Chapter 1 Crow
The ride to Henderson typically took twenty minutes from Vegas, but I arrived in fifteen, struck by the familiarity of the town, the businesses, and the streets with the same unchanging neighborhoods.
Fatigue hadn’t quite set in yet as I rolled to a stop outside Bull’s Saloon.
The joint was open twenty-four hours a day and owned by a close friend of my pops.
An old Army vet named Lucky Lou was known for his colorful language and reputation with the ladies.
His father, Bull, had built the place nearly forty years ago, and Lou took it over when his old man passed on.
Normally, I’d ride on by and head straight to The Roost, but my heart wasn’t in it after visiting the cemetery. I wasn’t in the best mood and didn’t want to see the rest of my brothers until I had a chance to collect my thoughts and decide what I needed to say.
I never wanted the position of president.
Made that clear when I took off, went nomad, and decided I needed to see a little more of the world.
Pissed my pops off when I told him I didn’t want to lead the club and wasn’t sure when I would return.
At the time, I was positive I had made the correct decision.
That was before my father was gunned down in cold blood.
Now, I regretted being such a rash, headstrong, stubborn sonofabitch.
There wasn’t a thing that I wouldn’t give to go back in time.
My gaze swept over the interior of Bull’s Saloon, noting the familiar worn wooden tables, bar, and chairs.
The same neon lights boasting different brands of beer.
Flat-screen televisions anchored above the bar on low volume displayed the news and sports.
Even the smell hadn’t changed—cigarettes, grease from the fryers located in the back kitchen, hops and malt, and that distinct cleaning product mixture that all bars seemed to use.
I headed toward the bar, taking a seat on a stool that faced the front doors and kept a wall at my right.
To the left were tables, mostly empty. At my back, the entrance to the kitchen and a hall that led to the bathrooms. From this position, I could defend myself easily if something went down, and I’d see trouble long before it decided to head my way.
Being a member of the Devil’s Murder MC meant caution was an everyday part of life.
Since Rook’s death, it was a necessity. I didn’t know who was responsible for murdering my father, but I sure as hell intended to find out.
If I had to wade my way through the vermin and underbelly of this city and the entire state of Nevada to accomplish the task, I’d do it.
And I didn’t give a fuck who I pissed off in the process.
A few patrons sat scattered among the booths, and I noticed two men seated at the other end of the bar, deep in conversation. They weren’t loud enough to catch more than an occasional word above the music, which was much too loud at this close to dawn.
One of them—a burly guy with dark eyes and a long scar that dragged his lower lip down on the right nearly to his chin—kept glancing my way. A scorpion tattoo stretched across his neck as the tail ended abruptly beneath the grimy charcoal-colored t-shirt he wore.
Neither of the men wore a cut or any distinguishing paraphernalia, but they had the look of gangbangers or low-level mc, and both wore black leather jackets in the heat.
Probably to conceal weapons. The kind of guys who slit throats and didn’t ask questions; they just took the cash offered and moved on.
They killed without mercy and weren’t bothered by the havoc left behind.
They didn’t care about dealing death. Nothing more than a job.
Maybe similar to the kind of assholes who went after my pops and club.
I met the gaze of Scorpion and leaned back, folding my arms across my chest, staring him down and hoping he reacted. The fucker met my stare with a bored expression and then turned to his companion, both downing a few more shots.
This place was a goddamn waste of my time. I doubted I’d see the only person I cared about at this hour.
“Hey, Mr. Tall, Dark, & Handsome, what ya havin’?”
I turned my attention to the bar, noticing the bartender for the first time.
Fuck me.
Doing a double-take, I blinked twice and then grinned so damn wide I thought my cheeks might split open. A low whistle left my lips as I winked. “Honey, I got to ask, will you marry me?”
A throaty chuckle left plump, cherry-red lips as the prettiest woman I had ever met tossed her long, dark red hair over her shoulder. “Never got a proposal after only one sentence before. You sure you aren’t addlepated?”
Addle-what?
Shrugging, I didn’t care what the word meant.
My gaze slowly perused the curvy female in front of me, and I had difficulty pulling away from the tight black tank top she wore or the cleavage her naturally large tits temptingly displayed.
Dark ink covered both her arms in roses, Day of the Dead-themed skulls, a tombstone with a name I couldn’t read scrolled across the front, and . . . a crow.
Wow. I had never met a woman who tattooed my namesake on her body before. Seemed like fate that we should meet.
My mouth watered as I swallowed hard and then turned on the charm. “Sweetheart, I never joke about my club, brothers, or women. You interested in a ride? Got my bike out front, and I’m ready to go.”
In more ways than one, and I didn’t care if it was cheesy. I didn’t even know her name yet, and I was bettin’ she was the softest, sweetest, most tempting fruit I would taste in a long ass time.
She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the bar. “Baby, you couldn’t tame me.”
I followed her lead, closing the distance between us even more. “I’d like to prove you wrong about that, darlin’.”
We locked into a staring contest, and I got lost in the dark green of her eyes, nearly a hue of pine leaves like the tree that grew outside my window growing up.
Always loved that tree and the shade it gave off in the summer heat.
I felt the same intensity as a sharp blast of Nevada wind combined with a noon sun blaring its rays, and I nearly shivered.
Something about this buxom redhead intrigued me, and it wasn’t her beauty.
Although my dick would argue that fact, pressing into the denim of my jeans as I imagined all the ways I’d bring her pleasure just with my mouth alone.
Fuck that. I wanted my tongue deep in her cunt to know if she tasted as spicy and addicting as I expected.
“I’m not the kind of girl that you forget. A one-night stand with me will never be enough.”
She was probably right about that. I usually didn’t take a woman to bed more than once, not with the life I led, but she sure as hell made me think twice about it.
I reached for her hand and held it, rubbing circles onto the smooth, soft surface of her skin.
Other than a tan, nothing else marred its perfection.
“Tell me your name, beautiful,” I demanded, my voice low and tinged with desire. “I need to know it.”
“Why?”
“Cuz when I come back, I plan on making you mine. Forever.”
She shook her head and snorted, amused by my declaration. “Bella.”
“Last name?” I pressed, completely serious. I planned on returning tomorrow night and every night until I managed to get her on the back of my Harley. Didn’t matter how much she refused. I’d wear her down eventually.
“Hart.”
“Bella Heart. Damn, baby. You sure just stole mine.”
A slight flush crept up her neck and dusted the apples of her cheeks. “No, there’s no e in Hart.”
It didn’t matter or change what I meant.
“You’ll be seeing me again. Real soon.” I reached for a pen lying on the bar and snatched a piece of paper, writing down my number.
I placed the note in her palm and then closed her hand around it, flashing a grin.
“Put my number in your phone and give me a call or text so I have yours.”
“Uh, okay.” She seemed slightly surprised, and I liked that I could fluster her a little.
Not only that, I needed her to know I said what I meant and kept my word.
She shoved the note into the front pocket of her frayed jean shorts. The kind that complimented a girl with a figure and plenty of meat on her bones. Just the way I liked my women. She needed to be able to take the pounding I’d give her.
“You made my night and long trip worth it, Bella.”
The guys from the other end of the bar called for another round, and I released her, watching her sexy ass as she walked over to them, replacing the beers they emptied.
It should be a crime to have an ass like hers.
Fucking round with a slight jiggle, more than enough for a man to squeeze and plenty to slap.
The kind of cushion that would take a beating when I slammed into her, fucking her from behind.
I wanted to bite down and nip the flesh of her nape before shoving my cock into her pussy, and she flooded me with her cream.
Fuck. What a fantasy.
I intended to make that come true. Beautiful Bella was gonna be all mine.
“Goddamn. As I live and breathe, if it fucking ain’t Crow.”
I smiled at the words, slowly turning on the barstool to face Lou, reluctantly pulling my gaze from the sexiest thing in Nevada. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” I drawled, copying his southern accent. “Got a hankerin’ for some chew and a bottle of whiskey.”
As he stepped forward, a loud guffaw erupted from his barrel-shaped chest, and I tackled him in a fierce hug.
The old guy was as close to a father as I still had in this world other than my club’s V.P.
, Raven. The two men helped my father raise me, and I respected the old fuckers even if they did make my life hell growing up.
“Didn’t know you were back in town.” A shadow briefly passed over his features, but he schooled them, focusing on me with a welcoming smile. “Wish you had a better reason to return home.”
So did I. “You got someplace to talk?”