I can’t point. I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.
Merrick is wearing a leather vest. He never did before. As he turns around to pull a beer from the tap, the logo stands out on his back, red and white over black.
It’s a skull with a crown, roses, and wide spreading wings. Around it are the words, “Wild Hair.”
It’s the emblem of the motorcycle club that hangs out here.
He pivots back around to give the customer the beer. There’s a patch on the front of his vest, too.
It reads, “Prospect.”
Sparks fly behind my eyes as I realize what’s happened.
While we were waiting for the bar to reopen, Merrick must have joined the Wild Hair. I’m betting his bar is their headquarters, or it will be.
Merrick. My obsession. My out-of-my-league. My he’s-banged-a-hundred-women to my zero men.
Jenna shrugs. “So, he has a vest.”
“It’s more than that,” I squeak out. “He’s in the motorcycle club.”
“Does that matter?” she asks.
I can’t even answer. I’m in shock.
I’ve read about men like him in my vast collection of MC romance novels. I watchedSons of Anarchy.
Has he killed somebody already? Will he end up doing hard time? Has he chosen an ol’ lady?
He’s gotten even more unattainable while I was away.
My blood drains from my face. I was so high a minute ago, and now I’m sinking too low, too fast.
I think I’m going to faint.
CHAPTER 2
MERRICK
I’ve just passed a beer to Iron Jack when there’s a commotion near the old outhouse.
What the hell now?
A circle has formed, and everyone is looking at the floor.
By God, can’t we have an opening night without some sort of fuckery?
I brace my hand on the counter and leap over the bar. I land between stools on the other side and hurry toward the group.
There’s no way to hear what is happening over the wild thrashing of Dead Moon Rising on the stage.
Two-Shit steps aside so I can see what’s going on.
Goddamn it. It’s Marietta, the best friend of my brother Diesel’s woman. She’s on the floor.
Another of her friends, I can’t remember her name, sort of flashy with two-toned hair, kneels next to her, flapping a piece of paper at Marietta’s face. “Marietta, come on. Wake up.”
Chain sniffs. “What did she take? Crank? Perc? Blow?”
