do to survive, but as a man, he had made lawlessness a way of life.
Not the kind of life she wanted … for her or for Ty.
“I don’t want to rush into anything. We’re not the same people anymore.” She gestured to the door, although the last thing she wanted was another ride on his motorcycle, with the motor vibrating between her legs and his hard body tucked up against her breasts. “I don’t know Zane the biker, just like you don’t know Evie the mom and painter. It’s like meeting someone new, but with all our past baggage tacked on. I’ve moved on and I’m just not looking for anything or anyone. I have a nice, normal, quiet life now. I’m happy as I am.”
He studied her, as if he could see into her soul and pluck out the lies. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel something, because I know you did. After all the time we spent together, I know what it means when you bite your lip, and when your cheeks flush pink. I could feel your heart pounding in your chest, same as mine. And yeah, I don’t want to remember the past either, and especially not the day I saw you with Mark and your son. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing between us, Evie.”
“Evangeline.”
“You’ll always be Evie to me.” He shoved the door aside and let her pass before yanking it closed. “Doesn’t matter how many times you tell me, I can’t call you something else, especially after I had to listen to nine years of you moanin’ about how much you hated that name.”
Zane checked out the parking lot while she locked up, and then they joined Shooter at the bikes. But before she could climb on the seat, Zane put out a warning hand.
“Prospect. What instructions did I just give you?”
“Um … you wanted your seat cleaned and repaired and the offending rodent…” He glanced quickly at Evie and then back to Zane. “Managed.”
“So why are there teeth marks on my seat?” Zane gestured to the leather saddle and Evie squinted. Although the light was low, the seat looked perfect to her.
“Um … well … his teeth were pretty sharp and I didn’t know how to repair the leather. I cleaned and polished it, though.”
Zane folded his arms. “My girl’s not ridin’ on rodent marks. How’s she gonna get home?”
His girl? Hadn’t he been paying attention when she told him she wasn’t looking for anyone? And what about Viper? Although the more time she spent with Zane, the less interest she had in pursuing that relationship.
Shooter shifted his weight and grimaced. “Taxi?”
Poor Shooter received a cuff to the head. Evie cringed on his behalf. She knew from biker books and television shows that prospects were given the worst jobs and the least respect during the time they were pledging to the club, but she hadn’t expected Zane to be quite so harsh.
“You want me to take her on my bike?” Shooter asked.
Alarmed at the way Zane’s hands curled into fists, Evie slid onto the pillion seat of his vivid black, Harley Night Rod Special. “This girl’s ass isn’t so precious that it can’t withstand a few teeth marks. Let’s ride.”
Zane turned his anger and outrage on her. “I’m teaching the prospect a lesson.”
“And I have a son waiting for me to pick him up.”
He glared at Shooter as he mounted his bike. “Clubhouse. One hour. And you better be standing on the drive with a repair kit in one hand and a squirrel pelt in the other. Fucking rodent disrespected my girl.”
Again with the “his girl.” But his insistence on protecting her even from hungry squirrels made her feel warm and tingly inside.
“Hold on tight, sweetheart.” He started his engine and the deep rumble vibrated through her body.
Oh, she’d hold on tight. But would she be able to let go?
SEVEN
There is no substitute for good information and a helping hand.
—SINNER’S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE REPAIR MANUAL
Zane hated the morgue.
And not because of the smell. He could handle the cloying scent of antiseptic. Even the underlying odor of death and decomposition. But what got to him was the sadness. There was never anything good waiting for the people who went through the heavy silver door leading from the waiting room to the identification area. And he would know. He’d been in the morgue too many times to identify the bodies of his brothers who had become collateral damage in the war against the Black Jacks.
This