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Prologue
“This isn’twhat I wanted for her.”
Lorcan O’Brien—Reaper to his club—heard the blood pumping in his ears. It was only drowned out by the angry shouts on the other end of the international phone call. Gaelic words flowed easily in the background, and gunshots rang true. His fists ached to join in on the action on the other side of the world, but he couldn’t. His duty was in Colorado.
“Phantom, send her to the Swiss Alps instead. Her mother has family there.”
“Don’t you think I considered that first?” Malcom Kerry sighed, the weary sound unusual for the lively Irishman. Though it had been nearly two years since they last crossed paths, Reaper knew Phantom to be upbeat. “I need you to keep her safe. Please, Reaper. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t at my wits end. I can’t lose another woman I love to the MC.”
Even without seeing the other man, Reaper knew the desperation on his brother’s face. They’d been through hell and back for the women in their lives. The only difference was Reaper’s old lady stayed. Phantom’s didn’t.
“All right.” He glanced out the window, the Rocky Mountains in the distance. “Does she know who you are?”
Phantom let out a strangled laugh. “Not yet. But her mother is dying, so I suspect she’ll tell her soon.”
Reaper inhaled sharply. Losing any woman was tragic, but the mother to his child was another story. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Phantom coughed and cleared his throat. “My daughter will soon be on her way here. I can’t put her in the crosshairs. The Twelve Brothers want blood because I won’t let them into our territory. Now that I’m president, they’ll try for my blood first. She’s an easy target in Ireland.”
“We won’t let that happen. When she shows up on your doorstep, send her to me immediately.”
“Thank you, brother. You have a new life debt owed.”
He chuckled. “Be sure to use the old passes through the mountains. The Twelve won’t look there for an escape.”
The two presidents signed off without another word. It was still odd to him to call Phantom the president of their founding Macha location in Northern Ireland. But everyone had to retire someday, and his older brother, Grady O’Brien—aka Grenade—decided to step down before his retirement was caused by a bullet.
Walking across the dimly lit bridge between the two sets of stairs in the lodge, Reaper held in a chuckle at the carnage below. His men earned an alcohol-fueled night after raking in an obscene amount from their business ventures in Snowshoe over the last week.
He leaned his forearms on the railing, his smile fading. They’d soon be hiding a woman until the danger passed. Any one of his men could handle the job, but he couldn’t choose one just then. He spotted Brewer and Rubble. Either would do the assignment without question.
He shook his head. He needed new men in the MC. The prospects wouldn’t do. This was Phantom’s daughter, after all. Reaper needed a man he trusted. He needed to live up to his name and draw in fresh blood for Macha.
A new sunrise slowly spread rays of orange across the valley, an idea formulating simultaneously.
“Since when do you rise before the sun?” a voice groggy with sleep asked.
Glancing to his right, Reaper couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his sun-kissed face.
“Since Phantom needs our help.” He looped an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll tell you all about it, but first, I need to call my nephew. It’s time he officially joined the family business.”
1
Tad
“O’Brien, you finish those reports yet?”
Looking up from his computer screen, Tad O’Brien met the chief’s face in the doorway. After coming off a double shift where blood wasn’t the only body fluid he battled to save lives, he wasn’t in the mood to chat with his micromanaging boss. Plus, losing a motorist on the last call made him edgy. He hated losing, especially when he did every damn thing right. But he was no match for a head-on collision. No one was.
“On the last one, boss.” He saw a slight nod, then lowered his eyes to the screen again. Another ten minutes and he’d be out of this place for three whole days. It sounded like nirvana after the last month. A break in winter was in the air in Iowa, and that meant more people being dumbasses on the roads. Iowa was finicky no matter what season, but the melting snow combined with early storms caused more accidents than he cared to keep track of. That was what the DOT was for anyhow. He just cleaned up the messes. It was what he did best.
He saved the reports and sent them to his boss before shutting down his computer. After being a paramedic for five years, he was ready for more.Should’ve finished that doctorate.He waved at the next crew on shift, then walked out the back door.
Taking care of his family came first. When he found out his mother had breast cancer, he’d quit his last year of medical school to return to Iowa. His mom needed him, and even though she died after a year of his constant nursing, he couldn’t face Stanford again.
Walking through the parking lot, he picked up his pace when he saw the motorcycle waiting for him. Everyone joked about motorcycles being donor-cycles—even him—but he’d grown up around bikes and couldn’t get them out of his blood.And the chicks around here dig them.He buckled his helmet and grinned at the engine’s deep rumble. No, he’d never give up his motorcycle. His dad would turn over in his grave if he did.
Gliding toward the street, he waved at the fire truck turning into the drive. He’d see them soon enough. They all liked to hang out at a bar down the street after shift. He couldn’t think of a better start to his time off.
