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  I barely tolerated my own sisters.

  Well, at least I liked one of them.

  Salem.

  Mirabel was an asshole and always would be.

  Faye had been the nice one. And she’d died.

  I have step and half-sisters and a brother from my parents who just can’t seem to figure out who they love at any given moment.

  Mirabel and Salem were a few years older than me, and it seemed, in the womb, Salem got all of the niceness and whatever-ness that caused her to be likable. Mirabel was just a plain bitch and worked in my father’s bar out of the kindness of my father’s heart.

  I hated her guts and didn’t pretend otherwise.

  Speaking of assholes, my least favorite one walked through the door as if she was conjured by my thoughts.

  I looked at my watch and tried to suppress a growl. “You’re an hour late, Mirabel. You know you were supposed to be here to accept inventory delivery.”

  Mirabel tossed me a look that couldn’t be construed as anything but bitchy.

  “I don’t know what you expected, Banger.” Mirabel sniffed. “But you damn well knew that I wouldn’t be here that early in the morning. You should’ve expected it. Oh, hello, Mr. Sexy.”

  I gritted my teeth to keep the curse from spilling free of my lips.

  Easton ignored her, which made me want to laugh my ass off.

  Mirabel did not like being ignored.

  Not by anyone, but especially not by hot guys like Easton.

  And Easton was hot.

  He was tall, about six foot two or three, and had the best proportions I’d ever seen on a man. Tight belly. Narrow waist. Broad shoulders. Big feet. Muscular legs. Impressive biceps.

  Hell, if I could put together a person in my dreams, Easton would be it.

  He had blond hair that was shaved down the sides and a little bit longer on top, giving him a viking-esque appearance. His beard was a bit longer today, but again, not long enough that I couldn’t make out the dimple that popped up when he grinned at me.

  And why was he grinning?

  Because he knew, just as well as I did, what would happen if he ignored Mirabel.

  She’d get pissed off.

  See, my sister didn’t understand that men were allowed to make their own decisions on whether they did or did not like her. She’d never understood that some men just wouldn’t find her attractive.

  And I wasn’t sure if Easton didn’t find her attractive—which was likely impossible because my sister was gorgeous—or if he found her personality so unattractive that her looks couldn’t compensate.

  That was my thought, anyway.

  Her personality was disgusting.

  Honestly, if she wasn’t my sister, I would’ve had my father fire her a long time ago.

  In total, I had three sisters. The twins were from one of my mom’s first marriages. Faye is from my dad’s previous marriage.

  Faye, who’d lived with my dad after divorcing my mother, had been the sweetest and kindest. Salem, who I adored, but she was a lot like me in the no-nonsense category, was ambitious and good-natured and beautiful. Mirabel? She was only beautiful.

  It was as if Salem got all of the good traits, while Mirabel got all the good looks. Salem wasn’t ugly by any means. In fact, she was gorgeous. But Mirabel? Mirabel was like a lit candle in the middle of the dark. Nothing else compared.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  I blinked, surprised to find that Easton was still there, still standing next to the bar, still standing exactly where he’d been before I’d decided to take a little trip down memory lane.

  “Sorry,” I admitted. “She” —I gestured to where Mirabel had exited the room completely— “makes me question my loyalty to her as a sister.”

  Easton’s smile flashed. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tip you. I feel like an asshole. I’m not. I swear.”

  I looked down at the crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, then back up at the man who really did look sorry.

  I picked them up, tore off one, and then handed him back the rest. “You’ve only been in here a handful of times. I’m not worth five hundred dollars for the piddly amount of work I did for you.”

  I held out the money so long that my arm started to get tired.

  Eventually, though, seeing that I wasn’t going to give in, he took the money.

  He glanced down at the bills in his hand, at the new creases that I’d made in them, and he winced.

  “You don’t like your bills wrinkled, do you?” I teased.

  He shook his head.

  I folded the one-hundred-dollar bill up about four times, then shoved it into my pocket.

  When I looked up, his eye was twitching.

  I suppressed a grin and leaned back in my bar chair, and almost fell onto my ass.

  The only thing that caught me from taking the plunge over the back was my knee hitting the bar.

  A loud bang echoed, followed by the rattle of about one hundred glasses.

  Oh, and Easton’s grip on my arm.

  I gasped, feeling my life flash before my eyes, and looked up into Easton’s baby blues.

  There was nothing special about his blue eyes.

  They were just that—blue.

  But I’d been staring at them in secret for so long that they were now special to me.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed, looking up into Easton’s eyes.

  “There’s no back on your chair,” he teased as he held on for just a few seconds longer.

  I snorted as he finally let go. “You think?”

  Where his fingers had been wrapped around my bicep felt like a brand, and there was this weird, tingly sensation in my gut that had me questioning everything.

  Such as my promise to myself that I would never fall for another man ever again.

  That seemed harsh, yes.

  But reality was much harsher.

  Three years ago, when I’d met my boyfriend, Vito Bundy—yes, I more than realize now I should’ve seen that last name and ran far away—I’d been enamored. I’d thought that I had it all—a wonderful, loving boyfriend who would always protect me.

  Well, joke was on me.

  Vito didn’t love me.

  I found out, much later, that Vito was only around me because he’d ‘won’ me. As in, won me by my brother having lost something, and traded me for his debts. Sold. My own brother had sold me.

  I’d thought that I’d met a wonderful man.

  I’d jumped in with both feet into this whirlwind of a romance with Vito, not realizing that the only reason he had me, and I was living with him, was due to my naivety.

  It’d taken me a while to realize, too.

  Until one day, when I’d tried to go back home because Salem was sick, and Vito explained the ‘rules’ to me.

  Rules that I’d been hearing, and obeying, without much forethought into why Vito was so controlling.

  Once I’d realized, then gotten the explanation from Vito during a knockdown, drag-out fight, I’d used the skills my father had taught me—he was a Marine—and gotten away.

  I’d gone straight to the authorities where I put not only Vito but my brother, O’Ryan, in my rearview. At least until it was time to testify at O’Ryan’s sentencing.

  A sentencing that thoroughly nailed O’Ryan to the wall, and I never saw him ever again.

  Which was a really good thing, seeing as if I’d seen him again, I just might murder him in cold blood. Same went for Vito, who also had the book thrown at him. Though in a much more understated way than O’Ryan, who was dumb enough to keep a woman against her will for over a year.

  Vito was now spending the next ten years in prison.

  O’Ryan, who’d taken a plea bargain, was put into witness protection. But, directly after that happened, he was ‘taken’ and nobody had seen him since.

  How did I know that? My father was a Marine and had connections. We knew that O’Ryan was never found.

  We also knew that the reason he’d gone missing was right here in this particular town with us.

  In fact, part of the reason was standing right there in front of me, looking at me curiously.

  “You have this really fierce look on your face,” Easton drawled, pulling me out of the contemplation of my brother, Vito, and everything else.

  “Just thinking,” I said as I eyed him.

  He was rubbing his arm. And although I couldn’t see it, I knew there was a Battle Crows MC tattoo on his arm in that exact spot.

  The Battle Crows MC, which consisted of a few key members—Haggard, Shine, Rook, Bram, and Trinket to name a few—were all the brothers of the woman that’d been held captive by O’Ryan for a year.

  It didn’t escape my knowledge—or my father’s—that the Crow family wasn’t upset that O’Ryan went into witness protection.

  I would’ve been livid.

  Hell, I had been livid.

  Why was it okay for that asshole to be free and breathing easy when he’d done what he’d done?

  Well, the Battle Crows made sure that he wasn’t breathing easy.

  And I just hoped, wherever they had him, if he was still alive, they made his life a living hell.

  And that might make me a callous bitch, seeing as I was his sister, but I really didn’t care.

  There was a line drawn when it came to ‘family sticks together.’

  And apparently, for me, it’s when you sell me to some other man for your mistakes. Well, that’s where it’s drawn.

  “Thinking about murdering someone?” he teased.

  He had no freakin’ clue just how close he was to the truth.

  Because yes, indeed, I was thinking about murdering someone.

  My own brother, in fact.

  “I’m all about murder,” I told him bluntly. “My favorite thing to do is watch mystery shows where they solve unsolvable crimes.”

  Easton’s lips twitched. “I’ll remember that.”

  With that parting comment, he left, leaving me breathing heavily at his departing back.

  It wasn’t an hour later that I saw the stacked bills stuffed into my closed laptop with a note that said, “Interest. Don’t hate me.”

  I couldn’t stop the stupid smile.

  Which Mirabel caught.

  “What are you smiling so evilly at?” Mirabel sniffed as she passed, but stopped when she saw the bills in my hand. “Why do you have all those hundred-dollar bills? You know that it’s tip share here.”

  I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t tips,” I lied. “This is from Easton. He wanted my help buying him something.”

  She scoffed. “That’s a lie. You just want to stiff me on my tips.”

  I looked her dead in the eye and said, “Fine, Mirabel. No more tip share. You can go ahead and keep what you make.”

  Turns out, by the end of the night, she wanted tip share again.

  Why?

  Because she found out that her bitchy comments, and asshole ways, couldn’t get her the kind of money that I pulled in on a regular basis.

  I didn’t give her the money, though. I kept all of my tips for my own. And our other waitress, Sandy, kept hers.

  Turns out, I kind of liked it that way.

  And my sister could just suck it.

  CHAPTER 2

  If you see me talking to myself, just move along. We’re having a team meeting.

  -Easton to Trouper

  EASTON

  “Listen,” I said for the fourth time. “I’m more than aware that I’m asking you to go above and beyond here. I more than realize that it’s putting you into a position that you’re not quite comfortable being in. But you need to make the decision, right here and now, whether you can continue to do this job. Because I’m not always going to stay coloring in the lines. That’s why I split from the bureau. And, when they fired you because you were being a rebel and doing stuff that they didn’t think was bureau material, you came to me. There’s a reason for that, and I want you to remember that.”

  Ashton, the twenty-nine-year-old accountant whiz kid that was so good with numbers it was uncanny, looked at me like I was nuts.

  “You’re asking me to track a guy that you plan to unalive,” he told me. “You want me to be an accomplice to that?”

  “I didn’t say that I was going to kill him,” I disagreed. “I told you that I wasn’t going to discount that possibility if what I found didn’t line up.”

  Ashton shook his head, unsure what he was supposed to say and do.

  I, on the other hand, knew that this would be the tipping point. Either he’d help me, or he’d leave.

  There were only two options. He couldn’t have one foot in the door, and one foot out, and expect me to allow him to continue on like that.

  I paid him a handsome salary.

  I made sure that he was paid so well, in fact, that he couldn’t tell me no without first thinking about all the things he was getting in return for his compliance.

  It wasn’t even as if I was asking him to pull the trigger.

  I wasn’t.

  I was asking him to get me the information so I could pull the trigger.

  Which I would.

  In a heartbeat.

  Because there were just some people in this world that didn’t belong here, and the fewer of those people there were, the better.

  “I’ll…” Ashton paused. “I’ll do it.”

  I flashed him a grin. That grin fell off my face after a few short seconds as I leveled an intense gaze on him.

  “Remember, you signed an NDA.” I paused. “And you also don’t have nearly the skill that I do. If you can’t do this job and keep your mouth shut, then I have no reason to keep you employed. It’s better to turn your resignation in while you still can.”

  I left at that, wondering if he would catch the thinly veiled threat.

  My guess? He would.

  Ashton wouldn’t have a chance to tell anyone.

  I’d know the instant that he even thought it.

  Regardless, I sent out a quick text to the head of security and received a reply of ‘got it’ within two seconds.

  I sighed as I walked down the hall toward my office.

  I needed a drink.

  But I couldn’t decide whether it was because of the day I had, or because of the girl that I would see when I got to the place that I planned to do my drinking.

  My guess? It was because of Banger.

  Banger with her beautifully lithe body.

  She was average height, but she had a body like a backhoe, or however Sam Hunt said it.

  She was all curves. Great breasts, curvy, full hips. Plump lips. Shapely ass. Thighs that were made to grab hold of when you had her wrapped around your waist.

  She had long black hair that was straight as a board, but goddamn did she have a lot of it.

  Her skin was pasty white with almost Slavic features. I had a Russian aunt on my mom’s side that had the exact same coloring.

  But, without asking Banger about her heritage, I could only guess.

  Getting anything out of Banger was like asking a cat to cooperate with you.

  In the end, she might or might not give you what you wanted, but it would only be after she had it her way first.

  “What’s with that look on your face?”

  I glanced up to see my very first employee, as well as my head of security, Donnelly, staring at me like I was a weirdo.

  “I’m unsure what you speak of,” I lied.

  He snorted. “I’m fairly sure you know exactly what I’m speaking of. You’re thinking of Angelina Jolie again, aren’t you?”

  Donnelly was convinced that Banger resembled Angelina.

  Though, body-wise, she did. Feature-wise she didn’t.

  “She could be Lara Croft, Tomb Raider, and you know it.” He read my thoughts.

  “I believe that you believe that she could be,” I agreed. “But Angelina and Banger look nothing alike other than their body type and hair color. Their features are nothing alike. Plus, Banger’s much shorter.”

  Donnelly rolled his eyes. “It’s the lips, man. She has them big, dick…”

  I held up my hand and said, “For the love of God, Donnelly. Don’t.”

  His eyes sobered as something behind me caught his gaze.

  I looked over my shoulder to see Ashton shuffling out of his office, an empty coffee cup in his hands. “I’ll take care of that while you head out.”

  I slapped Donnelly on the back. “I’ll be in town for a few more hours if you need me. I’m eating at Tiddie’s tonight.”

  Tiddie’s, the bar that Banger’s dad owned that she worked at from time to time.

  “You know,” Donnelly said. “She may not even be there.”

  He was right.

  She may not.

  If she wasn’t, I’d be there just long enough to realize that, then I’d leave.

  Which he damn well knew.

  “You know what’s hot?” he asked as he walked backward down the hall. “The way she parks her big truck.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You’re such a shit,” I said as I turned my back on his laughter and walked away.

  When I arrived at Tiddie’s, it was to find that Banger was, indeed, where I wanted her to be.

  Well, not exactly where I wanted her, but she was enough where I wanted her so that I could see her.

  And she looked rather pissed.

  Gathering my courage—because I was a goddamn bitch when it came to Banger Crest—I walked toward the bar, bypassed her father who was at the end of the bar and went straight to her.

  She glanced up from pouring a couple of shots and shot me a small smile.

  One that went straight to my heart and lodged there forever.

  “Easton,” she said as her gaze went back to the drinks. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Can I get a beer?” I asked.

  She set the bottle down and frowned at me. “You sound tired.”

  “I’m exhausted,” I admitted the truth.

  Her brows rose as if she couldn’t quite believe my statement.

  “You never really told me what you do, Easton McKennick,” she murmured as she pulled up a chair from the bar, dragged it around the outside, and then took a seat on it.

  That’s when I saw the nasty-looking gash on her thigh.