The Trust We Broke (Iron Outlaws MC Colorado #5)

Prologue

FOUR WEEKS EARLIER

“Ineed an escort,” Butcher, the club president of the Iron Outlaws, barks down my ear.

I laugh as I tuck my phone beneath my chin. “You burn through all the club girls, finally?”

I wink at Isla, one of the club girls who is just getting dressed, and reach for the packet of cigarettes I keep on the table next to the bed in my clubhouse room. Nothing chills me out more than a lazy morning of fucking and getting my pipes drained.

“Fuck you,” Butcher says. “Not that kind of escort. A club one. Greer’s been asked to go give a statement to the police. With all the bullshit with the Midtown Rebels, I don’t want to ride her there without knowing someone has my six.”

“One second, Butch,” I say. I gesture for Isla to get out of my room. Those fat lips that were wrapped around my cock half an hour ago pout, but she does as I say, gathering up the clothes she hasn’t yet put on.

One day, that girl will realize she isn’t getting a husband here because we all see her as she is: a disposable cum bucket who has fucked just about all of us at some time or another.

She’ll realize she should get out of here. Go get a job as a receptionist or something.

I sit up when she’s gone. “Why do the cops want to talk with her?”

“Because she stitched up a Rebel prospect.” Butcher stops there, but I have a strong feeling there’s so much more to this story than he’s telling me.

“‘Stitched up’ as in, with a needle and thread, or ratted him out to the cops?” The woman is an accomplished surgeon, after all.

“The former. They think he told her something pertinent.”

“Did he?”

There’s a pause. “The escort?”

“Leave it with me, Butcher. You wanna go immediately?”

“Affirmative.”

“You at your place?” I ask, throwing the covers back and grimacing at how sticky all the lube is.

“Yeah. I’ll be taking Greer in the truck.”

“I’ll tell everyone to meet there. We’ll split around the truck so you’re in the middle.”

“Thanks, brother.”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah. No problem. Just go easy on those brakes so no one runs into the back of you. I know how heavy footed you are.”

“Fuck off,” he says, but there’s humor to it.

He hangs up, and I take a quick shower and get dressed before placing calls to the rest of my motorcycle club brothers. As Butcher’s vice president and right hand, it’s up to me to step up when he’s distracted by other business.

And Dr. Greer Hansen appears to be quite the distraction.

Sure, she saved his life. But I see Butcher changing.

Hard to pinpoint what it is, to be fair.

But there’s something. And it’s not just that the doc is a pretty little handful with long white-blonde hair. I think they ease each other, somehow.

I make the necessary calls and rally everyone so they are headed to Butcher’s home.

When I pull up the drive, Smoke, our surly road captain, is chatting to Wraith, the club’s sergeant at arms. Both are sitting astraddle their bikes like a study in contrasts.

Wraith was named because of his ice-blue eyes and long white curls.

Smoke is more tanned and gnarly after summers spent smoke jumping.

His hair is as dark as Wraith’s is light.

Jackal and Shade, two nomads who’ve been assigned to the club temporarily, pull up behind me.

They go everywhere together. Jackal, with long black hair, being the more talkative of the two, and Shade, happy to sit back in the shadows.

I’ve watched the two of them spar in our gym, and they’re vicious fighters.

Catfish, our club treasurer and secretary, and Taco, one of the last patched-in brothers, ride in side by side. It appears Catfish has taken Taco under his wing. Adapting to the responsibilities of a patched-in brother takes some adjusting to, and I’m glad Catfish has stepped up.

Atom is the last to arrive. Between running his family ranch, being the club’s enforcer, and being head over heels in love with Prez’s daughter, Ember, the guy is an expert in not wasting a single minute of time.

Butcher steps out of his cabin with Greer. He takes her hand and, like a gentleman, helps her down the steps. And from the knowing smile she gives him, they both know she was more than capable of making her own way down the stairs.

“Thanks for coming, brothers,” he says. His salt-and-pepper hair reflects the silver in the late-fall sunlight. While the hair might age him a little, the physique doesn’t. In his mid-forties, he’s got the build of a twenty-year-old. “A straightforward ride.”

Smoke shoves his dark brown hair back off his face. “With Butcher in the truck, Grudge, you ride up front, and I’ll take your left. You’ll have Wraith and Atom behind you. Catfish, you and Taco, followed by Jackal and Shade, will take the rear. Everyone good?”

Butcher looks to Greer. “You good?”

Greer looks around and makes eye contact with each of us, then turns to him. “Definitely.”

There’s nothing quite like riding with your club with a purpose, and as we pull off Butcher’s dirt road, I feel every ounce of it. There’s a deep honor when a brother trusts you with keeping him and his family safe. And Greer being pregnant means Butcher is close to exploding with fear for her.

I lead from the front, stepping up to replace Butcher, given he’s driving his truck with his woman inside.

When we reach the station, I start the line of parked bikes along the curb as Butcher pulls the truck into the lot.

The lot is quiet, except for a sports car sitting low to the ground. It’s dark green and far too impractical for the pending Colorado winter. But I’m guessing it’s a lot of fun to drive in the summer. Bet it handles like a dream too.

Smoke pulls in next to me, and we both remove our helmets. He tips his head in the direction of the station. “What do you think the cops are hoping Greer can tell ‘em?”

Smoke has a soft spot for Greer. Trusts her implicitly after he made the call to let her take Butcher home with her so she could fix him up after being shot, without leaving a trail of hospital records.

I shake my head. “Not sure. Butcher wasn’t for giving much away beyond that it was connected to a Rebel she operated on.”

Scanning the area, I take in the parked cars and the empty doorway to the police station. Butcher gets out of the truck and comes around to help Greer down.

His brow is furrowed with concern, and he says something to Greer that makes her smile softly.

“Lucy De Bose.”

My head swivels to the clipped footsteps of the speaker. Three words and one woman designed to make me lose my mind.

And, apparently, stop my heart.

Because, sure enough, there stands my ex-wife. The one I was married to for ninety-nine glorious fucking days when I felt like I’d won the lottery because she was by my side.

My former best friend, who became my everything, until she bailed on us.

Her hand is outstretched to my president’s old lady. And I can barely form a word as Greer takes it and shakes it while introducing herself.

Blonde curls are cut into a bob that hovers just by her jaw.

That fucking cute nose I could never resist kissing, especially when she screwed it up over something down and dirty from my side of the tracks.

The blue eyes that always reminded me of a Colorado sky in a cloudless summer, glance over at Butcher, and… shit…

There go the wrinkles over her nose.

Fuck my life.

“Ah, shit,” my president says with a hint of disdain in his voice. Because while I’m still struggling to find words, he isn’t. “Lucy. Didn’t even know you were back in Colorado.”

Lucy clutches her briefcase closer. “And I should have checked out the new client who needed help in more detail before I did an old friend a favor. I was only told it was a doctor.”

“That’s me,” Greer says.

“Steady,” Atom says to me in a hushed whisper.

But it’s too late. I finally find the capacity to walk and talk, and I’m off my bike, marching toward her without a clear plan of why I’m moving.

“No fucking way,” I shout, my heavy boots thudding against the pavement. “You need to get out of here, Luce.” The use of her nickname is a slip. Luce, said loose. “Hell, the state, even. Maybe the whole northern part of the country.”

I step right into her space. Even in those prim black pumps with the tall heels that make her legs look like a million bucks, she barely clears my mid chest. It’s impossible to banish the memories of picking her up because she weighs next to nothing, pressing her back to the wall, and forcing her to take my entire cock.

She loved nothing more than when I was aggressive with her. When I made her feel like a slut for accepting my whole length and width in the tightest cunt I’ve ever been strangled by.

People never understood how we fit. Not just physically, although people were always fucking curious about how we fucked given the size difference between us.

But how two opposites could co-exist. Her with her dreams of Harvard Law School.

Me with dreams of becoming the Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club president one day.

Her coming from one of the wealthiest and most prestigious Colorado families, and me coming from two generations of bikers and a father serving life in prison without the possibility of parole.

Nothing about us made sense.

Never mattered, because I never loved anyone the way I loved her.

Not even myself.

“And yet, here I am,” Lucy says, her eyes narrowed as she looks up at me. Folks used to assume I’d win every fight we got into, that the power dynamic was skewed in my direction. But her command with words was just as powerful as my brawn. She won as many fights with me as she lost.

And God, the make-up sex would last for days.

She steps away from me, then turns to Greer as she takes a breath and pulls her shoulders back. “Let’s talk as we walk.”

Butcher squeezes Greer’s hand. “Good luck. Listen to your lawyer. Say the absolute minimum. I’ll be right here when you get out.”

Greer takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”