Chapter One

The sexy little FBI agent had no business walking into the packed bar as if she owned the place. A notorious dive, the place catered to motorcycle club members. The rough and the tough. The dangerous predators.

Not sweet-ass redheads in screw-me heels.

There was no way she should come strolling in, her thick hair loose around her shoulders, her heels too high, her skirt too short, and that top of hers far too tight as she ambled through the dangerous crowd and locked what were truly incredible blue eyes on him.

And she should not, absolutely should not, wink at him as she approached.

But she did.

Sonofabitch.

She winked at him, right before a crowd of far too eager and far too big MC members closed in on her and completely blocked her from his sight.

Cassius “Cass” Striker grabbed his beer bottle. He barely felt the cold glass beneath his grip. All he’d wanted was one night to just relax. Time to drink a freaking beer in peace. But was he gonna get that peace? Oh, hell, no, he was not. Because now he had to go and rescue the FBI agent who should’ve had more sense than to seek out the seediest bar in Atlanta. Everyone knew this was MC territory. You did not stroll in like you were⁠—

“Hi, there.” She was right in front of him. All electric blue eyes and dark red hair. Full, sexy lips smiling.

He blinked. Looked over her shoulder. The crowd of bikers had dispersed. Mostly, anyway. A few threw curious glances his way. One even gave him a thumbs up.

What. The. Hell?

She reached out and put her hand on the battered sleeve of his black, leather jacket. “So, I am truly curious…” Her voice was very clear. A little husky. Definitely sexy. Also, a wee bit too loud because he knew every ear in the place was probably straining to hear them. “Just what does a woman have to do in order to get fucked by the leader of the baddest motorcycle club on the East Coast?”

He slammed down the beer bottle. It clinked against the bar top.

Her eyes gleamed, dancing with amusement. Because, what, she thought this was some kind of joke? Did it look like he was laughing? “You’re playing with fire, princess.”

Instead of having some common sense and backing away—running away would be the smart choice—she leaned even closer, and her seductive, feminine scent wrapped around him. “Absolutely fantastic,” she told him. “I love getting hot.”

His back teeth ground together. “Agnes…”

“You remember my name. So good to hear. Delightful, in fact. I was a bit afraid that you’d forgotten me. I don’t want to be forgettable.”

She was not. She was a pain in his ass. A sexy pain in the ass, granted, but still a pain. He’d met her at the FBI’s main office in Atlanta a while back. And the FBI office? That was a place that the leader of the Night Strikers did not want to be, ever. But he’d been there because he’d been making absolutely certain that individuals who’d hurt his people paid the price, and FBI Agent Agnes Quinn had just strolled her hot self right up to him in the middle of that Bureau hellscape. She’d stretched out her hand to him and said, “I’m Agnes Quinn.” As cute and charming as you please. Like they were meeting for tea or something.

He had not introduced himself back to her. He also had not touched her hand. Feds and MC leaders did not shake hands. They did not mingle in public for fun.

They did not fuck.

But Agnes hadn’t been put off by his refusal to speak or touch her at the Bureau. Instead, she’d just asked with a bat of her long eyelashes, “Are you really as bad as they say?”

Oh, he was. Much, much worse, actually.

The woman should’ve had the sense to stay away from him. Instead, she was in his favorite dive bar. Right the hell in front of him now. Talking about fucking. He rose from the bar stool and towered over her. “I’m gonna have that sexy ass thrown out of here.” Deliberately, he kept his voice low, for her ears alone because he was trying to give her the chance to leave on her own accord. Look at him, being a semi-nice guy. That niceness would only last for about one more minute. “If you don’t turn around and get out of here in the next sixty seconds, I will have my men carry you out and toss you onto the street.”

Instead of appearing intimidated, she shook her head. Then she put her hand on his chest. She leaned close, too, so that it probably looked as if they were about to kiss. “I don’t think so,” Agnes told him, way too confident.

He blinked.

“I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would let someone else do the dirty work for him. If you want me out, I think you’d do it yourself. You’d put those big hands of yours on me, and you’d carry me out all by your—” Her words ended on a sharp gasp because he had just put his hands on her.

He’d wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the bar’s top. Now they were eye to eye, and any amusement that he might have momentarily felt fled. “You don’t want to know about me and the dirty work I do.” He did not have time to screw around with a Fed.

Though screwing with this Fed would be incredibly fun. Fucking the ever-so-hot Agnes? Hell, yes.

No, no. Hell, no. It was not going to happen.

“Did Gray send you?” Cass demanded, referring to her supervisor at the FBI. Grayson Stone, FBI mastermind, mind fucker, all-around asshole. And…

The closest thing to a brother that Cass possessed. They were actually cousins. They’d grown up more as brothers, though, but that relationship was something the the majority of the MC did not know about. If you wanted to stay in power, you didn’t advertise the fact that you’d kill to protect an FBI agent. That just wasn’t the way shit was done.

“Gray has no idea that I’m here,” Agnes returned. Her hands had flattened on the bar top, one hand on either side of her body. “I don’t exactly run potential lovers by my boss. That would just be weird.”

What?

Her words had been a bit hard to hear because there’d been a flurry of sudden shouts behind him. The crew always got rowdy the later it became.

Her head cocked to the side as she looked beyond him, toward the noisy crowd. “I don’t want to tell you your business…” With one hand, she reached for the beer bottle that he’d put down on the bar top moments before. “But I don’t think this is a friendly group.”

No shit. He snorted. “If you wanted friendly, then you should have stayed the hell out of this bar. Only MCs come here.” Not just the Night Strikers, either. The Bottomless Pit was supposed to be a neutral zone, of sorts. Only things had a way of not staying too neutral the later it got and the drunker the crowd became.

“You were here, so I had to be, too.” She raised the bottle.

So now the woman was drinking his beer? Drinking his beer, and, apparently, she’d been stalking him, too? Should that flatter him, terrify him, or annoy him? Maybe all of the above?

Her words definitely should not interest him. Should not. And why in the hell was he still holding her waist? Why was his gaze still locked on her face as he waited to hear whatever bullshit story she was about to spin for him next?

Random fact, she had a few freckles across the straight bridge of her nose. Oddly cute.

Dammit.

“Someone should really be watching your six,” she murmured as she scrunched her nose in what was an oddly adorable way.

Not that he thought she was adorable. Adorable and sexy didn’t go together. She was sexy. Way too hot. As for his six, he had a whole team who watched his six,

“Good thing I’m here,” she added, and then she threw the beer bottle over his shoulder.

What in the hell?

Even as he heard the thud of the beer bottle connecting with something, Cass whipped around. The beer bottle crashed to the floor. Shattered. But it wasn’t the only thing that crashed to the floor.

A knife did, too. The knife that some tricky bastard had been intending to stab into Cass’s back. The bastard was just a few feet away, and the expression of utter fear and horror on his face was almost priceless.

“He was going toward your back,” Agnes explained in a casual voice. “I saw him pull the knife from the inside of his coat. Everyone else seemed busy fighting or drinking or…you know, making out in dark corners. So I had to intervene.”

She’d intervened…?

“You really should have better protection,” she chided.

“I can protect myself.” Deliberately, he turned to fully face the man who’d frozen. The prick who’d intended to stab Cass in the back.

“You weren’t doing it this time,” Agnes piped in from her perch on the bar behind him. “Thus, I stepped in like the amazing girlfriend I am.”

Girlfriend? Since when? They barely knew each other. Had they even exchanged more than a full minute of conversation before this night? Cass didn’t think so. But he’d deal with his girlfriend later. At the moment, he had a conniving jerk who needed to be handled.

Cass scanned the tats on the man’s arms. His hands. Cass grunted as he recognized the ink of a rival MC. All those skulls with thorns twined around them. But no sign of a tat that would show a position of power in that MC. “Seriously? You think you’ll jump ranks by plunging a blade into my back? Aren’t you precious?”

The creep’s eyes darted to the left. To the right.

The fighting and the music and the laughter and every damn thing else in the dark bar stopped.

Things tended to stop when Cass used that particular tone of voice. And when people knew he was about to kick ass. He was so ready to kick some ass. Dark tension had been riding him hard. Hell, the darkness always pulled at him. Lately, that pull was even more intense. The idiot before him had just given Cass the perfect excuse to let the beast within off the leash that normally held him in check.

For a beat of time, he studied the dumbass who’d come to the bar in order to attack. Shaved head. Long beard. Nose ring. Beady eyes. Those eyes made the mistake of darting to the discarded knife.

Cass sighed. “You don’t telegraph your intent, dumbass. You just attack. When you telegraph, that lets people like the cute redhead behind me…” He reached back. Maybe he gave her thigh a pat. Fine, there was no maybe about it. He did pat her thigh. Then his fingers lingered. The touch was supposed to be a sign for her to stand down. Not like he wanted her to fly into the fight that was moments away from occurring.

Yet…

His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary.

And stroked. Stroked right beneath the edge of her skirt. Touched smooth skin. Dammit.

Her skin was way too soft. “You should fucking cover up,” he growled at her. “It’s cold outside.”

Amused laughter greeted him. Her laughter. “You should focus on more immediate problems.”

He’d never taken his gaze off the immediate problem. So when the bald biker before him lunged for the fallen knife, Cass was ready.

The fool never made it to the knife. His face did connect with Cass’s boot, though, as Cass kicked the prick hard and sent him flying back. The would-be attacker slammed into a nearby table.

Cass’s crew cheered.

The table wasn’t meant to hold the jerk’s weight, clearly, and it broke with a loud creak and a crash. The attacker’s ass landed on the floor.

Did the jerk have the sense to give up? To turn tail and run?

Of course, not. The idiots who came, trying to take down Cass so they could claim the glory of killing the leader of the Night Strikers, never had that sense. Instead, the attacker grabbed a broken table leg, and, with a roar, the SOB was back on his feet. He drew back the hunk of wood, holding it behind his head, and he barreled toward Cass.

“Uh, tell me you’ve got this…” Agnes began, her words sharp with tension. “Cass? Cass!”

He had this. He launched forward, going in hard, and he rammed into the idiot before the biker could take a swing. Cass’s shoulder hit the guy’s torso, all of the breath whooshed from his prey, and Cass took that prick down.

Thunderous cheers broke out. The crowd closed in. Very, very tightly.

Cass kicked away the broken table leg.

“Strike! Strike! Strike!” The chants filled the air.

Hell. He was gonna have to give the crowd what they wanted.

Cass rose to his full height. He rolled back his shoulders. Shook out his hands. Got loose and ready. “You want to come at me?” Cass challenged the creep who thought the best way to attack was from behind. “Then you come at me directly. You don’t sneak up behind me like a coward. You hit me, face to face.” Cass smiled.

“Strike! Strike! Strike!” His MC members stomped their feet. Whistled.

The bald biker rose to his feet. Fury twisted his face. The golden nose ring gleamed.

Cass let his smile stretch. “You hit me face to face,” he repeated. “Just like I’m about to hit you.” Then Cass drew back his fist and attacked.

* * *

She couldn’t see a damn thing.

Agnes Quinn huffed out a breath even as she rose to her feet—on the bar. Yeah, she was standing on the bar. Not dancing on it or anything cool like that. Just standing in her high heels as she craned to see around the crowd and make sure that Cass Striker was not, in fact, getting his ass kicked.

Because, sure, he was supposed to be big and bad.

But the jerk who’d been sneaking up behind him—with a knife—had been bigger. As in, while Cass clocked in at six-foot-three—yes, she knew his exact height, she’d done her recon work on him, after all—the biker with the shaved head and dark skull tats looked to be around six-foot-six. Maybe six-seven with his boots. And the dude was big. Not big as in muscled, but big with lots of extra weight and padding on him.

Since both men were so tall, she should have been able to see something. Especially from her high perch. But the crowd had closed in, and Agnes was pretty sure the fighters had to be on the floor.

Please, please, don’t let Cass be pinned on the floor.

Her jaw locked. Okay, enough of this bullshit. She was a Fed, after all. Things had moved helluva fast, and she’d already shouted twice for everyone to stop. She’d been ignored both times. Agnes didn’t enjoy being ignored. She also was not going to just stand there while a major assault went down. Time for her to call a halt to this mess, now.

She put her fingers to her lips and blew. Loud. Hard. Unfortunately, her whistle didn’t really cut above the crowd. When she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the stunned bartender and smashed it onto the floor, well, her continued whistling and the crash finally drew eyes to her.

Stunned gazes to which she yelled, “Stop, now, because I am a⁠—”

“She’s mine,” Cass snarled before she could tell everyone there that she was an FBI agent.

Her breath shuddered out.

“Mine,” Cass repeated gutturally.

And she could see him again. Finally. As if he’d spoken some magic word, the crowd parted around him. He rose to his feet, fisted hands at his sides, while his much bigger opponent remained groaning and slumped on the floor.

Uh, oh. “Does he need medical attention?” It certainly appeared that way to her.

Cass grunted. He also began stalking toward her. The place had been so loud moments before, but now, she was pretty sure that if you just strained the tiniest bit, you’d probably be able to hear a pin drop.

Agnes feared her heaving breaths were far too loud, and, oh, crap, she was still standing on the bar’s top. Awkward.

What else was awkward? The absolutely predatory look on Cass’s handsome face. Handsome as in…dangerous. Gorgeous. Knee-weakeningly sexy.

If you went for the type.

She normally didn’t. True story. She did not normally think bad guys were hot. However, there was not anything particularly normal about her response to Cass. From the first moment that she’d seen him at the FBI Atlanta office, she’d felt as if an electric shock had gone through her entire system. She’d been working another case, and he had not exactly been enthused to meet her.

He was tall, broad-shouldered. He knew how to perfectly fill out a battered leather jacket and how to seriously work some faded jeans. His dark hair was thick and tousled, his jaw covered by the dark scruff of a light beard, and his intense eyes glittered. Not completely dark eyes. Some gold lurked deep in that darkness. And such a fierce glower currently covered his hard and chiseled face.

Oh, yeah. I’m hot for the bad guy.

But she did have a few other concerns at the moment other than just his incredible hotness.

She craned her head and looked behind Cass as he continued his intent stalking routine. The man on the floor was starting to rise. Agnes cleared her throat. “Uh, Cass…”

He lifted his right hand. “Throw his ass out.”

That was it? Just throw him out? After an attempted murder?

Cass was in front of her now. Glaring up at her.

Agnes wet her lips. “He tried to kill you. You don’t need to throw his ass out.” She kept her voice soft. “You need to press charges.” Obviously. “Should I arrest—Cass!” The last of her words ended in a shocked yelp because he’d hauled her off the bar and just tossed her over his shoulder like that was a normal thing.

She would admit, it was a fairly hot thing, if you went for that sort of alpha behavior. Maybe I do. But, it was not normal. And there had just been an assault, an attempted murder honestly, and Cass should be pressing charges, not carrying her around on his shoulder as if⁠—

“Mine,” Cass said again.

He was referring to her. Sighing, Agnes shoved her right hand against his back and levered herself up a bit so that she could see the crowd.

A whole lot of people were glowering at her.

So she sent a friendly wave with her left hand. “Delighted to meet you all.”

Cass growled. Then he began marching through the crowd—well, more stalking again, really. The assembled bikers parted even more for him, and she saw that the attacker had already vanished. Wow. Talk about fast. Apparently, when the leader of the Night Strikers said jump, everyone bounced. Or, in this case, they all threw out an unwelcome visitor.

No one waved back to her which was, quite simply, rude. Before she could tell them all her opinion, though, she was outside. Cass had carried her outside of the dingy bar, and for a moment, she very much feared that he was just going to dump her on her ass on the sidewalk and walk away. Then he’d strut back in the bar and tell everyone that she wasn’t supposed to be allowed inside and that would be problematic. “Uh, Cass…” Agnes cleared her throat. She tried to sound charming instead of worried as she continued, “Cass, my awesome new friend, how about you calm down⁠—”

His growl cut through her words. “We are not friends.”

Oh, ouch. “Someone’s extra pissy after a fight. Good to know. I—ah!”

He’d hauled her off his shoulder.

But he hadn’t plunked her ass on the ground. Instead, she was…

Her brows snapped together. “Is this your motorcycle?” She shifted her position, adjusted her legs so that she straddled the massive bike, and her hands flew to grip the handlebars. “Because I love it. One hundred percent love it.” She did. Agnes was not just blowing smoke up his cute, jean-clad ass. “I bet it feels like you are flying when you drive this thing.” A blissful sigh escaped her. “Any chance you’ll let me go for a spin? I promise to be very, very careful.”

“You will drive my bike over my dead body.” Flat. Nope, more guttural than flat.

She shrugged. “Your funeral then⁠—”

“Agnes.”

She blinked. She also did a careful sweep of the street. Ah…there was the would-be attacker. Slumped outside. “Excuse me!” Agnes raised her voice as she shouted toward the bald and bearded biker. “You tried to kill a man tonight!”

He scuttled away. A fast scuttle for someone so large.

Sighing, she let go of the handlebars. She swung her body so that she no longer straddled the beautiful beast of a bike. “Excuse me,” Agnes signed because Cass was in her way. “But I am going to have chase after that man and arrest him.” She hated having to chase fleeing perps. So exhausting.

“For fuck’s sake,” Cass rasped. He reached out for her hips. Repositioned her on the bike so that once more, she was straddling the thing. “I’m not filing charges. You aren’t arresting him.

“You should press charges against him,” Agnes told Cass.

His jaw dropped. Then…booming laughter swept from him.

Her eyebrows snapped together. “That was not a joke.”

His hand slid across her thigh. “This skirt is too damn short.” He tried to haul the skirt down a few more inches.

It would not be hauled.

He swore.

She smiled. “Thanks for noticing the shortness. That was the whole reason I bought it.”

Because of the nearby street lamp, she could see that hard jaw of his as it locked.

“When you’re straddling me,” he continued in his rough and deep voice, “it’s gonna hike up way too far.”

When you’re straddling…Her mouth must have dropped open.

“Scoot back, Agnes,” he ordered. “Then lock your arms around me.”

Oh, he meant straddling him…on the bike. Not in bed. Sure. Check.

She’d hired a rideshare driver to drop her off at the bar, so she didn’t have her own transportation home. A deliberate choice because parking in that neighborhood could be a challenge. Unless, of course, you had a motorcycle. Like he did.

But she didn’t scoot back yet. “Do you seriously not want to press charges against your attacker?” Agnes asked. The attacker was gone, but if they gave chase right then⁠—

“I just kicked the shit out of him. MC justice. It’s over.”

She wasn’t so sure. “That was an attempted murder, an assault at the very least.”

He grunted. “Scoot. Back.”

Fine. She scooted back. After all, she did need a ride home. This would save her from having to use her app to get a driver back to the bar for a pickup.

Cass didn’t immediately settle in the seat in front of her. He glared more at her.

Agnes decided to keep talking. “Once you two got in that fun circle and started fighting, things got confusing, as least as far as who was the vic and who was the perp⁠—”

“He came at me with a table leg. I defended myself. Case closed.” He bent and unlocked the helmet that had been hooked to the motorcycle’s frame. A big, dark helmet. With his jaw locked, he plunked that helmet down on her head.

She smiled. “Safety first, huh?” She secured the chin strap. “I can appreciate that, but do you want to go borrow a helmet from someone else? That way, you’ll be covered, too?”

He took the small purse that she still had over one shoulder. She’d had that bag the entire time. Mostly because it contained some very necessary items. Like my gun. Though she hadn’t pulled the gun because Agnes hadn’t wanted to escalate the situation more than necessary. Cass took the bag and tucked her purse into one of the motorcycle’s saddle bags. Then he straddled the bike.

Cass just hopped right in front of her. Took up a whole lot of space.

He also had the engine roaring and revving, and the seat vibrated beneath her legs with a rumble that took her by surprise and had Agnes’s hands flying out to curl around Cass’s waist.

“Hold on,” he ordered.

Her fingers fluttered around his waist. Then pressed a little harder. Before they flew off into the night, Agnes realized she should probably explain to him why she’d gone to see him in the first place. Why she’d deliberately worn the sexy outfit and prissed inside the most dangerous bar in town even as she kept her gun stored in her cute purse. “Ah, Cass, about tonight…”

“You’re gonna get exactly what you wanted.”

What she wanted? But she hadn’t told him yet. She hadn’t mentioned the partnership that she was hoping he’d make with the FBI. With her. “I am?”

“Yeah, baby, you are. You are gonna get fucked long and hard by the leader of the Night Strikers.”

Her jaw dropped. She had zero words.

The bike leapt forward, and as it raced through the night, with her body plastered to his, Agnes held on to Cass for dear life.

* * *

“The sonofabitch just left.” Rage seethed in the words. “And he’s with some woman. A hot redhead. Called her his.”

The motorcycle was already gone from sight.

“Hell, no, he wasn’t taken out.” His grip tightened on the phone as he slouched in the shadows. The wood of the building behind him pressed into his back. “Cass flattened the jerk in like, two seconds, then he carried out his lady.”

“He carried her out?”

“Uh, yeah.” Hadn’t he just said that?

“In front of everyone?”

Again… “Yeah.”

“And he fucking called her his?”

He nodded. What was the big deal? “Cass hooks up with women all the time. No one stays long with him.” The dude had zero permanency in his life. No connections. No big ties. No weaknesses.

“Follow them.” The order came through the line, loud and clear.

Uh…

The rumble of the motorcycle filled the air, but Cass and the mystery woman were long gone. “That could be a problem.”

“Follow them. Now. I want to know who the woman is. I want to know where she lives. I want to know every single thing about her.”

The goal had been to eliminate Cass. Not to take out some random hookup of his. He didn’t particularly like hurting women. Not his thing at all. As far as following them…

Shit. That’s gonna be impossible. He fired up his ride. A much less impressive motorcycle than Cass’s, second hand, and not very fast.

But he’d do his best. He’d try to find Cass. Find the woman.

And figure out who the hell she was.