Chapter One
BILLIE PUSHED THE tray of drinks she was carrying high over her head as she weaved through the crowd, skirting the packed dance floor at the Roadhouse, her family’s biker bar, where she’d worked since she was old enough to earn a buck. She and her younger sister, Bobbie, had grown up in the rustic dive, hanging out while they did homework and washing dishes when they were shorthanded, because that’s what the Mancinis did. They got shit done and had one another’s backs. Much like the sea of guys who were there every night wearing black leather cuts—vests with the Dark Knights motorcycle club patches on them. Her father was the vice president of the club, and the bonds of that brotherhood were unbreakable.
She approached the group of good-looking out-of-towners wearing khakis and dress shirts by the pool table who had ordered the drinks and was acutely aware of their slick-looking buddy eyeing her up as he waited for his turn at pool. They grew ’em big and strong around Hope Valley, Colorado, where ranches and livestock paid the bills for most families. Billie had a thing for calloused hands, scruffy faces, and no-bullshit men who had no use for suits and ties. But summertime brought all kinds of mountain-loving tourists to their small town.
“Drink! Drink! Drink!” a group of women chanted.
Billie looked toward the commotion and saw three busty women standing shoulder to shoulder, each cradling a shot glass between her breasts. Devlin “Dare” Whiskey licked the swell of one of the giggling blonde’s breasts, and she shook salt onto the wet spot. You’ve got to be kidding me. As the girl handed the shaker to the girl beside her, Dare licked the salt off her breast and wrapped that big ornery mouth of his around the shot glass. He tipped his too-frigging-handsome face back as he downed the shot hands-free. Well, his hands weren’t actually free. As the girls whooped and cheered, he hauled that blonde into a kiss, then made his way to the next giggling girl and repeated the whole damn thing.
Fucking Dare.
Billie and Dare had been best friends when they were growing up, along with their other best friend, Eddie Baker. The three of them were inseparable. They’d earned the nickname the Daredevils by the time they were seven years old because they were always racing or trying to do risky stunts on their skateboards, dirt bikes, and anything else they could find. They drove their parents crazy, but instead of dissuading them, their parents made sure they learned how to do those things safely. Their stunts got riskier as they got older—skydiving, cliff diving, drag racing, and just about anything else that would give them an adrenaline rush. Even though the Daredevils’ motto was “The right person always wins, not the best person,” because they considered themselves equals on all levels, she and Dare had still always tried to one-up each other with new challenges, while Eddie’s love of technology had taken over. They all had their thing. When Eddie became enthralled with making videos and movies, opting out of many of their stunts in lieu of videoing them, they supported his love of movies in every way they could, doing anything he asked. Dare was into classic cars and motorcycles, so they went to all the classic car shows, and motocross was Billie’s passion. She’d become a pro racer at eighteen, and Dare and Eddie had cheered her on at nearly every race.
They’d had a lot of laughs, despite Billie and Dare fooling around one time the summer before he left for college. There had always been something dark and electric between them, as if they were twin flames. Even back then he was rugged and muscular, cocky as hell, and boy could he kiss. But that’d been a one-time thing, and although their relationship had gotten a little awkward for a while, they’d moved past it and had remained stunt besties into adulthood, when she and Eddie, who had always been a grounding force in her life, began an ill-fated year-long relationship.
They’d remained the Daredevils—unbreakable and unstoppable—until six years ago, when Eddie was killed during a stunt gone wrong, and their lives had never been the same. Dare had begun taking his stunts to terrifying levels, and Billie had let go of that dangerous lifestyle and everything that reminded her of it. Including Dare. The trouble was, Dare was always around, and just the sight of him rattled the chains that kept her skeletons in the closet.
A round of cheers pulled Billie from her thoughts as Dare did the third shot. He glanced over, his eyes locking on Billie as he plucked the glass from his mouth. A cocky grin curved his lips, and he raised his brows in that way he had that said, Come here, sugar, and I’ll do you so good you’ll never forget me.
She rolled her eyes and turned away, focusing on giving the customers their drinks and trying not to think about how spot-on that arrogant biker’s silent message was. He was the only man who had ever ignited a fire deep inside her. They hadn’t even gone all the way that hot summer night all those years ago, and she still got turned on just thinking about his hands on her.
Irritation climbed up her spine, and she spun around to head back to the bar, but Mr. Slick-Out-of-Towner was right there.
“Anyone ever tell you that you look just like Bridget Moynahan?”
Only every swinging dick in this place. “I’ve heard it a time or two.” She tried to step around him, but he blocked her path, stepping closer.
“You’re a lot hotter than she is.” He put his hand on her hip. “What’re you doing later?”
Billie quickly sized him up. She was five seven, even taller with her boots on, and this douchebag was maybe six feet. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin, catching movement in her peripheral vision as she said, “Not you.” She shoved his hand away as Dare closed the distance between them, looking like a bull ready to charge. She got right in Mr. Slick’s face, her voice deathly calm. “Touch me, or any other woman in here without her permission, and you’ll be lucky if you can crawl out the door tonight.”
“Come on, baby, you know you want me.” Slick ran his hand down her arm.
“Really, dude?” She sighed, as if bored, and in the next second, she grabbed his hand and twisted his arm inward, while bending his hand back. He doubled over in pain.
“Jesus, fuck.” His knees buckled, and he sank toward the floor.
Every Dark Knight in the place was on their feet, and Dare was at the head of the pack, as Billie glared down at the kneeling jerk with a smile. “Aikido. It does a body good.” She seethed, “Now get your sorry ass out of my bar. You hear me?”
“Get the fu—”
She bent his wrist further, and he cried out. “Yes, ma’am. I’m leaving right now,” she said calmly. “Let me hear it before I break your wrist.”
“Fine,” the guy gritted out, and she wrenched his arm higher. “Yes, ma’am! I’ll leave!”
She let go of his hand and blew past him, glowering at Dare as several Dark Knights followed the guy toward the door.
Dare fell into step beside her. “You okay?”
She scoffed. He knew better than anyone that she could take care of herself, and if she ran into trouble, Bobbie knew how to use the shotgun they kept behind the bar. “Fucking fantastic. You can go back to the girls who get off on being saved.” She strode behind the bar and put the tray away.
Bobbie sidled up to her with a teasing smirk. “You’ll never get a man if you keep hurting them.”