by Blue Remy
Amy came to a stop and dropped off three shot glasses, giving one to Romeo, then one to Stone. She completely ignored Mace, acting like he didn't exist.
Confused, but careful not to show it, Mace glanced among the trio, curious to know if she was Stone's property. If she was, that explained why she ignored him. He wouldn't look at her again, unless he wanted his nuts put on the chopping block.
"Glad you're alive, Romeo.” Amy tossed back the drink like a champ, causing Mace to chuckle to himself.
When she turned toward him, he couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at her. "Howdy."
Stone finished his shot and pushed it toward Amy. "Be gentle with the prospect, Ames."
"Oh, I will.” Hands placed on her hips, he watched her eyes slowly scour over him, as if she took in every inch of his body and then some. It would be a lie to say he wasn't aroused.
"And why haven't I met you before?” Mace turned on the charm, grinning like a fool, playing her game. If she wanted to act like she had no clue who he was, he'd oblige.
"I was away at school. I'm back.”
Mace noticed Stone and Romeo were trying not to laugh while they continued their banter between each other. He started to wonder if he was digging a hole here. "And what were you studying?"
She flashed a smile and stated matter-of-factly, "Massage therapy."
He had to; he wasn't one to leave such an opening untouched. "Does that mean you give happy endings?"
Mace never saw it coming. For once, he was caught off guard and he paid for it when her right hook caught his jaw. Stumbling back a step, he tripped over a chair and fell flat on his back.
Great.
Romeo and Stone burst out laughing while he watched Amy storm off. Rubbing his jaw, he swore under his breath while he pushed himself up, ignoring several other members laughing at his screw up.
Romeo clapped him on the back, still laughing. "You're lucky Amy didn't go for the nut shot."
"With a right hook like that, I guess so."
Stone laughed harder and motioned for Mace to sit down. Once he did, Romeo sat opposite him, pouring Stone another shot from a flask inside his vest.
"Who the hell is she?"
Stone downed his shot and lit up a cigarette. Blowing out the smoke, the cold, blue eyes of the club president knifed a hole right through him. "My daughter."
CHAPTER 2
Amy was still livid. There was no other way to explain it. When she spotted Mason wearing the prospect vest, her heart sunk. There was one rule that she followed at all costs: Never, ever get involved with club. He topped it off with his smart-ass remark, making fun of her job. At least he fell when she punched him, even if it was because he tripped over a chair. It made her feel better.
Mason had tried to apologize to her, but she wouldn’t hear it. Any door that might have been open for her to be interested in dating him had slammed shut when she saw the bottom rocker on his vest. She hated being that way, but she was not going to put herself on an emotional rollercoaster like her mother had been on. Gail and Alan had a beautiful relationship, he doted on her hand and foot, but everyone saw how the emotional turmoil her mother wrestled with every day wore her down. Sometimes, Amy blamed her father for her mother’s death, not caring that it was an illness. It justified her hurt.
Sleeping hadn’t made Amy feel any less disappointed or angry that Mason was a prospect. She actually looked forward to her first date in months, and now she may as well join one of those dating sites and pray some psycho didn’t try to send a flirt her way. She went through the motions of getting ready for work, and found herself in the shop going through the daily motions of stocking up product and dusting off shelves, mentally arguing the pros and cons of trying to get involved with Mason.
Just as she was about to slam the imaginary gavel, sentencing herself to a life of no dating, she heard the angry jingle of the shop’s doorbell and Maggie’s voice shouting her name.
“Good Lord, Mags. You’d think the Pope was in town.”
Amy couldn’t help but grin when her best friend came tearing around the corner of a bookcase, topaz eyes lit with mischief. That was all Maggie. They had been friends for as long as she could remember, growing up side by side, though it seemed Amy grew up and Maggie grew out. She was a few inches shorter than Amy, but had a good twenty to thirty pounds more on her than most females her size should. Caramel-kissed skin, jet-black hair, and old-world curves that most women would kill for—that was Maggie in a nutshell.
“I heard what you did to the prospect last night.”
Amy rolled her eyes while shaking her head. “He deserved it.” She wrinkled her nose and looked away, taking a few steps toward the barista station for a cup of coffee.
Maggie’s perfectly shaped brows shot up when she followed Amy, not giving up on the start of an interrogation. “You’re so not telling me something. Spill it.”
“Uhh, no. There’s nothing to spill. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Amy heard Maggie huff, and was about to grab a cup of coffee when she felt hands on her ribs and a tickle session beginning. Squeaking in surprise, she tried to wiggle away from Maggie, but got pinned between the counter and a rack of flavored syrups.
“Stop! So. Not. Fair!”
Maggie burst out laughing as she tickled further, reaching for a couch pillow, then smacking Amy right in the kisser. “Tell me now!”
“Okay!” Amy yelped with laughter as she grabbed for the pillow, whacking Maggie upside the head before tossing it on one of the couches. “I met him in the store and he asked me out. I agreed. But…”
“But?” Maggie asked incredulously.
“I don’t date club.”
She half scoffed-half snorted and threw up her hands. “Doesn’t mean you can’t do them.”
“Maggie!” Amy burst out laughing at her friend’s bold statement, though she was used to it.
“What?” She gave Amy an innocent look, acted like she was adjusting an invisible halo over her head. “He’s hot. I can think of several things I could do to that body.”
Amy groaned and started that pot of coffee she meant to start a while ago. Seeing the time, she glanced over her shoulder. “Lunch?”
“Old Town?”
“Like we’d go anywhere else.”
“Lead the way.”
* * * *
“I’m telling you, there is nothing better than having a bowl of menudo to get rid of a hangover.”
Amy shuddered in repressed horror at the very thought of eating pig intestines when she was hung over. “Yeah, maybe to make you puke again.” She picked a pepper off of her plate, wrinkling her nose when she thought about Mason once more.
"Penny for your thoughts."
"It's just disappointing that—" Amy's sentence was cut off by Maggie's face lighting up. Her brow rose in confusion when she glanced over her shoulder. Then she sighed and looked back at her plate, popping the jalapeno into her mouth and vigorously chewing. The spice didn’t affect her like most. She was raised on Mexican food, a little jalapeno was nothing.
"What's disappointing, Ames?” A deep voice came from behind her.
"The fact I can't seem to go a day without running into you.” Muttering mostly to herself, she moved closer toward Maggie while Demon grabbed a chair from a nearby table, spinning it around so he could straddle it, then fold his arms across the back.
Amy had a serious dislike for Angel Hernandez, otherwise known as Demon. Most never understood why. He was good looking, stood a good six inches taller than her, and was thin and muscular. His features were strong and sharp; tanned skin and near-black eyes helped woo many women into his bed. One of those women happened to be Maggie, who was head over heels for him.
Demon laughed and plucked a tortilla from Amy's plate, then reached for her fork to build a fajita, never asking her permission. "Feisty today? Lord knows you knocked that prospect flat on his ass last night. Got to love that in a woman."
Grinning, he bit into th
e concoction he created as Maggie stared dreamily at him. "I heard about that."
Amy rolled her eyes, pushing her plate away, disgusted by Demon helping himself to her meal. Taking that as an invitation, Demon pulled her plate over, opting to finish her lunch. "So when do I get a massage, Ames? I want to see what this school did for you."
Maggie beamed with pride at Demon as she gushed about Amy. "I've had one of her famous massages. She has such great hands, totally relaxed me. I wanted to pass out right there on the table."
Demon continued to ignore Maggie while she tried to interject on the seemingly one-sided conversation, making Amy simmer with anger. She shot a glare at Demon when he finished off her plate and grabbed her iced tea.
"Sure, help yourself. I didn't want to eat anyway."
Amy wanted to slap the tar out of Demon for his rudeness and obvious lack of manners. She knew if she did, he'd hit back and not think twice about it. He was a firm believer on ruling his relationships with a strong right hook. She just wished Maggie could see it, but love was blind.
The waitress came over to their table, dropping off a Xango for the girls to split, though Amy had lost interest in food all together. She would have to talk to her father, beg him to have a talk with Demon, and get him to leave her alone.
Maggie picked up her fork, cutting of a piece of the fried cheesecake, happily stabbing it to lift it to her lips.
Amy watched a look of disgust wash over Demon’s face when he stared at Maggie. “Do you really need that? You already have to wear a sign that says, wide load. Are you trying to make your ass bigger than it already is?”
Amy’s jaw dropped. Maggie’s shocked and ashamed look only fueled her temper. She pushed away from the table, almost knocking her chair to the floor in anger. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out a twenty and tossed it to the table, jaw clenched to keep her mouth shut, lest she find herself on her back from a retaliation strike from Demon. A hand grabbed her wrist when she turned to leave; the pain of bones grinding together caused her to stop. It took everything Amy had not to yelp, but she wouldn’t give Demon the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” His head cocked to the side as he tugged her toward him. “I’m not done talking to you.”
Amy knew it was going to hurt, but she’d reached her boiling point. Gritting her teeth, she yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Who the hell do you think you are, grabbing me like that?” She scooped up a glass of water on the table, then tossed its contents right at his face.
She spun around and bolted for the door, leaving behind a surprised and sputtering Demon. She knew Maggie was behind her, but didn’t care. How could someone love that piece of shit? Who in their right mind would take that kind of abuse?
Demon was right behind them, brushing past both of them. He paused long enough to glare at Maggie, snarling at her. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Did he just really?
Yes. Yes, he did.
Amy watched Demon walk off toward his bike. She was going to blow a gasket. She had to get out of there. Turning around, she nearly slammed into Maggie.
Brain to mouth filter? Malfunctioned.
“Why do you let that arrogant asshole treat you like that?” Amy couldn’t help but yell at her best friend.
Maggie balked at being yelled at, stuttering, “I—I left with you, didn’t I?”
Amy threw her hands in the air and turned around in a slow circle, counting to ten. She loved Maggie, but sometimes, she swore the girl was dense. Dragging in a deep breath, she pulled Maggie into a hug. “Let’s get out of here before half of Orcutt thinks we’re having a torrid affair.”
* * * *
Washing bar glasses sucked.
Being a prospect sucked.
He’d get over it, maybe after he was done with the damn glasses these assholes used all night. This was one of those shit jobs that he didn’t like, but it was all part of it.
He’d be razzed all day about Stone’s daughter putting him on his ass, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, unless he wanted to eat leather. If he opened his mouth, he would get punished in some fashion he really wouldn’t like. The last prospect had to wear a string bikini and wash every damn hog in the parking lot of the clubhouse. That shit was so not happening to him. The other punishment was getting your ass beat. Some things he would take, but taking an ass beating and not fighting back?
Fuck that.
He’d end up killing someone.
Seeing Stone’s coffee cup empty, Mace dried off his now raisin-looking hands and grabbed the pot of coffee to give him a refill. As he was pouring, the front door of the clubhouse slammed open, then banged closed as Demon stormed in.
Romeo’s bald head snapped up at the loud intrusion, single brow lifted in question. Years of cigarettes made his voice deep and scratchy. “Your ass on fire?”
The cold, dark eyes of the sergeant at arms leveled on Romeo. “We need a meeting, now.” Demon stalked past Stone, Romeo, and several of the club brothers toward the Chapel Room where they held their regular church meetings. A place Mace was not privileged to enter until he was patched in.
He wanted those three patches.
Currently, he had two: a Six-Gun Outlaw top rocker, prospect bottom rocker. When he was patched in, the bottom rocker would be replaced with his state tag, California, and he’d be wearing a center patch that said it all: two six-guns crossed with a skull in the center wearing a bullet-hole-ridden cowboy hat. It was a sick-looking patch with an evil glint that let everyone know these brothers rode in death’s glory.
Stone cleared his throat, thumb rubbing against the whiskers on his chin. “Take your dishpan hands, prospect, and head out to my place. Go to the barn and grab a box of spare parts I have in the last stall.”
“Heard.” Mace nodded, jotting down the address of the president’s home.
“Take your cage. It won’t fit in the saddle bags.” Stone pushed away from the bar, scooped up the coffee cup, and headed to the room.
CHAPTER 3
“Good freaking God,” Mace muttered when he pulled his pickup onto the long driveway of the one hundred and thirty acre spread Stone called home. The ranch was just off Rice Ranch Road behind wine country. The driveway was asphalted, making it easier for bikes to travel on when they rolled through. Fruit trees lined the winding drive on both sides, with wooden fencing as a decorative piece. Sprawled out before him was an adobe Spanish-style ranch home; quaint, not too big for a small family.
Spotting the barn about a hundred yards from the main house, he turned the truck around and backed into what he assumed was a parking area for horse trailers. He reluctantly turned off Five Finger Death Punch and got out, slamming the door behind him. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a cloth-covered rubber band and slipped his first three fingers inside it. He pushed back his strawberry-blond hair until he could grasp it just behind the crown of his head, then wrapped the tiny band around the strands. He hated having his hair in his eyes; keeping it a little longer than chin length was difficult at times.
He scanned the area from behind the aviators, taking note of the livestock the James family had: cattle, sheep, and horses. No wonder Stone wasn’t worried about money half the time. He was in the cattle business. Shaking his head, he lowered the tailgate, then headed for the barn.
Mace gave pause at the door when he heard a voice coming from deep inside. Head cocked to the side, listening to the crooning sounds revealed all female vocals. Moving further into the barn, he followed the voice until he saw her.
Amethyst James was in a league of her own. Just watching the way she handled the horse showed another side of her, how she cared for others, whether human or animal. Slow, methodical strokes of the brush over the stallion’s mane were just the tip of the iceberg. She cooed in gentle tones to the point it relaxed him.
His eyes dragged over her, taking in everything possible. Silken strands of chocolate were
caught up in a mussed ponytail; a tight tank top hugged her full figure like a glove. Ripped jeans cupped her ass just right and fit like a second skin.
Damn, he could get lost in her.
Her movement brought Mace out of his near wet dream. She moved to the tack room, rising on her toes to put a detangle comb away. Her wince alerted him to look at her raised arm, trying to ignore the glimpse of stomach that peeked out from under her top.
“What the hell?” He was beside her before she realized he was there. He snatched her arm, though he remained gentle.
He ignored Amy’s yelp of surprise, more interested in tenderly probing the swollen and bruised area of her wrist. Mace lowered his voice, trying to hide the fact he was upset at her injury. “What happened, Amy?”
Her green-flecked, brown eyes were wide with surprise when she stared at him, her lips parting with her quick intake of breath. Regaining her composure, she yanked her arm away, her eyes dropping to the floor before sweeping over to the horse. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
He frowned. “I call bullshit. You need to get that looked at.” He followed her, closing the tack room door behind him.
“It’s not your problem.”
“The fuck, you say.” Mace snapped back at her. “I’ll get my ass handed to me if you’re not taken care of.”
Amy walked past the stallion to another stall. She scooped up a sweatshirt, turning to face him. “Just get what you need and leave.”
No way. Not happening. Someone had hurt her and that pissed him the slap off. He wasn’t sure where this protective streak came from, but he wasn’t going to worry about it right now. He needed to focus on getting her inside and taken care of.