Chapter 1
one
ISABELLE
Now
My ass was sweating. Literally. I could tell because the pleather mini I’d shimmied into earlier was stuck to my thighs like it was superglued. Great. That was the look every guy went for, right?
I wiped at the sweat beading my upper lip, and smacked my lips together. Hoping I hadn’t sweated my lipstick off. Dark red lips were about the most rock-and-roll thing I had going on right now.
I slammed the door of my car, parked at the very edge of the lot, and crunched across the gravel toward the bar, trying not to look too much like a baby deer in my unfamiliar heeled boots. Walking in heels was a skill I’d yet to master.
The Clutch was lit up like a Christmas ornament against the dark highway in the background.
Bikes were lined up at the front, shiny and well loved.
Around the back, I knew that there was a mechanic’s shop.
Tonight, the bar was busy. The lot was nearly full, and music spilled out from the swinging doors as people came and went.
Something low and sexy, with a soulful voice enticing passersby inside.
I took a few deep breaths to steel myself, then wiped my hands on my skirt and straightened my shoulders. I’d prepared for tonight. I wasn’t going to let myself down.
I strode into the bar.
The music was ten times louder inside. So loud the floorboards vibrated beneath my boots.
I looked around, taking in the multiple levels to the place.
There was a stage at one end, and the band that was playing was getting raucous applause.
Seats dotted the middle of the space, and a long bar ran down the length of one side.
Bikers, if I went ahead and judged a book by its cover, were everywhere.
Circling the pool tables and clustered around the bar.
Some were dancing, and others deep in conversation on that upper balcony.
Excitement sparked in my gut. I was really here.
I was really doing this. After years of spinning my wheels and going nowhere, I was finally taking my destiny into my own hands.
The vague sense of eyes on me tugged my gaze to a booth.
A woman was watching me, with dramatic dark bangs, and a bloodred lip that put my own attempts to shame.
Careful not to stare for too long, I lowered my head and focused on the bar.
It looked weird as hell not to have a drink in hand at a place like this.
I approached the bar and waited for a break in the crowd. Standing in silence while everyone else was there with a date, or friends, made me positive I stuck out like a sore thumb. I’d have asked a friend to come with me, if I hadn’t been sure that they’d have tried to talk me out of coming.
Finally, I was able to slip between bodies and reach the bar. I pressed my middle against the smooth wood and smiled at the bartender as she made her way toward me.
“Yeah?” she asked when I failed to speak.
“Oh, I’ll take a beer,” I said as confidently as I could.
“ID,” she muttered and held out a hand.
I handed over my license and waited for her to check it.
Whether it was stupid as hell to give out my real name when I was supposed to be here undercover remained to be seen.
It wasn’t like getting my hands on a fake ID was easy.
I had no idea where I’d even find someone to make me one, anyway.
While my journalistic dreams might be daring and edgy, my real-life experience was tame, and utterly over-sheltered, and dull.
She handed it back to me, along with a beer.
I paid up and left a tip on the bar, then turned around to look for my target, beer in hand, casual as I could manage.
“Are you in the right place?” a voice asked.
I turned back to the bar. The bartender was leaning against the bar just beside me, looking at me with interest.
“Is anyone?” I asked, keeping my expression steady. Damn it, I knew I was sticking out, but brazening it out was my only option at this point.
She smiled and chuckled. My answer seemed to have caught her off guard. “Are you waiting for someone?” she asked.
“Nope,” I answered, taking another drink.
“Are you looking for someone?” She was still watching me curiously.
I smiled at her. “Just… looking, I guess.”
She chewed on my answer for a moment before responding, “Well, be careful. This crowd doesn’t take to ‘just looking’ very well.”
“I will keep that in mind,” I said, setting the bottle back on the bar.
I wasn’t sure whether I was just being paranoid, but even my voice stuck out like a sore thumb in here.
I sounded like a prim librarian who had gotten lost on the way to the bookfair and ended up in the most dangerous bar in Hade Harbor.
“The name’s Ronnie, by the way,” she said. “Veronika.”
“Thanks for the beer and the advice, Ronnie.” I attempted a smile at her and got one back. I relaxed a notch at her acceptance of my presence. Maybe I could do this after all.
Two men sat at the other end of the bar, one nursing a tumbler of spirits, the other a beer.
The one on the far end was muscular, the kind of muscular that looks out of place anywhere other than in a bodybuilding gym.
He had an intense scar running down the side of his neck, and he never lifted his eyes.
The other had a leaner build, covered in tattoos, slowly surveying the room.
He had the presence of someone you wouldn’t want to take on in a fight.
They didn’t talk much, and everyone else in the bar seemed very aware of their presence.
Neither was the boss around here, I knew that much from my research, and the poking around I’d done locally before coming here, but possibly they were both high up in the Harbor Hounds.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” a female voice said from behind me.
I turned around slowly, hesitant at the acid in her tone.
It was the girl from the booth with the bangs.
She was gorgeous in a way that screamed drama and danger.
She wore a tight black dress, high heels that she seemed at home in, and eyes lined in a deep shade of maroon.
She stared daggers at me, as if I were a stain on her favorite shirt.
Completely unwanted and unwelcome. Her lip curled up at the corner when I didn’t answer.
“We don’t do tourists in here. You don’t belong here,” she said scornfully.
“I thought it was ladies’ night,” I said coolly, turning back around on the barstool.
She stepped closer and leaned across the bar right next to me. Her face was inches from mine, but I refused to let myself move out of her way. You never gave an inch in a pissing contest, at least according to my hockey-playing friends.
“You’d better watch yourself in a place like this. The guys in here will chew you up and spit you back out again, sweetheart,” she said with a sneer.
I smiled at her. “Sounds fun.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted, and her nostrils flared at the chuckles around us.
“What, spoiled little rich girl is looking to be roughed up by a big, tough biker? You think the guys around here will fall for that shit?”
“Let’s wait and see, shall we?” I tossed at her, and looked over her shoulder toward the door, hoping she’d get the message that I was tired of her little game.
I wished I could ask her, for research’s sake, what about my outfit screamed rich girl, seeing as I’d gotten every single item of clothing secondhand, but now clearly wasn’t the time.
“Yeah, I suppose so.” She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder.
“Just don’t come crying to the ladies when you get used up and spit out.
” Then she stomped off as if I had personally offended her with my presence.
I had only been at The Clutch for five minutes, and I had already made an enemy.
I clearly had a talent for pissing people off, but honestly, I already knew that.
“Don’t worry about Kiki. She likes to run off anyone she perceives as competition before they can get cocky.” Ronnie was drinking her own beer. “You did better than most. You’re a stubborn bitch, aren’t you? It’s ok if you are. Takes one to know one.”
I smiled at her and tapped my glass bottle against hers.
“Cheers to stubborn bitches.”
“Cheers.”
I took a small sip of my drink and wondered how long I would be able to stay before I lost my nerve. At least I had Ronnie to talk to now, so that was something.
But it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long.
A door in the back swung open and framed a man striding in with broad shoulders, dark, shorn hair, and deep blue eyes that cut through the room with precision. I couldn’t pull my gaze away from him. He was a presence that demanded attention.
I felt frozen. He was here. Finally, after weeks of planning, I’d found him.
Cole Bailey, in the flesh.
I’d long toyed with the idea of investigating the local MC, but had only made up my mind to do it a few weeks before, when I’d stumbled upon my parents’ housekeeper, Rosie, crying in the kitchen, watching the news.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing at the headlines. It was a story about a local man who’d gone missing.
“Nothing, it’s nothing for you to worry about.” Rosie had often been the mother figure I’d been missing in my childhood. Always steady, with a kind word, a reassuring pat on the hand, a warm smile. I couldn’t stand to see her upset.
“If you’re worried, I’m worried. Tell me,” I prompted her.
She sighed and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She moved her finger lovingly over the image on the screen of a teenage boy. I’d seen photos of him before. It was her son, Finn. He was the spitting image of his mother.
“That missing man, I’ll bet it was because of Harbor Hounds business. That MC is behind most of the missing or murdered folk that show up in these parts. I know that well enough. Finn’s dad was one of them.”