Chapter One
Cora
The gates of the Kiss of Death MC compound loomed ahead, iron and rust and threat. I knew the place was called Kiss of Death because there was a big-ass sign on the gate. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel of my beat-up sedan. No one wanted to deliver here, and for good reason. My second delivery here felt even worse.
The first time I could blame on ignorance, on not knowing better. This time I drove through those gates with full knowledge of what waited inside. At least, I hoped I did. The people inside these gates had been nothing but kind to me. Tipped well, too. I still found it hard to let my guard down in a place literally named Kiss of Death.
The sedan’s engine coughed as I pressed the accelerator. The sound seemed too loud, even in a place that could get noisy. The rumble of a bike starting up had me jumping. As the guy caught sight of me, he froze and shut down the bike. Next thing I knew he was rolling backward, pushing the bike with his feet until he returned to the inside of the garage. I rolled forward, past the gates.
Camo netting stretched between the buildings, creating shadows in the afternoon light. The warehouses formed a perfect square with some kind of military precision in the architecture. If I didn’t need the money, I definitely wouldn’t be here.
The main building rose ahead. I’d been directed there last time, so I aimed for the same spot. I thought about the envelope from my first delivery. Cash, all of it, with a tip that equaled half the order total. That money had bought groceries for a week, gas for two. It had been the difference between making rent on timeand asking my landlord for another extension I wouldn’t get.
The parking area materialized ahead. I pulled in next to a row of motorcycles, their chrome catching the filtered light through the netting. My sedan looked all kinds of wrong among them.
I shifted into park and killed the engine. The silence felt worse than the noise. Now I could hear everything. Distant music from somewhere inside the compound. Male voices, laughing. It all sounded so normal I wanted to laugh at myself. Obviously they’d been grateful to get someone to deliver here and had treated me well. The phone app tracked my movements, kind of like a safeguard, so I really had little to worry about. I hoped.
My fingers fumbled with the door handle. Metal, cold against my palm. I pushed it open and the hinges squeaked, announcing my presence to anyone within earshot. The air outside tasted different than in my car. Heavier. It carried scents I couldn’t identify; motor oil and something sharp underneath, something that made my lizard brain want to run.
Movement from the clubhouse caught my eye. Hannah bounded out waving as she hurried to me. She’d been the one to meet me last time.
She hurried toward me with an easy confidence and a bright, genuine smile I envied. Her dark hair caught the filtered light, pulled back from her face in a way that revealed high cheekbones and striking hazel eyes. She wore jeans and a simple T-shirt, and a black leather vest. I’d noticed last time the vest was similar to her husband’s, though the back proclaimed her as “Property of Knuckles” where his simply said “Kiss of Death MC” and “Nashville, TN”. It sounded barbaric, but this woman didn’t seem oppressed in any way. In fact, when I met her the last time, her husband had dropped a kiss on top of her head as he’d passed her and hadn’t let Hannah carry anything from the car.
I raised a hand in an awkward wave, immediately feeling stupid for the gesture. But Hannah’s expression softened further, and she picked up her pace. I moved to the back of my car and lifted the trunk lid, ready to help her unload.
“You came back.” Hannah’s voice held a warm welcome that seemed impossible in this place. She stopped a few feet from my car, close enough to be friendly but far enough to respect boundaries. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“The order came through.” I tried to keep my voice steady, professional. “Same as last time.”
“And you accepted it.” Something shifted in her expression, a subtle approval that made me stand a little straighter. “Most drivers reject anything with our address. The guys haven’t done anything, but this many ex-cons in one place makes people nervous, I guess.” She frowned. “People tend to overlook the good they do. Not everyone guilty of bad things is a bad person.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You know, I never thought about it that way. But you’re right. I shouldn’t judge people unless they give me reason to.” I looked away, suddenly ashamed of myself. “I’d be in a world of hurt if people judged me by what they saw on the surface.”
“Hey.” Hannah moved closer, reaching out to touch my shoulder gently. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. We truly are grateful someone is willing to give us all a chance.” She smiled, squeezing my shoulder gently before dropping her hand.
“Um, can I ask a question?” I didn’t know why I asked her, but once I had, I intended to follow through.
“Of course.” She looked pleasantly curious.
“I saw a guy when I first came in today. He came out of that building,” I pointed back the way I’d come. “But he turned off his bike and rolled back into the shadows.” I swallowed hard. If I’d gotten too nosy I might well have crossed a line I shouldn’thave. But it was odd! Also, I might be feeling a little paranoid. But to my surprise, Hannah only smiled.
“The guys know this place isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. They also know that some people are scared of the noise, to say nothing of the men themselves. There’s not one of them who doesn’t look scary as hell.” She grinned. “But every single one of them sat through and energetically participated in the Christmas party they had for the women and children in the shelter they help protect. The kids adore them all.”
Before I could respond, movement behind her drew my attention. Another figure emerged from the clubhouse, moving with a deliberate slowness that made every step feel intentional.
My breath caught. He was big. Tall and broad-shouldered, big in the way that suggested power held in careful check. His shoulders stretched a gray T-shirt to its limits.
His head was shaved clean, and somehow, the man was more intimidating for its starkness. But it was his face that made my fingers tighten on the grocery bag I still held. Weathered. Lined with stress that had carved deep grooves around his mouth and between his eyebrows. He looked like a man who’d forgotten how to relax, if he’d ever known.
He approached with that same measured pace, each footfall deliberate. The way he moved reminded me of documentaries I’d seen about predators. Not rushing. Never rushing. Because predators didn’t need to hurry when they knew their prey couldn’t escape. My heart, which had just started to calm, kicked back into overdrive.
“Cora, this is Rancor.” Hannah gestured between us, casually as if introducing neighbors at a barbecue. Thank God she didn’t notice my discomfort because how embarrassing would that be? “He’s going to help with the groceries.”
His gaze met mine, and I forced myself not to look away even though every instinct screamed at me to drop my gaze. Hiseyes were dark, nearly black in the shadow of the camo netting, and he studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“Ma’am.” His voice was quiet and rough, as if he didn’t use it much.
“Hi.” The syllable came out higher than I wanted. I cleared my throat. “There are a lot of bags.” Brilliant conversational skills, Cora. Truly impressive.
