This prologue also appeared as the epilogue at the end of Fighting for Us: The Bailey Brothers Book Two.
The cold night air rushed past me as my bike raced down the empty highway. The scenery flew by, unseen, save for the patch of road illuminated by my headlight. I wasn’t sure where I was going. Away, mostly. I was too restless to go sit at home. I needed to drive. To cut through the wind and lean into the turns. I needed speed.
The highway curved and I had to slow down when I got into Pinecrest. I could drive right through and keep on going. There wasn’t much to do in this little town. But the Crooked Owl Tavern caught my eye. A beer didn’t sound bad right about now. I’d been here before; it was a dive, but the beer was always ice cold.
I parked outside, took off my helmet, and went in.
The light was dim and classic rock played in the background. The rough-around-the-edges crowd hung out here. A few biker types—I’d seen their Harleys outside—and guys with thick beards and work boots. There was a group of twenty-somethings playing pool, a few girls who eyed me when I walked in, and a couple of grizzled old-timers at the bar.
I picked a stool away from everyone. I wasn’t here to talk about the weather, or sports, or whatever the fuck passed for news in a shit hole town like this. I was just here to kill time and get a drink.
The bartender came by and I ordered a beer. True to form, it was ice cold. Had a nice bite to it. I hunched over my drink, bored. Restless. Dissatisfied. But that was how I felt most of the time, so it wasn’t exactly new.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I checked my messages. It was from a client asking about the car I was restoring for him. I’d get back to him later. Taking another swig of my beer, I flicked through a few things. I’d been waiting to hear about a lead on a forties Dodge Power Wagon I was hoping to get my hands on. It didn’t look like much, but if I could get it for the right price, I’d flip it and make a shit ton of money.
I accidentally hit the contacts icon and a name I didn’t recognize flashed on the screen. Jill? Who the fuck was that? Why did I have the number of some girl I didn’t know?
Oh, shit. She was pink cardigan girl, the one Luke Haven had been hitting on. That made me crack a smile. Fucking Luke Haven. As a Bailey, I was obligated to hate the Havens on principle. Truthfully, I didn’t really give a shit about the feud, or the Havens as a whole. But Luke Haven? I’d keep that goddamn feud going just to feed my hatred for that piece of shit.
I selected Jill’s contact info and hit delete. It wasn’t like I was ever going to call her. She’d tasted sweet when I’d kissed her in front of Luke, and sweet was a hard no. A girl like her looked harmless, like a kitten. But kittens had sharp claws, and they were damn good at convincing you it was your fault when you got scratched.
My younger brothers hadn’t learned that lesson yet.
Asher… he was another story. But he’d always been the exception to most rules. And Grace was no kitten.
I was happy for my brother. Glad he’d gotten his shit together enough to work things out with Grace. I didn’t envy him the demons he’d had to battle, nor the time he’d done in prison. The whole thing still pissed me off. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it. And he was home now.
But fuck, this meant there was going to be a wedding. I’d probably have to be in it. And if not, I’d certainly have to go.
I fucking hated weddings.
The beer wasn’t putting me in a better mood. Neither was thinking about weddings. I’d left my brother’s impromptu engagement party hoping to outrun the hollow ache I’d been feeling. It was irritating how it kept trying to follow me.
A beer wasn’t going to cut it. I’d go home and drown it in whiskey.
Leaving my bottle half-full, I was about to get off my stool and cut out of here, when someone sidled up next to me.
A girl in a black leather miniskirt and a leopard-print top that barely contained