Chapter One
Maureen
“Goddammit, not now!” I shouted. “Come on, Betty. We’re almost there. You can make it,” I pleaded with her to give me just a little more.
My beloved car sputtered before her engine gave out as I turned the wheel and slowly maneuvered her to the side of the road. I guess I was lucky she still had enough juice to keep the lights on. Without them, I doubt anyone would see me on this road.
I was on a highway road. However, the highways in Nebraska differed significantly from the highways in Massachusetts. For one, they were simply a two-lane road, and there were no trees along the side of the road. More than once, I thought Betty was having trouble before I realized it was just windy.
Back home, if your car started to move one way or the other, you looked at the trees lining the road. Once you saw how much they were moving, you could adjust your driving for the conditions.
Out here, there was nothing to indicate the wind. Until I saw an actual tumbleweed roll across the road in front of me.
I grew up reading historical romance novels. Loved stories from the wild, wild west that described the large balls of twigs and debris that strolled across the road in front of horse-drawn buggies.
I thought they were a myth.
Living my entire life in the city of Boston, I was pretty sheltered when it came to nature and wildlife, but I was ready to learn.
Another difference between highways here and in the city.
No streetlights. Climbing out of my car, I looked up and down the road. If it had been daytime, I would have been able to see for miles over the flat expanse of land. But in the darkness, I could barely see a hundred feet ahead or behind me.
I looked up at the sky, and the moon was a slim crescent. Not much light from the man who lived up there.
But the stars! I had never seen the sky filled with so many stars. I remembered in grade school learning about the Milky Way. Never in my life did I believe I would be in a place to see it.
It was magnificent.
There was no light pollution in the Midwest. No skyscrapers lighting up the night, blinding you from seeing the sky. The tiny dots that shimmered like diamonds mesmerized me.
Of course, that made me think of the Beatles’ song, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” I had once heard the song was about a picture drawn by John Lennon’s son, Julian. As a child, he had drawn a picture at school of his friend Lucy, among a sea of diamonds in the sky.
I pulled the latch, releasing the hood, then walked to the front of the car. Once it was secure enough that it wouldn’t fall on my head, I grabbed the flashlight I kept in the glove box.
Even a city girl knew to be prepared for anything.
Shining the light on the engine, I looked it over as if I would somehow know what was wrong with my girl.
“Ok, Betty, help me out here. Tell me where it hurts so I can fix it. I’ve got no idea what I’m even looking for.”
Yes, I was talking to my car.
Sighing heavily, I thought about Duane. He would know what was wrong. He would know how to fix it, or he would get one of the guys to do it. He couldn’t bail me out anymore.
I had to take care of myself.
Out here, I was alone.
For the first time in my life, I was in a place where no one knew who I was, and I was both excited and terrified.
Maybe my daughter was right. Maybe I was stupid thinking I could live on my own. Aside from the last year, I had never been on my own. Even then, I was never really alone. Not when I was part of the Mob.
Okay, I wasn’t part of the Mob, but I was married to the Mob.
For all their faults, they were a family, and the family took care of its own.
Until it didn’t.
I married at eighteen, and my marriage lasted twenty-nine years. I took care of the house and raised my daughter. Duane took care of everything else. The bills, the repairs, the safety of me and my daughter. I never wanted for anything.
Physically, I still didn’t. Duane was good with our money. And of course, being in the Mob hadn’t hurt us financially. That was how I was able to buy my way out.
That was the catch.
With Duane gone, I could purchase my freedom.
He did that for me.
There were rules in the Mob. Once you were a made man, the only way out was death. But for the women. They could buy their freedom.
And that was exactly what I did.
Duane knew his days were numbered. Not many soldiers made it to old age. They were expendable.
Sure, Sal did what he could to take care of everyone. Family first and all that jazz, but Duane hadn’t been high enough on the list to be protected at all costs. He wasn’t a captain like my father, and because of the reality of the hierarchy, Duane had made the necessary arrangements. He socked away money when he could. He knew how much I would need to buy my life, because it had never been mine to begin with.
With Duane’s death looming over his head, he gave me the opportunity to get out.
Throughout our marriage, we talked about what we would do if things were different. Duane was a realist, but me.
I was a dreamer.
I lived vicariously through books, always wondering what it would be like to have a little cottage in a small town. A few chickens in the backyard to get fresh eggs daily. A dog that was so loyal no one could get near me without the threat of him ripping the throat out of someone who dared to cause me pain, or even fear.
Never again would I live in fear.
As soon as I got settled, a dog was the first thing on my list. A big dog. A scary looking dog that was a marshmallow with me.
Duane did his best. He protected me as much as he could. It hadn’t been enough. I didn’t blame him, though. How could I? What happened to me hurt us both. Duane lived with the guilt of what I endured.
That was the past. With a new resolve, I looked back down at the engine and glared at Betty. Willing her to tell me how to fix her so we could get to our destination.
I was concentrating so hard that I almost didn’t hear the noise. A rumble that started as a faint hum. I looked around the hood of my car and noticed a single glow of what appeared to be a headlight.
Walking back to my car, I grabbed my purse and the Smith & Wesson 642LS Ladysmith Double-Action Revolver that was hidden within it. Duane had bought it for me after I was attacked. He spent months teaching me how to clean it, load it, and most importantly, how to shoot it.
I was a good shot.
Duane had made sure of it.
He made sure I would never be at the mercy of another man with a vendetta. A dirty cop that thought he wasn’t getting what he deserved. Who felt he was entitled to more. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been any of the wives.
Well, it would never be me again.
Pulling the gun from my purse, I held it at my side, slightly behind my leg. Being as dark as it was, whoever headed my way wouldn’t see it until it was too late.
The motorcycle pulled up behind my car, and the man that sat astride, pulled his helmet off. Hanging it on the handlebar, he tossed his leg over the back and stood.
“Hey, darlin’. You got car trouble?” he asked.
His voice had a southern twang as he swaggered toward me. His hips moved smoothly, and he ignored my stare as he looked down and tugged the gloves from his hands.
I stood on the passenger side of my broken-down car, choosing not to be against the road, despite the lack of cars that had never driven past while I’d been stranded out here.
The tall stranger walked to the front of my car, keeping himself on the driver’s side, choosing to walk away from me and along the road. I wasn’t na?ve enough to assume he was a gentleman. So, I kept myself alert, my hand tightened on the gun. I held my finger along the side of the barrel, ready to slide to the trigger at a moment’s notice.
“She just stopped. I looked at the engine, but I don’t know what I’m looking at,” I said, kicking myself for being so truthful about my weakness.
I didn’t want this man to see me as helpless. Helpless women were victims, and I would never be a victim again.
“She’s a beauty,” he said as his eyes trailed up the side of my car, then glanced at me. “Sure is a shame to see two beauties stranded by the side of the road.”
When he stood at the front of the car, the headlights shined on the cut he wore over his jacket. I noticed the 1% patch that sat by his shoulder, next to the one that read President. And under that, his name.
King.
It was fitting for a president.
He was a criminal. Criminals, I understood. Criminals had raised me. Criminals had taught me to survive. I knew what to expect from a criminal.
My shoulders loosened a bit, and King must have noticed. He looked down at his chest and saw what I was staring at.
“Never had a woman relax after seeing the patch. You an old lady?”
“No.”
He looked at me curiously before extending his left hand.
I looked down at it.
“You can hold on to your gun while you shake with your left,” he said with a grin that I imagined had dropped the panties of every woman he had ever met.
I reached over and shook his hand. “Maureen.”
“Good to meet you, Maureen. You live around here, or just driving through?”
“On my way to a little town called Diamond Creek. GPS says it isn’t far from here.”
“You found it.” He smirked. “Diamond Creek ain’t really all that little. Got quite a few square miles, but the sparse population makes it seem smaller than it is.”
King looked down the road, and I followed his gaze. The double headlights and the blue flashers on top had my shoulders tensing again.
“Here comes the calvary,” King remarked in an easy tone.
The cop car pulled up and stopped behind King’s motorcycle.
“Fuck,” I mumbled.
Rushing to open the door, I slid my gun back into my purse. I hadn’t looked into the carry laws in Nebraska, because honestly, it didn’t matter. I had carried a gun in Boston for years without a license.
By the time I straightened up, the cop had made his way to King.
“What seems to be the issue?” he asked.
“Nothing you need to worry about. You can be on your way.” My lips started moving before I could think about what I was saying. I had to remember this wasn’t Boston, and I didn’t know which cops were dirty, and which ones were clean.
The cop looked at King, who shrugged with a smile.
“Ma’am—”
“Did you just ma’am me?” I asked.
I stalked angrily to the front of the car and got my first proper look at the cop.
Holy shit!
I thought King was handsome, but he had nothing on the man standing in front of me. He was about an inch taller than the biker, and his shoulders were just a touch wider. The salt-and-pepper beard matched well with the gray at his temples, that was barely visible under the Stetson that sat atop his head.
He wasn’t wearing a uniform. Just a pair of well-worn denim jeans and a button-up shirt. If it weren’t for the car, and the badge on his belt, I might’ve mistaken him for a cowboy.
I stood there, staring as my thoughts of chastising this man vanished. He was quite possibly the sexiest man I had ever seen in my life.
Duane was handsome, but sexy was different.
I quickly pulled myself together, tearing my gaze from his, and looked back at King. Choosing to pretend like I hadn’t just questioned the man wearing the badge, I ignored him completely.
“Would you be able to help me get my car towed? I would call someone, but you’re the first person I’ve met here.”
“Sure, my club owns a garage. I’ll call my guy to come grab your car, and I can give you a ride to wherever you need to be.”
“No,” the cop said.
King looked at the man and grinned.
“What was that?”
“You can call Tank and have him get the car, but you aren’t putting her on the back of your bike. I’ll take her where she needs to go.”
King narrowed his eyes at the man. “Nah, I got this. You can head home. Maybe stop by and see Beck.”
“Beck is just fine.”
The two of them argued like I wasn’t standing there.
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Don’t I get a say?”
“Of course, darlin’. What would you like to do?” King grinned.
I looked between the two of them, then back at King. “I could use a ride, if you really don’t mind.”
King smirked back at the cop.
“I don’t mind at all. Let me just give Tank a call.”
He walked a few steps away, putting his phone to his ear as I considered everything settled when I heard. “Ma’am, I can’t let you go with him.”
I swung around to the cop.
“Let me? I don’t believe you have the authority to tell me where I can go and who I can go with.”
“Ma’am, there are rules—”
“Rules? You mean fucking laws? That you’ve sworn to uphold? Please tell me what law is preventing me from getting on the back of that bike with that man? What law are you going to twist to force me to go with you? Trump up some charge? Maybe you have a packet of white powder in your pocket you’ll toss on my seat? Or did you want to bust my taillight so you can give me a summons? Offer to let me suck your dick to avoid a ticket? You asshole cops are all the same.”
“Ma’am, please calm down.” The cop reached for my arm, and I shoved it away.
I hadn’t realized how much my voice had raised. I was in fight mode. There was no flight. Not anymore.
Before I realized what I was doing, I had balled my fist and swung. It was not my finest moment. But I would be damned if I would be at the mercy of some backwoods cop.
My hand never made contact. At least not where I aimed. The cop had grabbed my fist and in a move I had seen too many times on the streets of Boston, had me spun around and bent against the grill of my car.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” I snarled.
“Dec, man, what are you doing?” I heard King’s voice, but it didn’t register. My own voice continued on, calling the man that held me every vile name I could remember. I grew up in the Irish Mob. Many of us had learned and still spoke a language most people in America didn’t know. It was a way to keep things from getting out. I felt safe making a few threats that wouldn’t have me in cuffs, since he would have no way of knowing what I actually said.
The cop leaned over me, his pelvis snug against my ass. His hand around my throat, and whispered, “Ná bagairt ormsa ná ar mo theaghlach. Ní thaitníonn an toradh leat.” Don’t threaten me or my family. You won’t like the result.
I immediately stilled at his words.
“Declan, let the woman go.”
“Fuck that. You don’t get to say what she said and just go on about your way.”
As the cuffs clicked around my wrists, more headlights shined on us. The cop stood me up, assuming I was no longer a threat, as I watched the largest man I had ever seen walk toward us.
“What the fuck is going on out here? Since when do you arrest women for breaking down?” he asked.
I assumed this must be Tank, seeing as that was who King said he was calling. The name fit him well. Either he hadn’t been far away, or I had been ranting longer than I thought.
“I’m not arresting her for breaking down, asshole. I am arresting her for threatening my life.”
Tank and King both looked me up and down, then looked at the cop before both of them threw their heads back and laughed.