate on the corner of the block, but its facade is ugly and hardly welcoming. Like the whole area, really. Not that I care since I grew up in a street far worse than this.
The Hammer.
Even the name is ugly, although that’s more to do with my long held prejudices than anything else.
Not going to think about it.
Except I can’t help it. The name reminds me of Thor’s hammer, and anything to do with Norse mythology always makes me think of the Viking Bastards Motorcycle Club. They were a huge part of my life when I was a kid. And when I was older, the president’s son, Tyson Jenson, was my whole world…
I take a deep breath. It’s been ten years since I left that life behind me, and I’m not going back. The only reason I’m in Los Angeles is to sort out my mom’s affairs.
Ancient grief sears through me, and despite the warmth of the late May afternoon I shiver. Mom and I hadn’t seen each other in years, and that’s the way she seemed to like it. Our weekly phone chats turned into text messages, and half the time she didn’t reply anyway. My secret hope that one day we’d reunite and she’d tell me how proud she was of me shattered three days ago when her landlord contacted me as her next of kin.
And according to the pay slips I found buried in her underwear drawer, this place is where she was working. I tried calling the management at the Hammer, in case they didn’t know she’d passed. And while I could’ve simply mailed them the necessary information, a needy echo of the old Jasmine O’Brien pushed through my hard-won outer shell, and I had to go see for myself.
Did I really think Mom might’ve migrated into retail or office work? I spent way too many years as a kid sitting in the corner of dressing rooms while she did her stripper routines not to recognize a seedy club when I see it.
She left her life with the Bastards years ago, but we never talked about it, and she never told me what she’d been doing since. She was only forty-three, which is way too young to die, but was she really still taking her clothes off in front of a bunch of creepy jerks?
Oh God, Mom, why didn’t you just come to Florida with me?
I take a deep breath. It’s not easy to face, but I always wanted her more than she wanted me. Right up until three days ago, I still missed not having her in my life, and now that’s never going to change.
It doesn’t matter if the club is open or not. I’ve seen all I need. But unlike my teen self, I no longer run when faced with tough decisions. With a silent sigh, I steel my nerves and press the security button.
Ten minutes later I’m back out on the street. The woman who saw me said all the right things, but there wasn’t any genuine sorrow the way there would be if someone had lost a friend.
Mom never had many friends.
I fish out the keys to my rental car from my purse. I’ve only been back in California for a day, and already memories I’ve spent so long trying to forget are swarming through my mind. The sooner I get back to my life in Florida the better.
My uneasy suspicion that the Hammer might be affiliated with the Bastards faded as soon as I walked inside the club. It was tasteful and Gothic inspired, and even though I only saw the entry and a small office, there wasn’t anything that hinted it was owned by the brothers.
Huh. Their collective ego is so massive they mark anything they own, so there’s never any question of whose territory you’ve walked into. Never any question that their MC is everything, and God help anyone who tries to say otherwise.
For a couple of seconds, I battle the overwhelming urge to bury my face in my hands, block it all out, and let the tears behind my eyes escape. Instead, I jam the key into the car, my jaw locked in place. I don’t fall apart anymore, and definitely not here, where the slightest hint of vulnerability is like a neon sign saying:mug me now.
Eerily familiar shivers skate along the back of my neck, and I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs.It’s my imagination.Except I know it’s not. Only one person in the world has ever affected me like this, just by looking at me, without even having to see him.
God, no. Not now. Not ever.I’m not ready to see him again…
Slowly I turn. Swaggering down the sidewalk toward me is the boy I fell in love with when I was thirteen. The boy I left four years later, my heart and soul ripped to shreds.
He’s not a boy anymore.
His dark blond hair is pulled back from his face into that ponytail I always loved, but he’s no longer clean-shaven, and the stubble darkening his jaw takes my breath away. He was always lean and toned, but the intervening years have broadened his chest, and sweet baby Jesus, his biceps are the stuff of legend.
Despicable need curls low in my gut, desire springing to life like a ravenous tiger. I grip the key so hard the metal gouges my flesh, but it does nothing to halt the unwanted hormones flooding my body.
His cocky grin as he eyes my legs causes goose bumps to chase over my exposed skin. It’s like I’ve tumbled back in time and have become the same besotted girl who melted every time Ty turned his sapphire-blue gaze her way.
I should get out of here before he comes any closer, but I’m paralyzed, drinking him in, despite the ghostly fear constricting my chest.
