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"You call my father murdering her then-husband a petty crime?" I lift an eyebrow.
Even Marco didn't know the truth about how my parents met.
"Youdohave some skeletons in your closet." Marco shares a wolfish smile. "How very interesting."
"Yeah." And how very dangerous.
When the life I live is built on the foundation of trust, there's no quicker way to lose it than to have a secret come to light that could very well threaten the existence of the thing you worked so hard to build.
A secret like having a senator as a mother.
And a family so tangled up in the legal profession that you'd be hard-pressed to walk into a federal courtroom andnotfind a judge connected to my family tree.
Outlaws choose the people they trust carefully. And people like me? They're the last fuckers a man whose life is built on crime will choose to stand by his side when the shit hits the fan.
If I want my life and legacy to stay the way they are, then I have to ensure my story is the beginning, not the end.
And that means finding the fucker responsible for the threat to that existence.
22
RAE
"This is fucking insane."I kick the stand out and dismount the death machine.My heart races a miracle mile, thrashing against my ribcage after yet another brush with the steel fence.
I've had enough close calls with death to last me a lifetime. I don’t need to willingly add more.
"You've almost got it," Maddie insists, grabbing me by the shoulders and spinning me back toward the bike. "Take a few deep breaths and try again."
"It'll take more than a few." I set the heel of one hand to my chest and rub the ache in my breastbone. "Are you sure I'm not having a heart attack?"
"Trust me. You'd know." She takes a couple of steps back. "Less throttle, but same speed with the clutch."
I draw a deep breath and face the black and gold nightmare. The bike is beautiful in itself—a Harley Davidson street bob with a custom paint job, handlebars, seat, and new pipes—or so Maddie says. Maybe it's operator error, or maybe, "Are you sure there's no bad ju-ju attached to this thing?" She did say it was her mother's and that her mother is less than welcome around here.
"Maybe." Mads waves me off. "It's only an issue if you let it be."
“And you’re sure your dad won’t mind?”
She shrugs. “He’s not back yet, so it’s his fault he couldn’t stop me if he wanted to.”
I glance to the gate, aware that Tyke rode out last night and didn’t come back. According to Maddie, it’s nothing unusual when he has business to attend to, but my gut twists at the thought the business could be related to me.
Lips pursed tight, I throw my closest leg over and settle onto the leather seat. To be fair, the diamond-stitched saddle is comfortable and perfectly molds to my fuller-size ass. But there's something not right. Something that makes me feel awkward no matter what I try.
And it’s not her youngest brother, Harvey, watching with no shortage of amusement from the undercover picnic tables near the clubhouse door.
"Less throttle, same clutch as last time," Maddie repeats as though I know what the fuck I did on the previous attempt.
"Yeah, sure." I mutter the words while mentally sorting through all the things to remember.
Stand in.
Clutch in.
Tap down for first.
Ease on the throttle...
