“Is Dad really g-going?” Austin looks up at me, his eyes watery. He still feels everything the hardest, and I hate it. I wish I could shield him from it all.
“Yes,” I say. “He’s not going to hurt any of us anymore, okay?”
Austin nods, his arms tightening around Mom.
“Dylan, come here,” she says.
Dylan does as he’s told. He’s five years younger than me, and Austin seven, but I know they’re both going to follow suit in the Dawson family genetics because Dylan is already naturally solid, and tall. He’ll be alright because he’s got a good head on his shoulders. They both do. But I don’t want a life for them filled with hatred, abuse, and criminal activity. I want more for them.
She pulls him into a hug, and even though he’s at that age where that isn’t cool, we’re behind closed doors so he lets her. “I have my boys,” she says, tears falling down her face. “That’s all I need.”
I nod. “We’re gonna be okay. I promise. I’ll get another job, whatever it takes.”
This only makes Mom cry harder, than I wrap my arms around her, and my brothers, too. “Shhh, it’s gonna be okay,” I soothe. “We’ll get through it, just like we did everything else.”
“My boys,” she hums. “All I need is my boys.”
CHAPTER
ONE
Logan
Twenty-five years later
Present day
I groan, the sun streaming through the blinds in my apartment blinding me.
Is it morning already? My headache greets me with a vengeance.
I almost forget where I am because I was having the most delicious dream. It consisted of an all-night sex marathon with a beautiful woman with stamina that matched mine—that would’ve been a first. She was sweet, soft, and had a mouth on her that wasn’t just good for sucking cock, but moaning my name…
Movement beside me has my gaze landing on the long, dark tresses strewn across the pillow.
Payden.
Holy shit. It wasn’t a dream. I don’t drink myself into a coma, but I’ve been under severe stress lately with my bar and the renovations, as well as joining the NOLA Rebels MC; somethingI vowed I’d never do. It isn’t like I dislike the club, but Cash—the club Prez—and I didn’t always see eye to eye. Over the years, I’ve slowly learned to realize that he and the club saved my brothers in more ways than one. When Cash came to me about the building next door to my bar, he made an offer I couldn’t refuse. I own my bar; the Whiskey Straight, and we now co-own the adjoining building. In exchange, I agreed to become a member, as long as I didn’t have to prospect. I’m too old for that shit. At forty-three, I’ve done my fair share of shit-kicking over the years, and I’ve no intention of going back.
Payden is a feisty and somewhat ball-busting lawyer who’s on retainer for the club, but has some high-profile cases at her law firm that have made the news. She’s smart, beautiful, and isn’t afraid of anything, much less me. Not that I want her to be afraid of me, but we are opposites. I’ve not had much to do with her, but over the last few years I’ve been around the club more.
Her best friend is Luna, one of the ol’ ladies from the club. Luna’s old man, Tag, is the club’s Sergeant at Arms, and basically the baddest motherfucker there is.
I press my palms to my eyes to make sure I’m really awake, and then blink at her. She’s on her stomach, her pretty, alabaster skin on display as she sleeps. Even while she’s dreaming, she looks like an angel. I know that will all change the second she opens her mouth, but then it all comes flooding back to me. That little minx came into my bar, looking for me.
I’ve had my fair share of women over the years, and I’m not gonna lie, I’ve enjoyed a sweet butt or two when the fancy took me—the chicks who hang around the clubhouse for booze, sex and grub—but they’ve got nothing on Payden. The way she used those sultry, caramel eyes to reel me in. Who am I kidding? I wasn’t kicking and screaming. Nova—my cousin who works for my brothers who are now named Brew and Haze, run a security company—hinted a time or two that Payden had made a fewcomments about me of the explicit kind. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when a woman knows what she wants, but I didn’t expect this fancy lawyer to be in my bar, much less end up in my bed.
The Whiskey Straight is a biker bar, but now Cash wants to turn the place next door into an eatery to clean the joint up. While I don’t discount his ideas, I like things the way they are. I like my dive bar and the people who frequent it, but times are changing. If you don’t hop on the train, you’ll get left behind. So we compromised. The bar would stay as is, albeit a new lick of paint, some fresh aesthetics, and new lighting to spruce it up, and the restaurant next door would be a family place. They’d also make bar food for Whiskey Straight and I’d oversee things, but we’d have a manager. One thing about being a sole proprietor is that it all falls on your head. The club can make decisions about the restaurant, but I still own the bar solely. I also want to loosen the reins a little and not be so involved. I’ve worked every night at the bar for as long as I can remember, but it only struck me recently that I’ve run myself ragged. On top of that, I help my brothers from time to time at the Nomad Brothers’ security business, but I’m more of a silent investor.
“Coffee,” Payden mutters, her face smooshed into the pillow.
“Good mornin’ to you, too,” I mutter.
She peeks one eye open, then winces. “Tequila slammers are the devil.”
“I told you to eat somethin’ before you drank that much.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
