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PROLOGUE
A cool breezeslid across Alannah Stapleton’s face as the motorcycle she rode hugged the curve of the highway outside of Snowshoe, Colorado. Beside her, RK—or Roadkill to Macha MC—grinned at her from the custom-made Harley he straddled. It was a perfect autumn evening to take a ride. They turned down the main drag into town. But they weren’t merely out to feel the breeze on their skin. Something wasn’t right at the club’s bakery, and they needed to figure out why the register continuously lost money.
RK flipped on his blinker, taking them down a back road and away from the wandering eyes of the deputy sheriff parked on the right side of the road. As much as Macha appreciated the law, the club skirted the lines of legality on a daily basis.
The cell phone buzzed inside her leather jacket pocket. Alannah pulled it out and frowned.
Unknown: Leave the bakery alone or you’ll regret it.
It was a duplicate of the message RK received earlier that morning and was the reason they were checking in with the bakery staff before the club got involved. They managed the store, so it was their responsibility to handle it first and ask the club for help only if the need arose.
Alannah shoved the phone back into her pocket and caught up to RK. They couldn’t back down from a fight. It wasn’t Macha’s way. Neither she nor RK would let their club be brought down by fear. It was the same philosophy they instilled into their children.
A smile found her face at the thought of Brewer and Dorthea. RK conjured their names when they were born. Alannah had to give him credit where it was due. While their daughter opted for her nickname Dolly, Brewer fit like a glove. Their son had been obsessed with all things Macha since infancy, and his lust for Irish brews only increased over the years.
She looked over at RK, his ruddy face weathered beneath his bushy white beard. He grinned, revealing his slightly crooked front teeth. She couldn’t imagine raising a family with anyone else. Their love story had blossomed in Ireland, and she’d never forget leaving that island to start a life with the man she’d die for.
Shivers raced down her spine, but not the good ones RK’s kisses created. Alannah glanced over her shoulder and her pulse quickened. Three riders were quickly gaining on them. None wore cuts. Their leather jackets were as black as a moonless night, and their faces were disguised by skull masks.
RK saw them too, and he maneuvered behind her slightly. He’d have her back until the very end. Unfortunately, when she noticed a glimmer of silver, Alannah sensed it’d be sooner rather than later.
Drawing her gun simultaneously with RK, she braced for the unknown riders to reach them. It didn’t take long. The rumble of motorcycles drowned out RK’s yells. The first gunshot sliced through the front tire of her bike, causing her to struggle with the handlebars. She popped off a round, but the bullets missed the riders with hidden faces.
More gunshots peppered the air, the sunset haloing the scene accompanied by the screaming of tires and collision of metal. It all happened so fast. Alannah was upright in one moment and in the next, her legs were pinned beneath her bike.
In her peripheral, she saw RK go down hard. He managed to duck behind his bike and was shooting rounds toward the attackers. Alannah struggled to move the bike, blood oozing from the wound on her shoulder. If she could get to him, they’d be all right. He had more than enough extra bullets in his saddlebag to keep the rogue bikers at bay until help arrived. She searched her pocket and cursed when she came up empty. Glancing around, she spotted the phone lying precariously close to the road.
RK was crawling toward her when a bullet hit his leg. He grimaced at the pain but made it to her side nonetheless.
“Lannah, you okay?” he said breathlessly, searching her for injuries.
“I’ll live.” She took in his worry lines that were splattered with blood. “Who are they?”
RK pulled her free of the motorcycle, then peeked around it. “Not sure. Cutthroats, maybe. They haven’t said a word, so I can’t tell if they have accents.”
“You think they’re Macha?”
“It’s possible.” He fired again and hunkered down by her. “Who better than one of our own to get away with stealing from the club?”
Alannah gritted her teeth. He wasn’t wrong, and that royally pissed her off. A pause in the shots gave her a chance to quickly let off the round in her gun. Just as she turned, a bullet sped toward them. RK lunged in front of her. The shot hit him directly in his chest.
Crying out, she caught him as he fell. Blood drenched his cut, the slickness transferring onto her. Cradling him, Alannah shook her head, her tears falling on his face.
“Don’t you dare die. We got too much to do. Too much to see.” She kissed his lips as they moved, his words inaudible. Peering through her tears, she grabbed RK’s gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit one of the approaching masked figures, felling him instantly.
RK gripped her arm, stealing her focus. “I’ve seen it all and done it all because of you. Now it’s time to go.”
She hugged him close. The light in his eyes waned with each passing second. “I’ll see you soon.” She kissed his forehead, and his eyes closed for the last time. It was their special phrase they said anytime, anywhere to express their love to each other.
Sniffling, she lifted her chin and met the dark gaze of the executioner. “You.” She recognized him instantly. “How could you?”
The only answer she received was a bullet to the chest.
Alannah drifted quickly toward the warmth of the setting sun, but she managed to hear one of the men seal his fate.
“Pick up every shell. We can’t leave any evidence. Macha will blame another MC.”
Resting her head against RK’s, she watched the sun dip below the horizon as their murderer rode toward Macha’s clubhouse. “They’ll find out who did this. Brewer and Dolly will make it right,” she promised with her last breath.
