Beast’s Temptation (Savage Riders MC #3)

Chapter 1 - Beast

I pull up to my mother's modest house in the center of Blackwater Falls, cutting the engine on my Harley and letting the rumble die out in the quiet neighborhood.

Two weeks is too damn long without seeing her, but with the Iron Eagles breathing down our necks, I've been on constant patrol or running ops.

The winter air feels good against my face as I dismount, my boots heavy on the concrete walkway. Mom's front garden looks immaculate as always. Tulips and daffodils standing at attention like soldiers, not a weed in sight.

I don't bother knocking. Never have.

"Ma?" I call out, stepping into the entryway. The scent of cinnamon and apples strikes my nose immediately. She's been baking again.

"Derek Murphy!" Her voice rings out from the kitchen. She's the only one who still calls me by my given name. To everyone else, I'm Beast. "Two weeks without a word? I was ready to march down to that clubhouse of yours and drag you out by your ear!"

I round the corner to find her pulling an apple pie from the oven, gray-streaked dark hair pulled back in a neat bun, reading glasses perched on her nose. At sixty, Elaine Murphy still moves with the energy of someone half her age.

She sets the pie on the cooling rack and turns to me, hands on her hips. Her expression softens immediately.

"You look tired, son."

"I'm fine, Ma," I say, bending down to kiss her cheek. Even at my height, she doesn't seem small: her presence always filled any room.

"Sit," she commands, pointing to the kitchen table. "Coffee's fresh."

I obey, because no matter how many men I've put in the ground or how many battles I've fought, my mother's word is still law. She slides a mug in front of me and cuts a slice of pie that's too hot to eat, but I know better than to mention it.

"So," she says, sitting across from me. "This war with those Eagle thugs—"

"Iron Eagles," I correct.

"Whatever they call themselves. It's why you haven't visited." It's not a question.

I nod, taking a scalding sip of coffee. "We're handling it."

"Handling it," she echoes, her tone making it clear what she thinks of that explanation. "Is that why Mrs. Henderson saw you riding through town with blood on your jacket a few days ago?"

Fuck. I forgot about Mrs. Henderson and her binoculars. The nosy widow catches everything from her second-story window that overlooks Main Street.

"Wasn't mine," I say, which is true. It belonged to an Iron Eagle who thought he could set up a drug deal in our territory. He thought wrong.

"That's not reassuring, Derek." She pushes the pie closer to me. "Eat. You're losing weight."

I'm not, but I dig in anyway. The pie is still too hot, burning the roof of my mouth, but it's worth it. No one makes apple pie like my mother.

"I worry," she continues, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the table. "Ever since Noah got attacked almost two weeks ago..."

"King," I correct again. "And he's fine. Luna patched him up."

"That poor girl, getting mixed up with all this." She shakes her head. "And now Amelia and her sweet daughter, too."

I grunt in response, mouth full of pie. I shouldn't have called her and told her about everything. King and Tank both found good women, against all odds. Women who somehow see past the violence and blood to the men underneath. It's a miracle I don't expect to happen to me.

"Speaking of which," my mother says, her tone shifting in a way that immediately puts me on alert. "Janice Miller stopped by yesterday."

I freeze mid-bite. Janice Miller is my mother's best friend and the town's most notorious matchmaker.

"She mentioned her niece is moving to Blackwater next month. Pretty girl, just divorced. A kindergarten teacher." She smiles innocently. "I told her you might show her around town."

"Ma..." I set my fork down. "We've talked about this."

"And you keep telling me you're too busy. But honey, you're thirty-two. Don't you want someone special? Not just those...women I hear about."

She wrinkles her nose. The revolving door of my bedroom activities is apparently common knowledge.

"I'm happy as I am." The lie tastes bitter even as I say it.

"You're lonely," she corrects gently. "Just like your father was lonely, even with us."

The mention of my father hits like a sucker punch. Richard Murphy walked out when I was three, leaving my mother to work two jobs to keep us afloat. I've spent my entire adult life terrified I'll turn into him, walking away when things get tough.

"I'm not him," I say, the words harder than intended.

"I know that." She reaches across the table, her small hand covering my massive one. "Which is why you deserve happiness, real happiness. Not just club business and...whatever you do with those women."

The frustration builds in my chest. We've had this conversation a dozen times. My mother wants grandchildren, a daughter-in-law, Sunday dinners with a family that extends beyond just us. Things I can't give her because I don't trust myself to stick around if shit gets real.

And then, without planning it, words tumble out of my mouth:

"I'm seeing someone."

My mother's eyes widen, her hand tightening on mine. "What? Who? Why haven't you told me? How long has this been going on?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I've backed myself into a corner now. My brain scrambles for a name, any name, and lands on the one woman who's been occupying too much of my thoughts lately.

"Jenny," I say, the name escaping before I can stop it. "Jenny Bradley. Tank's sister."

My mother's expression transforms from shock to delight. "Oh, Derek! I’m so happy for you! A bit young, but—"

"It's new," I interrupt, trying to slow this runaway train. "Very new. We're taking it slow."

"How long?" she demands, practically bouncing in her chair.

I calculate quickly. Jenny arrived in town with Tank, Amelia, and Anna just over a week ago. "About a week. Like I said, very new."

"Is it serious? Wait, does Marcus know? I can't imagine he's thrilled with his sister dating one of his club brothers, especially you with your...history." She waves her hand vaguely in a gesture that encompasses my past relationships.

My stomach knots. Tank. Fuck. He'll kill me if he finds out I'm using his sister as a fake girlfriend to get my mother off my back.

"We're keeping it quiet for now," I say, which isn't technically a lie since there's nothing to keep quiet about. "And yes, it's...serious."

"Well, you must bring her over for dinner! How about tomorrow night? I'll make my pot roast."

Panic flares through me. "Ma, I told you, it's new. We're not at the 'meeting the parents' stage yet."

"Nonsense. If it's serious enough for you to mention her to me, which you've never done with any woman before, then it's serious enough for dinner." Her tone brooks no argument. "Tomorrow at six. And tell her not to bring anything. I'll handle everything."

I recognize defeat when I see it. "Fine. I'll ask her."

My mother beams at me, then launches into a series of questions about Jenny that I dodge as best I can. All the while, my mind races, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to convince Jenny Bradley to be my fake girlfriend without her brother putting me six feet under.

After finishing the pie and deflecting more questions about Jenny than I thought possible, I kiss my mother goodbye with a promise to see her tomorrow… With Jenny.

I mount my Harley, the engine roaring to life beneath me, and head straight for the clubhouse. I need to find Jenny.

The roads of Blackwater Falls blur past me as I speed through town, the weight of my lie sitting heavy in my gut. Jenny's probably going to laugh in my face. Or worse, tell Tank, who will definitely beat the shit out of me for even thinking about his baby sister that way.

But as I ride, an unwelcome thought creeps in.

There was a reason Jenny's name was the first to come to mind.

The way she looked at me when she first arrived at the clubhouse, those defiant green eyes sizing me up like she wasn't afraid of my size or reputation.

The curve of her hips in those jeans. The way she stands up to her brother, refusing to be controlled.

I've been noticing her. And that's dangerous territory for everyone involved.

As I pull into the clubhouse lot, I spot her new car—a beat-up Honda Civic that's seen better days. Relief and dread war inside me as I park beside it.

Time to see if Jenny Bradley is willing to play pretend.