The clubhouse was a unique place perfect for outlaws.An old bank.Heavy doors.A vault perfect to contain firearms.A parking lot with fresh pavement.Flags snapping in the wind.Bikes lined up like a dealership but not one of them was for sale.
The Saint’s Outlaws Motorcycle Club.
Dante Verdone’s family now.His whole world.
Yes, I did my research on him.I was curious and no smart woman needed to be dancing with a ghost without having all the fact before getting tangled up in someone dangerous even if once upon a time, he was safe.
I parked, cut the engine, and sat there for a long breath.I wasn’t scared.I was furious.
Composing myself, I climbed out of my car and made my way to the front of the building.The door opened before I reached it.
Burn leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp.“Well I’ll be damned,” he stated, “The fed herself has returned.Loco is gonna eat this shit up.”
“Move,” I snapped.
He studied me a second longer, then stepped aside.
The common room smelled like leather and coffee that had been sitting too long.Men looked up as I walked in—some curious, some wary, some openly hostile.Cuts.Ink.Scars.Men who’d buried bodies and called it loyalty.
And there—at the table near the back—was Dante Verdone.Time had aged him well.The dark hair he once had was now salt and pepper with mostly gray.The sharp lines of his jaw only enhance his face while his tone body was not hidden by the shirt that fit him like a second skin under his cut.
He didn’t stand.
Didn’t smile.
Just lifted his eyes to mine, dark and steady, like he’d been expecting this.That alone nearly sent me over the edge.
“You got some nerve,” I stated, my voice echoing harder than I intended.“Sitting here like nothing happened.”
The room went quiet.
Burn muttered something under his breath and backed away.Smart man.
Dante pushed back his chair and stood slowly.“We need to talk.”
“No,” I shot back.“You need to explain.”
His jaw tightened.“Not here.”
“Try me,” I challenged.“Because I flew three hundred miles, then got in a damn rental car to drive through the mountains to ask why the man I personally delivered a US Marshall under a federal warrant for has vanished off the face of the earth.”
Murmurs rippled through the room.Dante didn’t flinch.
“Office,” he ordered and I looked around wondering why he thought he could boss me like some child.“Now.”
Nobody argued.They went back to whatever they were doing without a single pause to take in what I had going on.Deciding it was better to get flies with honey over vinegar, I made my way to the back office he was referring to.
The door shut behind us with a heavy click that made my pulse spike.
I rounded on him the second we were alone.“What did you do?”I demanded.“What the hell did you do, Dante?”
His eyes flickered—just once.That was answer enough.
“You son of a bitch,” I breathed.“You killed him.”
“I didn’t pull the trigger,” he stated evenly like that made some kind of difference.
I laughed—a sharp, humorless sound.“That’s your defense?”
