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Everyone knew what the Aryans had done to Magdalena O’Donnelly.
All these years later, NYC was still reeling from the aftermath of Uncle Aidan’s wrath as he punished those who’d dared hurt his wife.
How could a man dothatthen allow women in his faction to be similarly abused?
No, something wasn’t adding up.
And every Five Pointer knew that the only person who could ever get through to Uncle Aidan was his Achilles’ heel—Auntie Lena.
“Digger?”
“What?”
“I know I’m your wife.”
His eyes darkened—he liked hearing me call myself that. “You are.”
“I want to stay that way.”
“You can’t—”
I shoved his arm. “Icanknow that. Idoknow that. I even…” This was where things got embarrassing. “I know in the books, bikers—”
“Wait. What books?”
“MC romance books.”
His lips twisted. “That’s a thing?”
“Well, of course.”
“Ain’t you just a treasure trove of information.” Digger hooted. “I mean, I know there are chicks who dig bikers. Hell, half of the rich bitches in West Orange sniff around the clubhouse for a rough lay, but romancenovels? You being serious?”
I scowled at him. “Are you trying to shove in my face how many women want you?”
“No.” His arm tightened around my shoulder. “You back to being jealous, MC?”
My scowl darkened.
His grin widened. “Not a wise question to ask, hmm? Okay, let’s shift to the topic at hand. Why did you bring up MC romance books?” He paused. “Wait, they know we run drugs and guns and shit, right?”
“Who’s they?”
“Readers.”
I shrugged. “I knew.”
“Well, fuck. Women be crazy.” He scratched his stubbled chin. “Right, so, you were saying.”
“In the books, they say that when a biker claims a woman, he brands her.”
He stilled. “You’re talking ink, not hot pokers, yeah?”
“It depends on the books.”
Scratching his jaw, he muttered, “There are some hardcore chicks out there.”
“You have your arm around one of them,” I retorted.
