I don’t know much about bikes, but I knew enough to recognize his. It’s big and sleek and black. Not all bright and decorated the way you sometimes see bikes on the freeway. Just big and fast, with giant, fat tailpipes off the back and more testosterone than should be legal.

The motorcycle was almost as beautiful as the man who rode it.

Almost.

My heart stopped when I saw that bike, parked right on the end. I wanted to touch it, see if the leather of the seat was as smooth as I remembered, but I wasn’t stupid enough to do that. I didn’t have the right. I really shouldn’t even be excited to see him, but I felt a rush knowing he was already inside my trailer. Things weren’t smooth between us and I honestly didn’t know if he’d even acknowledge me. For a while he’d seemed almost like my boyfriend. The last time I’d seen him, he’d scared the crap out of me.

Even scary, the man made my panties wet.

Tall, built, with shoulder-length hair he kept pulled back in a ponytail, and thick black stubble on his face. Stark, tribal cuffs ringed his wrists and upper arms. And what a face… Horse was handsome, like movie star handsome. I’d bet he had women coming out his ears, and the fact that he’d spent more than one night in my bed made me all too aware that his beauty wasn’t just above the belt. The thought of his below-belt assets led to a brief but intense fantasy about him, me, my bed and some chocolate syrup.

Yum.

Shit. Dessert. I needed dessert for tonight. Horse loved sweets. Were there any chocolate chips? I could do cookies, so long as there was enough butter. Please don’t let him be pissed at me, I prayed silently, even though I was pretty sure God wasn’t interested in prayers where the promise of fornication played such a prominent role. I reached the door and juggled the bags, sliding most of them onto my right arm so I could turn the handle. I walked in and looked around the living room.

Then I screamed.

My baby brother knelt in the center of the room, beaten raw and dripping blood all over the carpet. Four men wearing Reapers’ cuts stood around him. Picnic, Horse and two I didn’t know—a big, built hunk of a man with a mohawk, and about a thousand piercings, and another who was tall and cut, with light-blond hair in short spikes. Horse studied me with the same cool, almost blank expression he wore when we first met. Detached.

Picnic studied me, too. He was tall with short, dark hair that looked far too stylish to be on a biker and bright blue eyes that pierced right through a girl—I’d met him at least five times. He was the club president. He had a great sense of humor, carried pictures of his two daughters to flash whenever he got the slightest opportunity and had helped me shuck corn the last time he’d come to visit.

Oh, and he also stood right behind my brother with a gun pointed at the back of his head.

On behalf of 1001 Dark Nights,

Liz Berry and M.J. Rose would like to thank ~

Steve Berry

Doug Scofield

Kim Guidroz

Jillian Stein

InkSlinger PR

Dan Slater

Asha Hossain

Chris Graham

Pamela Jamison

Fedora Chen

Jessica Johns

Dylan Stockton

Richard Blake

BookTrib After Dark

and Simon Lipskar

Table of Contents

Book Description

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen