Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Logan
Twenty-five years later
Present day
I groan, the sun streaming through the blinds in my apartment blinding me.
Is it morning already? My headache greets me with a vengeance.
I almost forget where I am because I was having the most delicious dream.
It consisted of an all-night sex marathon with a beautiful woman with stamina that matched mine—that would’ve been a first. She was sweet, soft, and had a mouth on her that wasn’t just good for sucking cock, but moaning my name…
Movement beside me has my gaze landing on the long, dark tresses strewn across the pillow.
Payden.
Holy shit. It wasn’t a dream. I don’t drink myself into a coma, but I’ve been under severe stress lately with my bar and the renovations, as well as joining the NOLA Rebels MC; something I vowed I’d never do.
It isn’t like I dislike the club, but Cash—the club Prez—and I didn’t always see eye to eye.
Over the years, I’ve slowly learned to realize that he and the club saved my brothers in more ways than one.
When Cash came to me about the building next door to my bar, he made an offer I couldn’t refuse.
I own my bar; the Whiskey Straight, and we now co-own the adjoining building.
In exchange, I agreed to become a member, as long as I didn’t have to prospect.
I’m too old for that shit. At forty-three, I’ve done my fair share of shit-kicking over the years, and I’ve no intention of going back.
Payden is a feisty and somewhat ball-busting lawyer who’s on retainer for the club, but has some high-profile cases at her law firm that have made the news.
She’s smart, beautiful, and isn’t afraid of anything, much less me.
Not that I want her to be afraid of me, but we are opposites.
I’ve not had much to do with her, but over the last few years I’ve been around the club more.
Her best friend is Luna, one of the ol’ ladies from the club. Luna’s old man, Tag, is the club’s Sergeant at Arms, and basically the baddest motherfucker there is.
I press my palms to my eyes to make sure I’m really awake, and then blink at her.
She’s on her stomach, her pretty, alabaster skin on display as she sleeps.
Even while she’s dreaming, she looks like an angel.
I know that will all change the second she opens her mouth, but then it all comes flooding back to me.
That little minx came into my bar, looking for me.
I’ve had my fair share of women over the years, and I’m not gonna lie, I’ve enjoyed a sweet butt or two when the fancy took me—the chicks who hang around the clubhouse for booze, sex and grub—but they’ve got nothing on Payden.
The way she used those sultry, caramel eyes to reel me in.
Who am I kidding? I wasn’t kicking and screaming.
Nova—my cousin who works for my brothers who are now named Brew and Haze, run a security company—hinted a time or two that Payden had made a few comments about me of the explicit kind.
Don’t get me wrong, I love it when a woman knows what she wants, but I didn’t expect this fancy lawyer to be in my bar, much less end up in my bed.
The Whiskey Straight is a biker bar, but now Cash wants to turn the place next door into an eatery to clean the joint up.
While I don’t discount his ideas, I like things the way they are.
I like my dive bar and the people who frequent it, but times are changing.
If you don’t hop on the train, you’ll get left behind.
So we compromised. The bar would stay as is, albeit a new lick of paint, some fresh aesthetics, and new lighting to spruce it up, and the restaurant next door would be a family place.
They’d also make bar food for Whiskey Straight and I’d oversee things, but we’d have a manager.
One thing about being a sole proprietor is that it all falls on your head.
The club can make decisions about the restaurant, but I still own the bar solely.
I also want to loosen the reins a little and not be so involved.
I’ve worked every night at the bar for as long as I can remember, but it only struck me recently that I’ve run myself ragged.
On top of that, I help my brothers from time to time at the Nomad Brothers’ security business, but I’m more of a silent investor.
“Coffee,” Payden mutters, her face smooshed into the pillow.
“Good mornin’ to you, too,” I mutter.
She peeks one eye open, then winces. “Tequila slammers are the devil.”
“I told you to eat somethin’ before you drank that much.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
My eyes widen. Holy shit, that’s right. Suddenly I remember what got us into this mess…
I turn around at the sound of the stool shifting and stop in my tracks. What the fuck?
I squint. Okay, I’m not that old, but my eyes must be deceiving me.
“Payden?” I raise a brow. “Are you lost?”
She dumps her bag onto the empty seat next to her and sighs. “Nope. Pretty sure I knew what I was doing when I walked through the door.”
I give her a pointed look. “You sure about that?”
Her eyes graze down to my chest, then flick back up. Did she… Did she just check me out?
“I wanted a quiet place to think.” She looks around the almost deserted bar. It is a Wednesday night, after all. “And voila.”
Never in the time I’ve worked here has Payden come into my bar. Some of the ol’ ladies do from time to time, but not very often. This isn’t really their scene.
“Had a hard day?”
She sits up straighter. “I did, as a matter of fact, and my office is right down the street. This was the closest watering hole.”
I try not to smirk. She is fucking stunning. Still in her work attire, which consists of a pencil skirt, a blouse, pantyhose, and sky-high heels. She’s removing her blazer as she shoots me a look. “Are you closed for business?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Does it look like it?”
She takes in a long, exasperated breath, then says, “I’ll have a martini, make it a double.”
I keep staring at her. “Dirty, or?”
She purses her lips as I try not to laugh. “Surprise me, hotshot.”
I put on a thoughtful face as she sighs loudly. “Court case go bad or somethin’?”
“Something like that.”
“Want to talk about it?”
She gives me a pointed look that’s more like a glare. “Does it look like it?”
I wave my hands in a surrendering gesture. “Just the booze then, coming right up.” I turn, reaching for the top shelf.
A woman like Payden Benedict only drinks the good stuff. She’s high-class, snooty, too good for the likes of me, and sexy as fuck. We’re worlds apart, but that wouldn’t stop me from shooting my shot.
Not that I have a snowball's chance in hell, but the thought humors me nonetheless.
I decide I’ll make it dirty. Luckily for her, I have olives. Usually this bar doesn’t cater to high-class women like Payden, but I have some gin and vodka on reserve for the odd occasion women come in and want a cocktail.
“So, do you ever get a night off?”
“Why?” I holler back over my shoulder. “You interested?”
I don’t need to turn all the way around to know she’s probably giving me devil eyes. “Hilarious. I meant, you’re always here.”
“You should talk, you’re well known to be a workaholic.” I don’t like talking about myself, so I’m good at deflecting. Payden, however, seems to have the same MO.
“How’s next door going?”
“Same old shit. Waiting on contractors.”
“Good workers are hard to find,” she says, as if she knows.
I don’t want to assume Payden was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but the woman wears a Cartier watch and drives a G-Wagon.
“You can say that again.”
“So why don’t you hire someone to cover your shift and have a night off?” she goes on.
I’m still not sure why she gives a fuck, but I’ll go along with it. “Things run better when I’m here.”
“Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs as my eyes land on her. “Oh, nothing. It takes a workaholic to know one.”
I pour the gin and vermouth into her glass, stirring it as I add the olive brine. I skewer two olives and drop it into the glass.“Maybe you should take your own advice. I’ll bet you take work home all the time.”
“Cases don’t stop at five o’clock.”
“Exactly my point.” I slide the glass across the bar.
“Why, thank you, bartender.”
I grind my teeth. If she were mine, which she clearly isn’t, I’d spank her ass for a comment like that. Speaking of which, it’s been a while since I’ve hooked up. I blame work, pathetic but true.
Hence why I keep my lovelife, or lack thereof, to myself.
She takes a sip, and I wait for her approval. When she groans, I ignore the fact that it goes straight to my dick. “Jesus, you’re a miracle worker. I’ve needed this.” She makes the same sound and I’m half a beat ready to adjust myself. Get a damn grip.
There’s only three other people in the bar, and I’m closing soon. Real soon if she keeps those noises up. I almost need to duck out for a cigarette…
She glances up. “You good?”
I shake my head in amusement. “I think that sounded dangerously close to a compliment, though not sure I’m a miracle worker.”
Didn’t I hear whispers she had a thing for me? Or was that just Nova trying to stir shit? It certainly doesn’t look like she has anything but contempt for me. What the fuck did I do?
“Well, we can’t have that now, can we? You might get a big head.”
I burst out laughing, and she finally smiles. “Touche.”
“Sorry, Logan, I’ve just had a really, really shitty day.”
Oh, fuck. When she says my name like that, it stirs something deep inside me.
Maybe I’ve got this twisted and it’s really me that has a thing for her.
I’ve seen her around. She’s Tag’s ol’ lady’s best friend.
She comes around the clubhouse sometimes in her fucking outfits looking like a boss lady.
Now she’s on retainer for the club if and when we need her, and that just goes to show you how bad ass she really is deep down.
Most people are afraid of the Rebels. Even though the club has been on the news countless times being praised for the work we do with BADVA: Bikers Against Domestic Violence Association.
Cash and Jett, one of the brothers, set it up to help protect women and children when being escorted to their court cases.
Despite appearances, the club cares deeply about protecting innocents and are advocates for ending trafficking in New Orleans.
Sawyer, who is the main hacker and computer whiz at Nomad Brothers Security—and in a relationship with Nova—was trafficked as a teenager.
Nova was drugged and beaten by her ex-boyfriend—a man called Bobby who gets out of jail in a couple of months.
We have the date marked on the calendar, so he’ll be swimming with the alligators in the bayou soon enough.
Despite what people think, the MC has ridded this city of mafia, cartels, traffickers, and corrupt cops, but some still look down their noses.
I turn and pour a couple of tequila slammers. I’m not a big drinker myself, but one shot won’t hurt.
“I get that,” I say. “It can't be easy saving the world every day.”
She gives me a coy look, and if I didn’t know any better, it seems a little flirty.
The twitch of her pretty mouth and the narrowing of those eyes give it away.
“I’m not sure I’d put it into those terms, but I’m drinking on a Wednesday night, so I guess this puts a whole new spin on happy hump day. ”
Our eyes meet and I slide her shot over to her. “Bottoms up,” I say, wistfully.
She replaces the martini with the shot, and I’m rewarded with yet another moan. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s some innuendo going on here.”
My eyebrows raise involuntarily. “Innuendo? Oh, that’s right, I forgot you’re a big fancy lawyer using them big words.”
“I don’t know about fancy?—”
“That’s a twenty-thousand-dollar watch, sweetheart.” I drop my voice. “Should be careful wearin’ shit like that around here.”
“Thirty, but who’s counting.” She pauses. “Are you saying you won’t come to my rescue like a knight in shining armor if someone tries anything?”
The way she raises those perfectly sculpted brows… Her eyes, have I never noticed they’re green before?
I snort. “Got more than a baseball bat back here, that’s for fuckin’ sure, but somethin’ tells me you’ve got more than a lipstick in that purse.”
“Touche.” She finishes the rest of her drink—her eyes never leaving mine—sets it down on the bar and says, “Want to fuck?”
My eyes widen. I glance over at the two other people at the bar, but they’re too far away to hear.
I clear my throat.
Holy fucking shit.
Is she for real?
“Need to take the edge off, Angel?”
“Something like that.” Her eyes drop down my body, and fuck me if she doesn’t lick her lips. “And you’re just what the doctor ordered.”
“You sure that’s not the booze talkin’?”
She snorts. “Does it matter?”
I lean closer. “You sure you’re ready for me? Nice girls like you shouldn’t be in a bar like this.”
“Well, it’s the nice girls that have all the moves and give great head, but if you want to just wallow here in your big ol’ bar?—”
“The bar is closed!” I call, turning my head to the few patrons remaining. “Let’s go, people.”
The smile on her face tells me she thinks she’s won, but I’m only just getting warmed up.