Ace’s Legacy (Outlaw Order MC #4)

Chapter 1 - Ace

I'm already three shots deep when I spot her across the bar.

A goddess with curves that could make a man weep, wrapped in a blue dress that hugs every delicious inch. Her brown hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders, and even from here, I can tell she's not the usual type who hangs around waiting for MC members to notice them.

She's different. Too classy for this dive. Too innocent for someone like me.

"Stop staring, Ace. You're gonna burn a hole through her dress," Viper says, sliding another whiskey toward me.

I tear my eyes away and smirk at him. "Just appreciating the view."

"Yeah, well, appreciate it somewhere else. We're supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?" Viper downs his drink in one go, his massive frame dwarfing the barstool beneath him.

With his reputation that precedes him by about a mile, he's the last person who should lecture me about staying inconspicuous.

"I'm always low profile," I say, running a hand through my short hair.

It's bullshit and we both know it. At twenty-six, I'm the youngest member of the Outlaw Order MC, and according to Viper, the biggest pain in his ass.

I can't help myself. I glance back at her again. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I swear the entire bar fades away. She blushes and looks down at her drink, a small smile playing on her lips.

Fuck. I'm in trouble.

"Don't even think about it," Viper warns, following my gaze. "That one's not for you."

"Since when do you decide who's for me?" I knock back my whiskey and slam the glass on the counter. The burn in my throat matches the one starting to build in my chest. Nobody tells me what to do. Except maybe Reaper, our president, but even then, I push my luck.

Viper leans in close. "Since Reaper told us to gather intel, not pussy. The rumors about some shit happening have been increasing."

He's right, and I know it. We can't afford distractions. But something about this woman calls to me on a level I can't explain, something beyond the physical pull I'm used to feeling.

"One drink," I say, already standing. "I'll just buy her one drink."

Viper grabs my arm, his grip tight enough to remind me who taught me everything I know about fighting. "Ace—"

"You said gather intel, right?" I flash my most innocent smile, the one that's gotten me out of trouble since I was a kid. "What if she knows something?"

He releases me with a disgusted grunt. "Your dick's gonna get you killed one day."

I wink at him. "But what a way to go."

Weaving through the Thursday night crowd, I approach her table.

Up close, she's even more beautiful. Soft hazel eyes, full lips, and a gentle flush on her cheeks that tells me she's not used to getting attention in places like this.

She's sitting with another woman who eyes me suspiciously as I approach.

"Ladies," I say, leaning one hand on their table. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Her friend opens her mouth, probably to tell me to get lost, but the goddess in blue speaks first.

"I'm good with what I have, thanks." Her voice is melodic, but there's a firmness to it. Not a pushover.

I respect that. "I'm Ryan," I say, purposely using my real name instead of my road name. Something tells me "Ace" wouldn't impress her.

She hesitates, then: "Sarah."

Sarah. It fits her—classic, warm, real.

Her friend sighs dramatically.

"I need to use the restroom." She gives Sarah a pointed look that clearly asks if she'll be okay.

Sarah nods, and I slide into the vacated seat before someone else can claim it.

"Your friend doesn't like me," I observe.

"She doesn't know you," Sarah counters, taking a sip of her drink, something fruity with an umbrella.

"Neither do you."

Her eyes meet mine directly now, assessing. "I know enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She gestures toward Viper, who's watching us like a hawk from the bar. "The cuts, the patches. I know who the Outlaw Order is."

Interesting. Most locals either worship us or fear us. She doesn't seem to do either.

"And what do you think you know about me?" I lean closer, drawn to her scent, sweet but not overpowering.

"That you're trouble." There's no judgment in her voice, just certainty.

I can't help but laugh. She's not wrong. "Sweetheart, I'm the best kind of trouble."

She tilts her head, studying me with those intelligent eyes. "Does that line usually work for you?"

"I don't need lines." It's not arrogance, just fact. With my face, what everyone the club calls "angel-pretty", I rarely have to try hard. It's one of the few gifts life gave me.

"Then why are you trying so hard with me?" she asks, and the question catches me off guard.

I open my mouth, then close it. For once, I don't have a ready answer. Why am I trying? Why does it matter what this particular woman thinks of me?

Before I can respond, a burly guy approaches our table. "This asshole bothering you, Sarah?"

Great. Just what I need.

Sarah looks uncomfortable. "It's fine, Mike. We're just talking."

Mike. I recognize him now. Local construction worker who thinks he owns the bar because his cousin tends it on weekends.

"Didn't know you were into biker trash," he sneers.

I stay seated, my posture relaxed even as I calculate exactly how I'd take him down if necessary. "Careful, Mike. Your jealousy is showing."

His face reddens. "What did you say to me?"

"I'm pretty sure you heard me." I flash my most irritating smile, the one that's gotten me punched more times than I can count.

"Ryan," Sarah warns quietly.

Mike leans down, getting in my face. "Why don't you go back to your own kind before you get hurt?"

I notice two of his buddies watching from nearby. Three against one. Not great odds, but I've faced worse.

"Mike, stop it," Sarah says more firmly. "Just go away."

"Not until this piece of shit leaves you alone."

I should walk away. I know I should. Viper's already standing at the bar, sensing trouble. But something about the way this asshole is looking at Sarah—like she's his property—makes my blood boil.

"The lady's made it clear who she wants to talk to," I say, standing slowly. At six-one, I've got a couple inches on him. "And it's not you."

His fist comes fast, but I'm faster. I dodge to the side, letting his momentum carry him forward before I drive my elbow into his kidney. He grunts in pain, and his friends immediately move in.

Sarah jumps back from the table as chairs scrape and glasses topple. "Stop it!"

I feel the loving rush of adrenaline as I face multiple opponents. The dance I know all too well. The first guy reaches me, and I block his punch, countering with a jab to his throat that sends him staggering back. The second swings a bottle that misses my head by inches.

Then Viper's there, his massive presence changing the equation instantly. He grabs one guy by the neck and slams him face-first into the table.

"Time to go, Ace," he growls, using my road name.

Mike is getting to his feet, rage in his eyes. "You're dead, biker."

I wink at him, blood singing in my veins. "Not today."

The bartender is shouting for everyone to calm down as bouncers push through the crowd. Viper has a hand on my cut, physically steering me toward the exit.

I look back at Sarah, whose face is a mixture of shock and something else. Disappointment, maybe? "Sorry about your night," I call to her.

She doesn't respond, just watches as Viper drags me outside into the cool night air.

The moment we're clear, he shoves me against the brick wall of the bar. "What the fuck was that?"

"He started it," I say, checking my knuckles for damage. Not even a scratch. Mike didn't land a single punch.

"You always find trouble, don't you?" Viper shakes his head. "Or it finds you."

I shrug, the high of the fight still humming through me. "It's a gift."

"It's gonna get you killed. Or worse, get one of your brothers killed trying to save your stupid ass." His voice drops low. "You think this is a game? And you're in there trying to get your dick wet."

The words sting because I know they're true.

I've been a member for a year and a half, and sometimes I still feel like I'm trying to prove I belong.

Viper was the one who brought me in after beating the shit out of me for causing trouble in my hometown.

He saw something in me worth saving, even when I didn't see it myself.

"I know," I say, more soberly. "You're right."

He looks surprised at my admission, then sighs. "Come on. Reaper's waiting for our report, and now we've got nothing to tell him except how you almost started a bar brawl over some chick."

We head toward our bikes parked in the shadows of the lot. I glance back at the bar entrance, half-hoping to see Sarah emerge, but the door remains closed.

Women like her—good women, honest women—they deserve better than what someone like me can offer.

I learned that lesson early watching my old man destroy my mother until there was nothing left of the woman she used to be.

Love is just another word for control in my world, and I refuse to inflict that on anyone.

I swing my leg over my Harley and fire up the engine, letting the rumble vibrate through me, clearing my head. This is where I belong: on my bike, with my brothers, chasing the next rush.

Viper kicks his bike to life beside me. "Ready?"

I nod, pushing thoughts of Sarah and her curves out of my mind. "Always."

We pull out of the parking lot, accelerating into the night. The road stretches before us, dark and empty, a perfect mirror for what's inside me.

But even as the wind whips past and Pine Haven looms in the distance, I can't quite shake the memory of hazel eyes that seemed to see right through me.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm afraid of what they might have found there.