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Chapter One
Crow
As soon as I pulled into the neighborhood, I felt out of place. White picket fences, neatly manicured lawns, and tidy little decks with throw pillows and potted ferns had never been my stomping grounds. With my black leather kutte, tattoos, and motorcycle, most folks didn’t want me around either. Men like me meant trouble, danger, violence. Just by riding into this stuffy suburb, the neighborhood gossips had probably clocked me already, their hackles raised, reaching for their phones to call the cops and bust my ass.
But I wouldn’t be here long. Just to see Pete Andrews, a former MC brother who left the club life for his wife and baby girl. Hell, it had probably been over twenty years ago since the last time we’d seen each other.
God, I was getting old.
I always felt like I was living on borrowed time. Running with the wrong crowd when I was a stubborn kid. Falling in with the Alpha Riders MC in the hopes that I might be able to do some good for once in my life.
Instead, I found myself surprisingly capable of spilling blood and earned the title of Sergeant at Arms. I never expected to make it to fifty-one years old and yet here I was, still going strong.
When I stopped at Pete’s house, no one would have ever guessed he used to ride with me all those years ago in the club. It was a huge two-story brick house with a pool in the backyard and a small water garden on the front lawn with a fountain. There were even pink petunias in his window boxes, for Christ’s sake.
Though the garage was open, I saw no sign of his motorcycle. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’d sold it. If I lived in a place like this, I would have thrown out everything that reminded me of my old life, too.
As I parked, the front door opened. Pete emerged, sporting a surprising amount of gray hair and a crisp button-down shirt. He’d grown out his buzzcut in favor for a fucking side part, combed and gelled firmly into place. Definitely not the guy I used to know. The old Pete would have laughed his ass off at the man who stood before me now.
“Damn, it’s good to see you again, Crow,” Pete said.
I climbed off my bike, hooked my helmet over the handlebar, and we met in a firm, bone-crushing hug. At least that hadn’t changed over the years.
“I barely even recognized you,” I said, breaking away.
Pete shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Life has a funny way of changing your perspective when you hold your own child for the first time and it hits you with all the force of a freight train that you’re going to be a father.”
“Yeah, well, looks like you’ve settled into it just fine,” I replied. “What brings you to Merry Field? California is a long way from Chicago.”
“Got tired of the cold winters. My wife wants a pool that she can use year ‘round. And my daughter is looking for a job out this way so we thought we would move closer to support her if she needed it while she got her feet under her.”
It took me a few seconds to connect the dots.
“Wait. You mean little Dani?”
Pete snorted. “She’s not little anymore. Graduated college earlier this year with a degree in business. She has an apartment of her own in town.” He gestured for me to follow him into the house. “Let’s go inside. There’s plenty of cold beer and we can catch up over a few barbecued steaks.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I followed Pete up the smooth, weedless sidewalk and into the foyer of his home, with slick hardwood floors and a neutral eggshell interior that screameddesigner.My black steel-toed boots suddenly sounded too heavy and offensive and I dreaded leaving scuff marks, or dragging God only knows what into his house – stale beer, piss, gasoline, blood.
As Pete and I entered the kitchen, a petite redheaded woman turned away from the refrigerator and her brilliant blue eyes met mine. My breath caught in my throat.
“Dani?” I said in disbelief.
Her frizzy baby curls had transformed into a long, silky straight copper-colored waterfall that reached her waist. Her formerly round cheeks had smoothed out into a heart-shaped face with a pointed chin and high cheekbones.
As my gaze roamed over her, cataloging the myriad of changes that had come with the passage of time, I couldn’t help but notice how she’d filled out, with thick, soft thighs, and generous cleavage that strained at her snug peach-colored crop top.
“Sorry,” she replied, setting a pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen island. “Who are you?”
Pete clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“Sweetie, this is Crow. I used to ride with him when we were younger, back in Chicago. Then I married your mother, I gave up my bike, and Crow rode off into the sunset. He ended up here, in California.”
I dropped my gaze, stifling a wince at the reminder that I was old enough to be her father. I remember when Dani was just a baby. Now that she was all grown up with curves that had me looking twice, I shouldn’t think about her that way though. She was far too young for me
