The Keeper (Silent Phoenix MC #5)

Chapter 1

ONE

PIPER

Ivy & Piper’s Guide to Life Rule Number Thirty-Seven:

You can never have too many books.

Motorcycles, Mobsters, & Mayhem Event 2023

“ G ood girls get on their knees and ask nicely.”

A flush crept across my cheeks as if I hadn’t heard the same command at least half a dozen times while waiting in line. Then again, a gorgeous six-foot-something biker hadn’t been watching.

It wasn’t the first time I’d caught him staring, either. No, I’d felt the heat of his gaze while waiting to get into the ballroom and again when I stopped at a water station to grab a drink. Every time I turned around, he was there.

Had we not been at an event specifically geared toward readers of mafia and motorcycle club romance, I might have thought he was lowkey stalking me. Instead, I assumed he was trying to drum up business for the author who’d paid for him to come or a newbie hoping to kickstart his cover model career by catching the eye of one of the many authors and photographers in attendance .

Although neither theory explained the hours of furtive glances or why he’d stopped in the middle of the busy aisle to watch me deep-throat a shot of liquor.

I knelt on the denim and gold-patterned hotel carpet and pulled my long, dark hair over one shoulder before folding my hands against my lap, playing up the part of demure submissive more for his benefit than anything else.

“Please,” I murmured, unable to resist peering up beneath my lashes to see if he was still there.

“Uh, uh, uh,” the author chided, placing her fingers under my chin and guiding my face back to hers. “Eyes on me.”

I tipped my head back and obediently parted my lips, not catching the hint of cinnamon until it was too late.

Fucking Fireball.

The spicy notes of cinnamon intermingled with distinct undercurrents of regret and memories of my twenty-first birthday, which had subsequently led to the worst hangover of my life.

With tearing eyes, I forced myself to swallow while solemnly vowing never to read another of Avelyn Paige’s books for the rest of my life. The books I’d already made the mistake of purchasing would become kindling for my fireplace in the winter.

“Took it like such a good girl,” she cooed as she swiped her thumb across my tingling lower lip, effectively reactivating my praise kink and making me rethink my somewhat hasty decision to ban her books from my shelves.

After retrieving my personalized copies from her assistant, plus a few extras I threw in last-second to atone for the ugly thoughts I had when the Fireball was scorching its way down my throat, I picked my way through the gathering crowd to where my best friend, Ivy, stood guarding our book carts.

She smacked my shoulder as soon as I was within reach, exclaiming, “Keanu on a cupcake! That was hot!”

“Really? The spicy aftertaste and burning in my esophagus beg to differ,” I croaked, watching as Avelyn ushered the next schmuck to their knees.

“Oh no, it was definitely hot as hell,” Ivy insisted with a firm shake of her head before lowering her voice. “And I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, feigning a neck stretch to casually scan the nearby faces for a certain pair of hooded brown eyes.

“Like you don’t know! Dude, I thought the poor guy was going to chew through his bottom lip watching you take that shot. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t step in and claim you as his Ol’ Lady on the spot.”

“Someone’s read too many books,” I said, playfully nudging her with my elbow. The thought of the gorgeous giant going full caveman and staking his claim, though, sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine—further proof my love of dark romance had warped my mind.

She pointed to my nearly overflowing cart with a snort. “Speak for yourself, missy. And it’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs Biker Boy has been lusting after you all day.”

“Please! He’s probably just some cover model cosplaying as a biker.” I consulted my table map, checking off the authors we’d already seen. “Where to next?”

“I don’t care. I’ve picked up all my preorders and met everyone I wanted to, so it’s your call,” Ivy replied, lifting her shoulder in a half-shrug.

I couldn’t recall a single instance in the twenty-plus years we’d known each other in which Ivy had dropped a discussion without a fight. She was like a dog with a bone when it came to uncomfortable conversations, especially when they centered around dating and sex. It was part of what made her a great psychiatrist—well, fourth-year psych resident.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

“No. It’s nothing. You’re good.”

She pursed her lips and studied me through narrowed eyes before shaking her head. “Okay, so can we go now? Or were there more authors you wanted to see?”

“I think Avelyn Paige was the last one on my list?—”

“Awesome. Let’s beat the crowd and head back to the room,” she interjected before promptly steering her cart toward the exit.

“Excuse me—sorry.” I cut through the throngs of people loitering near the doors, my short legs struggling to keep up with her gazelle-like stride.

“Jesus, Ivy, slow down! It’s not like we’ve got to rush to catch the elevator! Our room is on the first floor. What are you—oh.” My voice broke off in a breathy sigh as I found myself staring up into a familiar pair of brown eyes.

His proximity sent my heart racing but slowed my reaction time, which became glaringly obvious a half-second later when I dragged my loaded book cart across my foot. I clamped my lips together to contain the slew of obscenities bubbling up my throat, trying to play it off like my toes weren’t actively being crushed under the weight.

Without a word, he reached for the cart, lifting it up and off my foot before stepping back. Our gazes caught, and all I could think was brown wasn’t an adequate enough description for the color of his eyes. Under the ballroom lights, they were so dark they appeared almost black. But up close and with the late afternoon sun streaming in through the glass doors, I was able to make out amber and gold hues I’d missed before.

“I vote for a power nap, early dinner here at the hotel, and drinks by the pool—oh, hey!” Ivy exclaimed as if running into him was a funny coincidence and not her entire plan when she took off for the doors. “How funny. We were just talking about you.”

His brow creased, and I shot Ivy a warning glare, which she, of course, ignored. “Yeah, Piper and I were wondering if you and your friends were?—”

“Going to the dinner,” I blurted, although it came out much louder than I intended. “We were wondering if you were going to the dinner. That’s all.”

“We are. What about you? Are you going to the dinner, Piper?”

The smoky and deep tone of his voice sent a subtle jolt of pleasure spiking through my veins. I sucked in a breath, my mind filled with visions of my fingernails scoring his muscular shoulders and the heat of his breath against the shell of my ear as he panted my name in his low voice.

“Unfortunately, no. They were already sold out by the time we tried to get tickets,” I said, sounding like I needed a few puffs from my rescue inhaler .

“That’s too bad.”

“But we’ll be down by the pool around eight if you want to join us,” Ivy offered before going in for the kill. “You should come and bring your friends.”

He ran a hand over his bearded jaw before nodding to himself. “Bet we could make that work. I’m pretty sure GQ’s free once the dinner’s over, and we don’t have any plans as far as I know.”

I couldn’t resist asking, “GQ’s a cover model, I take it?”

“He is this weekend.”

Score one for Piper.

“And what about you?” I dropped my gaze to read the name stitched onto the breast of his kutte, only to wish I hadn’t. “Are you a model, Ghost?” I asked, though I had a sneaking suspicion I already knew the answer.

Ghost .

As in, what he did to women after sleeping with them, or was he a big fan of the Patrick Swayze movie?

Given my recent luck with dating, it was likely the former, which was a damn shame because the man was hot as hell.

He had a broad, muscular body built for heavy lifting and towered over my five-foot-four frame by a solid eight or nine inches. His thick, dark brown hair was cut close to his scalp on the sides, with longer strands on top standing up in messy spikes. Combined with his well-groomed beard, strong jawline, and fuck me eyes, he was just my type. Well, minus the whole love ‘em and leave ‘em vibe his road name gave off.

“Just a regular biker. Sorry to disappoint,” he replied, running his tongue over his teeth.

I willed the hairs on my arms to stand down before lifting my shoulder in a half-shrug. “Never said I was disappointed.”

His phone buzzed, and he checked it with a frown before returning his gaze to mine. “I’ve gotta head out. Eight o’clock?”

“Eight o’clock,” I echoed with a grin. Like a heroine in a dark romance, I saw the red flags and ran straight for them like a kid headed for the circus.