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“No,” said Max, eloquently as ever.
Rafe chuckled. “It’s a club name, but we don’t disavow our old names.”
She nodded, looking at both of them closer for a moment. “Speaking of names, I think I get the origin of Hacker, but what about Ace?”
Max squirmed. “I’m good at cards.”
Rafe snorted. “No, man, you’re good at cheating at cards. That’s how we met, in fact. I caught the fucker cheating in the middle of a game. We beat each other up, grabbed a beer, settled our differences, and became friends.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re a card cheater?”
Max held up his thumb and forefinger spaced a tiny bit apart. “Just a little, but that was years ago.”
She laughed but then grew more serious. “You guys aren’t going to be trouble too, are you? Are you going to be more boys I have to slap down?”
Rafe raised his hands. “No, ma’am. Not me. I might want to be lots of things, but never trouble of a sort you didn’t want.”
Max just grunted, but it was the sound he reserved for agreement.
She put her hands on her hips. “Okay then. Nice distinction, about trouble, I mean.”
Rafe winked at her. “I am what I am. So I’ll pay up and go now.”
“Yeah,” said Max, finishing the last of his drink.
She smiled. “You guys come back.”
Max arched a brow, looking surprised. “Really?”
“As long as you stick to being other things—other than trouble of a sort I don’t want, that is.” She winked at Max and then grinned at Rafe.
“I’ll do my best.” Rafe crossed his heart.
Max rolled his eyes, but he spared a smile. “Yep.”
“That’s all a person can ask.”
When Rafe left he felt that kind of good feeling you get when you meet someone that resonates with you, that makes you think she might be special. That didn’t always go anywhere, but it sure felt nice, even if just for a little bit.
The problem was, Max seemed to be feeling it too. He paused, wondering if now was the best time to talk it through. He decided it wasn’t and got on his bike, straddling it, bringing it upright and kicking up the kickstand. Max’s movements were almost in sync with his. As he turned the key and kicked it to life, he saw an old white Chevy sitting at the curb. He couldn’t be sure, but the driver looked like Brad, and he was watching the front door of the bar.
What an asshole. Why does the world have to be filled with assholes?
Chapter 2
The next afternoonRafe rode his bike into the dirt parking lot of a different bar—a dingy spot at the edge of town, a building that stood alone and was distinguished only by a large number of monster motorcycles parked there. Most of the bikes were Harley Davidsons of various vintages and models. Some had high-rise handlebars, some were equipped with oversized saddlebags and stereos, and a couple were three-wheelers, but every one of them was immaculate. He recognized Max’s bike among them.
He looked them over and saw, among the cluster of shiny chromed machines, a sparkling new metallic red Low Rider. That one, with its 103-cubic-inch engine, belonged to the president of The Road Kings. The club, Rafe’s club, had made this bar its headquarters. Rafe was a member in good standing and the club treasurer. Under his watchful eye, the club finances had grown so that they now owned this bar, which meant it was more than a hangout—it was a permanent home.
He went inside to find the usual crowd for a late afternoon, seeing Max typing away on his computer. He seemed relaxed, making Rafe think he wasn’t working on anything for the club or freelancing. With that almost-smile, he was probably chatting with his sister, Danielle, who lived three states away for art college. She was all Max had left, family-wise, except for the MC brothers, and it had been hard on him when she decided to go so far away. Not that the stoic bastard had told Danielle that. He tended to be the quiet, self-sacrificing sort—which reminded Rafe they still needed to have a chat about Simone. He wanted to know if Max was interested, and he suspected his friend would try to hide it if he were.
Most of the guys worked day jobs of one sort or another, and this was the gathering place as they finished for the day. They’d stop here on their way home, or their old lady would meet them here. It was a place to exchange gossip, talk about bikes, and plan weekend rides over a few beers.
As he took the first step, Rafe heard the throaty roar of an old flathead engine and turned to see Clutch, a good friend and the club mechanic, pull in. Clutch had his own garage not far away. Rafe smiled to see Tessa riding behind him. To Rafe, Clutch and Tessa were the club’s own odd couple. Add in Romeo, and he should probably use the word triad. It wasn’t because the three of them were in a relationship, because that wasn’t the only three-way in the club. No, it was because the three seemed so different, but they fit together seamlessly. Clutch was a forty-year-old ex-Marine who’d done ten years in prison for killing a man and who had enough scars on his body to make you think whoever was counting the bodies he’d left in his wake must’ve missed a few. Romeo was a smooth talker who attracted women with his good looks and slick ways, though his gaze hadn’t strayed from Tessa since he met her. Tessa was a twenty-seven-year-old grade-school teacher who wore her hair in a platinum bob and dressed in business clothes. She taught Clutch’s niece, Kayla.
Although Rafe had never met an odder triad, he couldn’t say he’d ever met any three people more in love than those three, except maybe Slash, Vanessa, and Choirboy, the Kings’ other triad. Rafe couldn’t deny he was a little envious of the happiness they’d found, and he wondered how a triad relationship worked. There’d been a couple of threesomes in his past, but he’d been the filling in that sandwich, with two hot chicks. He’d never considered the idea of having another dude in the room while banging a lady, let alone making it a permanent situation, until he’d seen the success of the two triads.
“You kids out on a date again?” he called.
