“Holy fuck,” Crash says. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you piss off Beau?”
“What the hell does it matter if I piss off some piece of tail? Jesus, you two are acting like the world is ending over a fucking club whore.”
“Club whore? Oh, shit! Did you call Beau a club whore?” Crash says, his voice sounding strangled.
“That’s what she is, and why do you two keep calling Harper Beau?”
“Because that’s her name, idiot. Beau Harper,” Carlos barks.
They look at me as if they’re expecting me to comment. Shit, I need some coffee and to get the hell out of here. These two are acting insane. “So?” I prompt when they just keep staring.
“Beau? As in Beau’s Customs?” Crash answers.
“Wait, hold up. That chick isBeau? The paint guy?” I ask, and now I’m starting to panic. Beau’s Customs is who we send all our bikes and vehicles that we restore to. They do top-notch work—I mean, they’ve gotten awards and shit. We get double what we would normally get out of a vehicle, and most of it has to do with the fact we get a one-of-a-kind paint job by the master himself … or apparentlyherself.
“I see you’re starting to get it,” Spider mutters. “If we can’t get her to change her mind, plans of digging out of the hole we’re in just got a fuck of a lot harder.”
“I—”
“And it was already fucking hard considering we only have four mechanics to work the shop now, and two of those are mostly just for bikes.”
“Christ,” I hiss, scrubbing my face. “I thought she was club candy or a hanger on, just here for the party.”
“That’s because you’re a moron. I’m not going to tell King or Skull. That’s going to be all you. You might want to ask your dad to be there to keep them from killing you. Although that might be a risky move, your dad loves Beau. Still, you’re going to needthem to see if they can talk to her and mend some of the damage you did to the club’s relationship with her.”
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
I think I’m in trouble.
Chapter 1
Beau
Three MonthsLater
“Beau, your monthly visit is here.”
I flip Callum off, letting out a growl under my breath. Not many people would have the courage to do that. Callum is six-seven, broad shouldered, and a mountain of a man. He has beautiful—and I meansilky, sexy, gorgeous—brown hair that is a month past time for a haircut. Incidentally, it always is. It falls just below the collar of the leather jacket he wears sometimes. Today he’s in jeans and a white tee. I only know this because I saw him before he slipped into his grease-stained, blue coveralls that all of us wear here at the shop. I lean on the counter and stare at him as he saunters up to me and plops his fine ass on a bar stool. Honestly, his assisfine. It’s his personality that’s annoying. I suppose it’s to be expected since he’s my pseudo big brother—meaning, he’s not but he’s self-appointed himself that. So, it has kind of stuck over the years. Callum was the first employee that I hired. I took over my dad’s garage at seventeen. I’m now twenty-seven. That means the two of us have been a team for ten years.
Now, I know some would think it an impossibility to take over a business that young. To some, maybe it is. My old manraised me in this garage though. He taught me everything I know about painting and bodywork. Callum’s old man worked for dad for forty plus years, and he taught Callum everything he knows about making a vehicle run. Heck, he still comes in and helps from time to time. That means the two of us are one hell of a team. We get along great—except on one small detail.
Three months ago, I cut ties with one of our bigger clients. Callum thinks I need to get off my high horse—as he puts it—and welcome them back in. I don’t agree and the reason I don’t agree boils down to one person.Hunter “BB” Evans.Jesus, what kind of man allows people to call him BB? I ignore the tinge of guilt I feel mocking his name. Then, I get mad at myself for even giving a damn about Hunter. I’m stupid.
So very stupid.
I shake my head. I’ve suffered this sad affliction since the moment Hunter smiled at me across the back yard area of the Devil’s Blaze MC headquarters. For years, I’ve ignored all their invites to their parties. I have no idea why I decided to go to the last one. I’m just going to file that little statement in white lies I tell myself. In actuality, I know exactly why I went. I sawhim. Christ. Looking at Hunter, his head thrown back, with his red-blonde hair shining in the waning sun, was a sucker punch. Then, as his laugh hit the air, it surrounded me, vibratedinsideme, and I swear to God, I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t breathe.
It’s stupid. It is hokey as hell. People would call me crazy, and I’d agree with them. Still, I know it’s true. I know it deep, deep down inside of me. I’m as positive about that as I am knowing the sun will rise in the morning. I fell in love with Hunter Evans at a crowded wedding without even saying one word to him. I watched him the entire reception. I burned inside with anger and frustration as he danced with other women. I listened to his cousin call him Hunter when everyone else called him BB. I leftquietly when I saw him leaving with a woman. It was clear what they were going to do, and I hated it. Yet, I still didn’t make a move.
What was I supposed to do? Walk up to him and say I fell in love while you were laughing. Don’t leave with her. I know she’s gorgeous and everything I’m not, but I could make you happy. I know I could.
Yeah, that doesn’t sound ridiculous and skeevy at all. So, I decided to go to that stupid party. I felt I had to. I’d been pining for him since that day. I had to take a chance.So, I did.Once there, I watched Hunter make his play and when he came to me, I thought it was fate. Hell, maybe even divine intervention. He wanted me just like I wanted him. I didn’t even think—which in hindsight wasnotsmart at all. I followed him to his room—likely the same one he fucked the red head in after the wedding. I spent the night with him, thinking this was it. The beginning of every dream that I never dared dream. I thought that’s what he felt, too. I fell asleep in his arms, knowing I wanted to do that same thing every night—for the rest of my life. That’s how deep I was in. Instead, he kicked me out of bed and called me a cunt. That hurt so much that I can still feel the burn. There are scars you wear on your body. If you’re lucky, you get to the point that they become badges of honor. Then, there are scars no one sees. Scars that are hidden deep inside you and you wear those every day, too. These scars though, don’t heal over and become numb to the touch. These fucking scars inflict damage daily. They latch onto your muscle and spread through every inch of you. You can’t run from them. You can’t hide. They’re there and they will hurt you—haunt you—for the rest of your life.
I already had a million of them. Hunter’s just added more.
“Beau? Are you with me?”
