Prologue
Red Delilah’s Biker Bar, Chicago, Illinois
Sabrina Greenlee had worked at Black Knights Inc. for nine months.
That was precisely eight months and thirty days longer than any stretch of sustained happiness Hewitt Birch had ever known.
From the back booth, he watched her laugh at something the bartender said. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find the shadows that once clouded her eyes. Couldn’t find the horror that once haunted her pretty face.
She was better. Brighter. Healing.
A spring flower that had shoved through the frozen ground of her grief and trauma. Fragile yet fierce. Ripening. Resilient.
Sabrina…
Named for the Roman river goddess.
Fitting, since she had the grace of a gentle stream and a laugh as clear and sweet as a babbling brook. Plus, she had a pull on him no mortal had ever managed.
It was wild how his life had shifted since she’d come to Chicago. Once, he’d been content to hole up in the old menthol cigarette factory-turned-motorcycle shop, nose buried in a book, satisfied to let the outside world fade away. Now? He found himself out among the unwashed masses because she’d grin that Sabrina grin of hers—all sparkling eyes and mile-wide mouth—and say, “It’s Friday night.” Or Saturday. Or Tuesday. Didn’t matter, really. “Let’s go have some fun.”
And damned if he could say no. He didn’t want to say no, because just being near her made him happy and?—
“You look like hammered shit,” Boss said from across the booth, dragging Hew’s gaze away from the river goddess.
“Ayuh.” He glanced at the big, black Garmin Tactix on his wrist and scratched his beard. “Took longer than usual for the insults to start. Ya feelin’ okay, Boss?”
“If I were insulting you,” Boss countered, the gray in his spiky buzzcut catching the overhead lights, “I’d say something about you crawling out from your cave near the Earth’s core to join us tonight.”
Hew cocked an eyebrow.
“You know.” Boss shrugged a bowling ball-sized shoulder. “All that heat and pressure explains why you’re so antisocial.”
“You’re one to talk.” Becky smacked Boss’s arm. “When’s the last time we came here?” She gestured at the peanut shell-strewn floor and the three well-worn pool tables. Red Delilah’s was a holy Mecca for guys who liked leather, chrome, and machines that rattled their bones. “Two months? Three?”
“When you said the girls were with their aunt and uncle tonight, I figured that meant we’d be using our spare time for a little…” Boss wiggled his brows. “Not coming here.”
Becky rolled her eyes. “Like having our daughters home has ever stopped us from a little…” She matched the eyebrow wiggle.
“It stops us from doing it on the kitchen counter,” Boss argued. “Or on the living room couch.”
“You mean the kitchen counter where we make our kids’ food? And the living room couch where they sit to watch cartoons?”
“There’s such a thing as bleach, you know.”
“For the couch?”
“No!” Boss threw up his scarred, wide-palmed hands. “For the kitchen counter.” His grin turned wolfish. “We can just throw a blanket over the couch.”
Becky gave him a playful elbow, then turned to Hew. “As you can see, my better half has no business giving you grief for being a homebody. I had to twist his arm nearly out of its socket to get him here tonight.”
Boss’s sigh was drawn out and long-suffering. “I’m just saying, we could’ve stayed back at the shop and had a couple of beers around the fire pit instead of being forced to listen to other people’s music.”
Boss craned his head toward the jukebox near the front door. Someone had spun Katy Perry’s “Firework.” It was a bold choice considering the usual mix heard inside Red Delilah’s tended toward classic rock or outlaw country.
“It’s too hot for the fire pit,” Becky declared, pulling a root beer-flavored Dum-Dum from her pocket. “Shove this in your mouth,” she said after handing it to her husband. “It’ll give your tongue something to do besides complain.”
Boss grumbled but dutifully unwrapped the lollipop. Then, he pointed the round head of the sucker in Hew’s direction. “Your report to the higher-ups said the mission went as planned. How come the shadows under your eyes tell a different tale?”
