Chapter 2
LEE
The first thing I notice is that the sign’s finally fixed.
The “B” in Bar used to flicker like a dying firefly, annoying as hell every time I rode past. But now it glows steady and sharp against the dusk. Strange.
The second thing I notice? The music.
It’s not the usual honky-tonk bullshit or the same classic rock that’s been on rotation since before I was born. This is something bluesy and low, with a woman’s voice thick like honey and heartbreak.
I push through the door and step into the warm, familiar buzz of the bar. Only it feels different somehow. Cleaner, maybe. Like someone’s been paying attention to details that’ve been ignored for years.
I don’t come in here as often as I used to—club business has been keeping me busy lately. But tonight I’ve got a reason. Devil called earlier, said he was finalizing the handover, wanted to give me a heads-up before word got around. As enforcer, it’s my job to know who’s operating in our territory.
He didn’t say who the new owner was, which was weird in itself. Devil’s not usually one for mysteries. If anything, he’s too direct for most people’s comfort. It’s what I like most about him.
I spot the old bastard behind the bar, polishing a glass. He’s built like a brick shithouse, with the cholesterol to match. The man’s a walking heart attack in a leather vest who should’ve retired five years ago.
“Thought you were hanging up your apron,” I say as I approach, sliding onto a barstool that’s seen better decades.
He grunts without looking up.
I lean forward, waiting. Within a few seconds a beer appears before me. Devil might not be the most talkative guy, but he knows that’s not why we come here.
I take a sip, waiting for him to share. He ignores me, racking glasses and cleaning down counters that are older than sin.
Finally, knowing the stubborn prick is gonna make me ask, I do so.
“Heard you’re selling up.”
He gives me a look that would make Medusa proud. “I’m finalizing the transition. Handover’s done. Place has a new owner as of yesterday.”
“You gonna tell me who?” I lean back, studying his face for tells. “Is it someone local? Someone who understands how things work around here?”
He shrugs. “Don’t need to. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
I narrow my eyes. “Devil, if this is someone who’s gonna cause problems—”
“Relax, Harley.” The use of my real name makes me sit up straighter. “New owner’s not gonna be trouble for the club. If anything, might solve some old problems.”
Before I can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, the bastard walks off, leaving me with more questions than answers. Typical.
Whatever. I’ve got eyes. I’ll work it out.
I drift toward the pool tables, scanning the room. The place looks good—better than it has in years. Someone’s replaced the burned-out bulbs, wiped down surfaces that probably haven’t seen a clean rag since they were first installed.
Then I see her.
She’s bent over, tugging something from under one of the booths, and fuck me if this isn’t the best view I’ve had all damn week.
Thick, round hips hugged tight in a pair of light-wash jeans that fit like sin. Thighs for days. The kind of ass that makes a man want to say thank you to the universe, buy her a drink, and then get on his knees just for the honor of worshipping it.
She’s soft in all the right places, the kind of woman built to be held. This woman’s full-bodied. Lush. Fucking breathtaking.
Her blonde hair’s up in a messy bun, little wisps curling down her neck, and she’s humming—actually humming—as she squirms further onto the booth seat, reaching under the table for something.
The sway of her hips, the way her shirt stretches across her back, the peek of skin above her waistband when she shifts…
Yeah. That’s a problem.
A very hot problem.
She makes a sound of triumph and pushes up, straightening from the booth with an empty bottle in her hand. It’s only then, as she turns toward the bar, that my brain slams the emergency brake hard enough to cause whiplash.
Because I know her face.
Even years later, with fuller cheeks and a confidence she didn’t used to wear, I know exactly who she is.
“Kya?”
Her name comes out strangled, like it’s been scraped over gravel. Like I haven’t said it in years, which I haven’t. Because why would I? She was Emma’s annoying little friend who used to follow us around like a lost puppy.
She was Emma’s friend.
She was a kid.
Kya freezes, her head whipping toward me, and I watch as her eyes go wide. For a second neither of us moves. The jukebox keeps playing, but everything else falls away.
This is not the same girl who used to hide behind Emma when I walked into a room. This is not the girl with the too-big eyes and the defensive walls who always looked like she was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
No.
This is a woman.
And not just any woman.
She’s all soft curves and unapologetic presence. And my brain—my traitorous, apparently malfunctioning brain—is noticing things about Emma’s best friend that I have no fucking business noticing.
Like her full hips and round belly that she doesn’t even pretend to hide. She has thighs that look like they could crush a man’s ego. And maybe his skull. And fuck if I don’t want her to try.
Her shirt stretches over full, heavy breasts in a way that should be illegal. No bra lines I can see, which only makes it worse. Or better. Her waist dips in, soft but strong, flaring out to hips made to hold a man’s hands.
Her skin has a warm glow to it, like she’s finally getting enough sleep or sun.
Her cheekbones are a little sharper now, her jaw more defined.
There’s a faint freckle near her lip I don’t remember, and a tiny scar above her brow.
But her eyes? They’re still that same deep, soul-melting shade of hazel, only now there’s steel behind them.
Kya stands tall, chin lifted, shoulders relaxed like she finally fits inside her own body.
She’s not hiding anymore. That’s what hits me most—her confidence and calm.
The shrinking teen who knocked on my door in the middle of the night is gone, replaced by a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it.
And fuck me, if that isn’t the biggest fucking turn-on.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Lee?” Her voice is different too, and hearing my name come from between those lips does something to me that it absolutely should not do.
I clear my throat, trying to get my head back in the game. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” She sets the bottle down carefully on a table.
“For good?”
“For now.” She crosses her arms, and I force myself to look at her face instead of… other things.
“Emma know you’re here?”
Something flickers across her face—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. “Not yet.”
The silence stretches between us, and I realize I’m staring. Again. At Emma’s friend. At someone I used to think of as practically a little sister.
Someone who definitely doesn’t look like a little sister anymore.
Get it together, dickhead.
“So,” I say, grasping for normal conversation. “This is your place now.”
“I guess it is.” There’s a note of challenge in her voice, like she’s daring me to make something of it.
“Since when?”
“Since yesterday.” She starts wiping down the bar, movements precise and controlled. “Devil didn’t mention that when he called the club?”
That’s the thing about Kya, she understands how integrated the club is with this place—with the whole town, really.
“He mentioned the sale. He didn’t mention…” I gesture vaguely. “You.”
“Well,” she says, voice carefully neutral. “Surprise.”
I stiffen. That’s one word for it.
Then it hits me like a physical blow. But it’s not just attraction that has my hands clenching into fists. If Kya’s here, if she’s running Devil’s, then she’s directly in Summit’s crosshairs. And Devil, the manipulative old bastard, put her there.
“Devil!” I bark, scanning the room for him.
The old man emerges from the back hallway, and the guilty look on his face tells me everything I need to know.
“Outside. Now.”
“Lee—” Kya starts, straightening up, but I’m already stalking toward the back exit.
Devil follows, and the moment we’re in the alley, I round on him.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I slam him against the brick wall, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make my point. “You sold her the bar? You put a target on her back?”
“Get your hands off me, boy.” His voice is calm, but there’s steel underneath.
I release him but don’t step back. “Summit’s been circling this place for months. You know what they’re capable of. And you just hand it over to—“
“To family,” Devil interrupts. “That girl’s been family since she was knee-high, coming in here to collect her mother. She’s got more right to this place than anyone.”
“She’s got no idea what she’s walking into!”
“Doesn’t she?” Devil straightens his jacket. “Kya Sullivan’s tougher than you think. Always has been. She survived Patty, survived this town’s judgment, survived on her own for years. She can handle this.”
“Not Summit. Not the cartel—”
“With the club’s protection, she can.” His eyes narrow. “Unless you’re saying the MC can’t protect its own?”
The accusation hangs between us.
“Besides,” Devil continues, “she’s exactly what this place needs. What this town needs. Someone who won’t roll over for Summit’s money.”
“You should have told me. We could have found another buyer—”
“There was no other buyer who’d keep it as Devil’s. Who’d fight for it.” He steps closer. “That girl came back here for a reason, Lee. Maybe you should figure out what that reason is instead of trying to beat me for making a decision.”
I turn to find Kya standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes blazing.
“If you two are done discussing me like I’m not capable of making my own decisions, I have a bar to run.”
The anger in her voice cuts through my protective rage. Shit. This isn’t how I wanted this to go.
“Kya—”