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Angel Sanchez walked into the biker bar, not sure if it was a good or bad idea that she was there. Her life had turned to shit lately, and losing her job was just the icing on the cake that had her spiraling. She wanted a night out to be carefree and ridiculously ignorant of the world around her. She could worry about all her problems in the morning, but tonight, she just wanted to forget. And what better way to forget about her shitty life than to find a willing man to play with? Angel just wasn’t counting on two willing men, but it only seemed to make things twice as fun—at least she hoped that was the case, because if they were serial killers who weren’t going to give her a hot night of sex, she was going to be pissed.

“You two aren’t serial killers, right?” she asked.

The big one—Jackhammer laughed, and Ghost just shook his head at her. They were getting along well when a young guy ran into the bar, bloody and shouting something about a rival gang shooting. She should have gotten up and left right then and there, but there was something about the two big bikers who were talking her up that had her glued to the barstool. And when the one named Ghost asked her to stick around and wait for him and Jackhammer to get back, she found herself agreeing to give them an hour before she gave up waiting for them.

The clubhouse felt like a hollow shell without all the guys hanging around. Angel sat at the bar, one boot hooked on the bottom rung of her stool, nursing a beer she didn’t want, but the bartender insisted that she take anyway. The music had died down after the brothers rode out, leaving behind an anxious silence broken only by the hum of neon signs and the occasional clink of glass from behind the bar and in the back kitchen.

Most of the women had cleared out, not wanting to hang around when violence was in the wind. Angel stayed. She always stayed. Maybe it said more about her than she liked, but she was never really bothered by violence. She had experienced it so much in her life that it had become a part of her—some would even say a second nature. She stayed, telling herself it was because someone had to keep the fire warm, the lights on. But that was a lie she’d been feeding herself for too long. The truth was simpler: she was waiting. For him.

For some odd reason, Ghost had that effect on her. Sure, he was cold, untouchable, scarred up from the inside out—and yet every time he walked past her during the night, her pulse betrayed her. He never promised her anything, never even hinted at more than a smirk and a brush of his hand against her back in passing. But Angel wanted him anyway, against all reason.

Jackhammer was the same but different, all wrapped up in one sexy biker. He seemed to be solid where Ghost was sharp, steady where Ghost was wild. If Ghost was the shadow, Jackhammer was the anchor. And damn it all, Angel wanted him too.

The clock above the bar ticked loudly. Every minute they didn’t come back twisted tighter in her chest. Angel knew that rival crews didn’t play nicely. Ghost and Jackhammer looked like they could handle themselves—hell, the Toxic Monsters were some of the deadliest men she knew—but bullets didn’t care about reputations.

Angel set her beer down and dragged her hands through her hair. She hated this part—the waiting, the not knowing. She had been through this part more times than she’d care to admit, and she’d patched up more wounds than she cared to count—bloodied knuckles, broken ribs. Every fight took a little piece out of her, too, even if no one else saw it.

She had grown up in an MC. Her father was the club’s Prez in the small town where she lived. She was familiar with the lifestyle—especially the threats made by rival clubs. It was how she lost her dad—and her man. She swore that she was finished with that life. She promised herself that she wasn’t going to step foot in an MC ever again—but they were all just lies that she told herself to get through the tough spots.

The door finally banged open, and the brothers filed in, boots heavy on the floorboards, voices loud, the scent of gunpowder and sweat trailing after them. Relief rippled through the room.

And then she saw them. Ghost first, his cut spattered in blood, his jaw tight, and his eyes darker than before he left. Jackhammer was right behind him, his knuckles raw and bleeding.

Angel’s breath caught. She told herself she wouldn’t run to them. Wouldn’t let them see how worried she’d been while waiting for them to get back—even though she had just met the two of them. But when Ghost’s eyes swept the room and landed on her— and when Jackhammer’s gaze followed—Angel felt it. The pull between the three of them was real.

Two men who were carved by violence, bound together by something she didn’t understand, were staring her down. Two men who, for reasons she couldn’t name, looked at her like she was the only thing keeping the ghosts from swallowing them whole.

Angel swallowed hard and forced herself to stay on that barstool, even though every nerve in her body screamed to move, to go to them and touch them both. She wanted them to be hers, but could they really belong to her or anyone else?

They were back, and for now, that was enough. For some reason, Angel couldn’t shake the truth sinking into her bones—that one day, the road would try to take them. The road always took the men in her life, and she knew that she wouldn’t survive losing anyone again. For some reason, that included both of them.

She stood from her stool as they made their way across the now crowded barroom to her. “You’re back,” she said, trying for casual but failing miserably. She could hear the fear in her voice, and she wondered if they picked up on that, too. They framed her body with their own big bodies, effectively cutting her off from the rest of the guys in the room. The way that they looked at her felt like an intimate touch, and there was no way that she’d be able to walk away from either of them now.

“I only want one night,” she squeaked, not sure if she had even said those words aloud. “Nothing more.” Both men smiled at her, and she knew that they had heard her.

“One night,” Ghost repeated. “I think that Hammer and I can give you that, honey,” he promised.

“We can use my place upstairs,” Ghost said, nodding to the stairs that led up to what she assumed to be rooms or small apartments. She had lived in one of them when she was just a girl, living with her father over the bar that he owned. It was a convenient way for him to keep an eye on the place in case any of their rivals wanted to show up in the night.

“You sure about this, honey?” Ghost asked. She wasn’t, but there was no way that she’d tell him that. Tonight was going to be just for her, and if the two guys staring her down got some pleasure in the bargain, so be it.

“I’m sure,” she almost whispered. That seemed to be all either of them needed as they crowded closer to her. Angel’s pulse thundered in her ears as she stood trapped between them, Jackhammer’s massive body radiating heat in front of her while Ghost’s breath grazed her ear from behind. She should’ve been afraid—of their intensity, of the sheer madness of what they were suggesting—but instead her body burned with want.

“You can’t both—” She swallowed hard, voice breaking. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Jackhammer smirked, his thumb stroking her chin as he tilted her face up. “Baby, it works however the hell we say it does. You promised to be ours tonight, Angel, and we’re not going to go easy on you. Are you still good with that?”

She nodded, not really thinking about another option. Not giving in to what she wanted from them wasn’t how she wanted things to play out.

Ghost’s lips brushed her neck, making her shiver. “And we say you’re ours tonight. Both of ours—together.”

Her knees nearly buckled when Jackhammer’s mouth claimed hers, hungry and rough, while Ghost’s hands slid around her waist, tugging her back against his hard body. The sensation of both men at once made her dizzy and overwhelmed, and her mind was blank except for the flood of heat pouring through her.

“God, you’re shaking,” Jackhammer growled against her mouth, pulling back just enough to see her. “Tell us to stop if you don’t want this, Angel.”

“I—” Her voice broke into a moan when Ghost’s teeth grazed her shoulder. “I don’t want you to stop.” That was all the permission they seemed to need.

Jackhammer lifted her off her feet like she weighed nothing, carrying her toward the room that Ghost rented above the clubhouse. Ghost followed close, his hands on her thighs as Jackhammer pushed into the room and laid her out on the bed. Both of them stripped out of their clothes, leaving tattoos and muscles bared just for her under the dim light.