By: Jayne Blue

Great Wolves M.C. - Book Six

Chapter One


It’s dangerous to owe me something. Most people know that. And I always collect. For over a decade, that’s what my club depended on me for and I was glad to provide it. I did the things no one wants to hear about. Deadly force and bloody hands were just another Tuesday in my world. I’m not sorry. I’m not on some quest for redemption. Fuck that shit. You might not like me, but you sure as hell need me. Call me the lesser of two evils if you want. As long as you don’t have to see what I see or know what I know. And that’s just fine with me.

Now we live in a different world. My club has a legitimate business and flush bank accounts. I like it. I was starting to get too old for the other shit, anyway. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be ready when the day comes the Great Wolves M.C. needs their enforcer. And I know that day will come. It always does.


I ducked just as an empty beer bottle flew at my head. I raised my hand and caught it before it would have hit the far wall. Setting it down I thrust my middle finger up at Tate across the table. I sat in one of the back offices of the bar going over plans we had for an expansion later in the year. The Wolf Den used to just be our clubhouse. A place for only patched members to hang out. But two years ago things changed for the better. New leadership came in and now we run a cash business out of here. The Den has turned into a local hot spot with a cover charge, weekend band, and lines of customers wrapped around the parking lot. In some ways, I have the same job as always. The Enforcer. Except now I serve as general contractor, wrangling carpenters, plumbers, and other subs while we take things even bigger and better.

“What the fuck, man?”

Tate smiled. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes. There’s someone downstairs asking for you. You ready to take a meeting?”

I carved a hand through my hair, pulling it out from under the collar of my leather cut in the back. “Who the hell wants a meeting? It’s Saturday.”

Tate pointed to the security monitors against the wall behind me. We have hidden cameras downstairs on the main floor, behind the bar and in the kitchen. My eyes widened as I turned and looked. I expected to see some beefy-fingered electrician chatting up one of the waitresses while he waited for me with a handout for work that wasn’t quite finished. I sure as shit didn’t expect to see her.

She perched rod straight on one of the bar stools with a little black purse in her lap like the Queen of England. She was a fucking bombshell with long blonde hair, a short skirt, and tits that strained a little against the buttons of her white cotton blouse. Clean, classy. But with a little bit of dirty mixed in. I could see the outlines of a black lace bra beneath that shirt and mouthed a thank you that I spent a little extra cash and went for high-def. Her black, high heeled shoes with crisscrossed laces screamed, fuck me. Though I can admit that might have just been me. She cocked her head to the side and reached next to her to grab some fruity little drink. A Sea Breeze, probably.

“She says you know her?” Tate said.

“The fuck? Does she look like my type?” The second I said it, the words hell, yeah flared in my mind. Yeah. Even Tate wasn’t buying it. He leaned against the door jamb, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket and the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

“She says her name’s Nicole Ridley. Mean anything to you? She wouldn’t tell me what she wants. Just said she needs ten minutes of your time. Now I was about to say, don’t sell yourself short, but I kinda got the impression maybe she was a little classier than your usual.”

Heat scorched through me at the mention of her name and settled right between my legs. I looked at the monitor again. The fuck if it wasn’t. She’d changed. More curves. More money, probably. She downed the last of her drink and took a breath. She’d done it for courage. God. Just like the last time. Fifteen years melted away in my head and I saw her as she was then. She met me under the bleachers. I thought it was a little obvious, but it had been her choice. I leaned against my bike as she walked toward me, unsteady. Cheeks flushed. Man, that little blue-and-gray polyester dress with the slit up the side and the big felt “L” across her chest. She’d set her pompoms on the seat of my bike then she took a swig from the flask I carried and I watched her nose crinkle as the whiskey went down. She wasn’t used to anything that hard. A bead of amber liquid had moistened her bottom lip and she’d licked it away as her eyes flashed.

“The fuck? Brax. You want me to send her back or not?”

“Yeah. Why not?” I tapped my fingers against the table. “But send her to Colt’s office. I’ll meet her there.”

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