**Four hours earlier**
Calloused palms skimmed my ribs. The scent of motor oil and sagebrush. Warmth pooled low in my belly as teeth grazed the juncture of throat and shoulder. Not pain—promise. Bronc’s voice rougher than denim wash, whispered things that made mytoes curl in cotton sheets. “Knew you’d taste like trouble…”Then his face was between my legs, lapping at me like a dog drinking after being on a long run. All the way up from center to my clit. God, it was so real.
I’d awoken gasping, thighs clenched around nothing, every nerve ending shrieking. The AC unit’s hum had done nothing to cool the furnace under my skin. Through my apartment’s thin walls, the distant howl of wolves had threaded through my panting breaths. Aching. Beckoning.
Now, across this small table, Bronc cleared his throat. “You okay? You’re doing that starey thing.”
“Hmm?” I nearly dropped my fork. “Just… thinking about something. Sorry.”
His smirk said he knew exactly where my mind had wandered. Bastard.
The motorcycle shop’s bell jangled like a drunk’s laugh when I pushed through the glass door two hours later. It seemed like everything lately came down to scent. Bronc’s office smelled of WD-40 and questions—the lingering ghosts of cigarettes smoked by previous accountants. I traced a finger along the ledger’s cracked spine, the numbers inside whispering secrets in binary code.
I had quickly found four thousand dollars unaccounted for in spare parts orders. Invoices for Harley-Davidson tires dated six months after the company switched suppliers. A separate bank account with transactions timed to club runs. My finger split the calculator tape clean down the middle.
“Problem?” Maddie leaned against the doorframe, polishing a chrome fender with her grease-stained apron. I’d met Bronc’s sister a week ago and instantly fell in love. Her resemblance to Bronc tightened my throat—same stubborn jaw, same predator’s grace.
“Just cross-checking inventory.” I flipped the ledger closed. The lie tasted like pennies. “Your brother keeps messy books.”
She choked out a laugh. “Sounds about right. Or at least his past bookkeepers did. I’m bettin’ you don’t though.” She gave me a Hollywood smile before she walked back into the shop.
The ancient wall clock ticked off three minutes after she left. I reopened the ledger, red flags blooming across spreadsheets like bloodstains. Three vendors listed under PO boxes near Amarillo. Two with phone numbers disconnected. One registered to a defunct LLC dissolved in 2019.
My pen hovered over the damning figures. Bronc’s laughter rumbled through the shop walls as he haggled with a customer over exhaust pipe modifications. He put a premium on trust. And it looked like someone he should have been able to put his faith in was ripping him off. Trust warred with self-preservation—a familiar tango. What did $4,000 buy in Dairyville? Silence? Complicity? A shallow grave out by the canyon? I was new to the whole equation.
I promised Bronc I’d find out who was doing what. And I would. But I’d wait until I’d mapped it all out..
I tucked the evidence between innocent columns of numbers, a razor blade hidden in cotton candy. Bronc’s shadow fell across the desk as evening painted the shop in oil-slick rainbows.
“Ready for your ride home, Miss Daisy?”
His thumb brushed mine, reaching for the ledger. Electricity arced between us—the same charge as in my dream. His nostrils flared like he could smell the memory on me.
“Everything balanced?” He asked for the benefit of anyone who could hear.
“Like a house of cards.” I smiled sweetly, shutting the ledger with finality. “You should really consider QuickBooks.”
His laughter followed me to the door, warm and dangerous. Outside, the first stars pricked through bruised purple skies. Somewhere beyond the town limits, wolves began to sing.
Receipts, purchase orders, and work orders going back months and into the previous year started to reveal a pattern. An overcharge here, a back order not received but paid there. It added up. I needed to tell Bronc. And I would, once I knew what was really happening.
The shop’s overhead bell jangled like prison keys. I didn’t look up from the ledger until cherry-red stilettos clicked into my peripheral vision.
“Christ on a bender. You weren’t kidding about the Morticia vibe.”
Maddie stood there, arms crossed beneath a leather corset that looked weaponized. Her dark hair slicked back into a high ponytail. “We’re stripping that box dye tonight, yeah? Got Tina mixing the bleach cocktail over at Shear Ecstasy.”
My fingers crept to the brittle ends of my hair. “Oh, yeah?”
“My big bro’s never asked me to play fairy godmother before. But he arranged this little intervention.” Her love and admiration for Bronc shone on her face. “Figured you must be really special.” My heart might have skipped a beat.
The drive to the salon was short and revealing. Maddy slapped the steering wheel along to mewithoutyou. “So. You screwing my brother yet?”
I choked on the seatbelt.
“Relax, city mouse. All our prospects get vetted. I had to ask.” Laughter followed. “But Bronc? Man hasn’t brought a woman to the compound since… hell, since Bush was president. Which one? That would be W, but still a long damn time, girlfriend.”
“Honestly, will anyone think it’s weird? Won’t they think I’m too young? I mean, I don’t care. He’s amazing in every way. What am I even talking about? Look, Maddie, there is no way your brother would have the slightest interest in a girl like me. He’sso… and I’m just…” I looked down at myself. All the shortcomings my mother had ever pointed out came to my mind. “He’s just being nice. Trying to help me make friends.”
