Chapter 1: Poppy

When I was a kid, I used to sit cross-legged in front of the TV watching shows set in small towns and wishing, praying, that one day I could get away from the stench of the city and live out my small-town dreams. Fresh mountain air. Wildflowers dotting the landscape. Friendly neighbors who actually knew your name and cared about your day. A quaint main street with a diner that served the best pie this side of heaven.

Now here I am, twenty-two years and seventeen days old, living out my small-town dream in all its glory.

Except, instead of frolicking through fields of daisies and gulping in deep breaths of clean air, I’m standing ankle deep in mud—at least I’m hoping it’s mud—and I’m doing my best not to gag over the stench of raw sewage. I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to hell. Late summer in Georgia wasn’t made for standing in the middle of a road wearing a fluorescent yellow vest that makes me look like a Peep on steroids. The heat is so intense, I swear I can hear my skin sizzling. And even though we’re in the small, leafy green town of Stoneheart, there isn’t a sliver of shade in sight. This part of town is kinda run down and broken. No wonder we were called in. 

“We found it!” Dad booms from somewhere behind me. “Looks like the main line split right down the middle!”

Thank god. There’s only so much sewage smell my strawberry bubblegum can mask. I’m pretty sure my nose hairs have gone on strike and are threatening to evacuate if conditions don’t improve soon.

So much for those picture-perfect small-town fantasies. The only thing dotting this landscape is potholes, and the only thing quaint is how quaintly disastrous this road repair project is. Our permits to fix up Button Road have mysteriously disappeared twice during this section of the road alone. A fix that should have taken a day to complete has dragged on for an entire week due to all the stopping and starting. Dad says it’s just bureaucracy, but back in the city we never had to deal with a bunch of random guys in suits showing up at every site and telling us to pack up and go in the middle of things because some ‘i’ didn’t get its dot in the right place on some form. The suits make my dad all jumpy, which in turn, makes my brothers jumpy. And me? Well, I’ve spent more time fighting with the old lady at town hall than I’ve spent doing my actual job. 

I’m beginning to feel like all of my small-town dreams were media-created lies. I mean, when we are working, there aren’t even any friendly neighbors coming out and offering us a pitcher of cold, sweet tea to quell the heat. Unless you count the surly groundhog that’s been eyeing me from the roadside all morning as a neighbor. But he doesn’t have any tea…

“No, you dingbat! I told you we need to replace this whole section!”

“And I told you we can patch it with the epoxy mix. Numbnuts.”

Behind me, my brothers, Hugo and Felix, bicker like toddlers fighting over the last cookie. They drive me nuts on a good day. But hey, at least I’ve got my trusty stop sign to keep me out of it, and an entire pack of bubblegum to keep me company. Plus, when the breeze blows the right way, it cools my skin and carries the sewage smell in the other direction. So, I guess it isn’t all bad?

“Maybe if you’d take those noise-canceling headphones off once in a while, you’d hear what’s being said to you!” Hugo’s voice carries over the idling machinery.

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. Sometimes I wonder if they’re really in their late twenties or if they’ve secretly Benjamin Buttoned their way back to childhood.

“Boys!” Dad’s gruff voice cuts through their squabbling. “Quit your yappin’ and get back to work. This sewer line won’t fix itself, and I won’t have you two messing up this contract with your schoolyard antics. We’re patching it today and reassessing next week.”

I can’t help but smile. Dad’s right. We really need this contract. The government initiative behind it is our golden ticket. Our little family-run business has been scraping by for years, and now we’re finally getting our shot at the big leagues. Who knew fixing up a broken-down town’s pipes could be our ticket to success? I can’t wait to see my bank account actually growing for a change.

Dad catches my eye and points at the road. “Eyes front, Poppy! We can’t afford any fender benders on our watch.”

Giving him a quick salute, I snap my attention back to the empty street, suppressing a chuckle. Leave it to Dad to think a tumbleweed might suddenly turn into a speeding car. But hey, he’s the boss.

Popping a fresh piece of gum in my mouth, I watch a couple of squirrels chasing each other off to the side of the road. They dart back and forth, chattering and nipping at each other’s tails. It reminds me so much of Hugo and Felix that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Same energy, different species.

It’s when I’m debating which squirrel is Hugo and which is Felix that I hear it. The distant rumble of an engine that sounds angrier than my father when someone eats his labeled leftovers from the cooler.

I squint against the sun, and holy mother of motorcycles, what comes into view is enough to make me forget I’m slowly cooking in this heat.

The approaching bike is all sleek chrome and midnight black, but it’s the rider that really catches my eye. He’s built. With arms that look like they could bench press my car. And me. Probably both at the same time.

As he gets closer, I can practically feel the waves of irritation rolling off him. His scowl is so deep I’m worried he’ll sprout fangs and bite my head off for being in his way. 

Time to put on my best I’m-not-the-reason-your-day-sucks smile.

Straightening my spine, I take a deep breath and hold up my stop sign. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scary Hot pulls to a halt, his bike idling like a grizzly snoring. Even with that scowl, he has a face that’s equal parts ‘I model for Harley Davidson’ and ‘I eat nails for breakfast.’ I’m not sure if I’m scared or turned on. Actually, I’m both.

“Road’s closed, sugar.” I nod to my stop sign before blowing a giant gum bubble. It gets so big that it covers my view of him. All I can see is a giant pink, strawberry smelling ball in front of me. It’s totally awesome. But the moment it pops, it’s just scary-hot-biker-dude glaring at me. 

You’d think I just told him Christmas was canceled.

“How long?” The rumble in his voice makes my nipples go hard.

“Oh, you know, just until we finish repairing this itty-bitty pipe that decided to throw a tantrum,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the chaos my crew is dealing with behind me. “Could be an hour, could be a week. Time is relative, right?”

He works his jaw, then rakes a tattooed, ring-laden hand down his thick beard. I can’t see much of his hair under that helmet, but from the color of his beard and the little peeks I’m getting at his neck, I’m going with ashy brown as his coloring. Everything about him screams ‘lick me’ as far as I’m concerned. 

“Are you listening?” 

“What?” I frown and quickly pull my tongue back. 

Was I just licking the air while looking at him?

 “I need to get through. Now.”

I glance over my shoulder at the machinery and muddy debris piled up behind me. “Hmm, let me think...” I start, tapping my chin and turning back to face him. “Looks like a hard no.” I meet his gray eyes and tilt my head to the side. “Unless you’ve got a pair of ruby slippers hidden in those leather pants to transport you someplace else, I’m afraid you’ll have to turn your bike around and find another yellow brick road to travel on, Toto.”

He looks at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m for real or if I’m some sort of bubblegum-popping mirage sent to torment him.

“Look,” he growls, “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got business to attend to.”

“Let me guess, you’re late for a frown convention? Or maybe there’s a sale on brooding at the local mall?”

For a second, I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch. But then his scowl deepens, if that’s even possible.

“You always this annoying?” he asks.

I beam at him. “I prefer ‘delightfully quirky,’ but sure, we can go with annoying. Now, how about you turn that frown upside down and take the detour like a good boy?”

He glares at me for a long moment, and I half expect him to just gun his engine and plow right through me. My heart does a little stutter-step, and a bead of sweat that isn’t heat related trickles down my back.

I’m acutely aware of how isolated we are out here, how far away my family is behind me. This guy is so huge his biceps are probably bigger than my head. If he decides to get nasty, I’m not sure I could outrun him in these steel-toed boots.

Keep your cool, Poppy.

I take in a slow, full breath, tightening my grip on the stop sign as I maintain eye contact. I’ve dealt with rush hour traffic in the city, irate taxi drivers, and buses that think they own the road. One giant dude on a Harley isn’t going to scare me... much.

He revs his engine. And I square my shoulders, lifting my chin and channeling every ounce of traffic-directing authority I can muster. I’ve got this. I am the master of the intersection, the queen of construction zones. No biker, no matter how tall, dark, and intimidating, is going to shake me.

Just when I think we’re going to be locked in this staring contest until the next ice age, miracle of miracles, he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“This isn’t over,” he grumbles, revving his engine as he turns his bike around. 

Before he can take off, I can’t resist one last parting shot. “Looking forward to our next chat, Toto! Maybe I’ll even share my gum!”

He shoots me a look over his shoulder that’s part exasperation, part amusement, and guns it in the opposite direction.

“Who was that?” Felix’s voice pipes up behind me, making me jump.

I turn to find both my brothers gawking at the retreating figure of Mr. Grumpy Biker.

“Just some local color.” I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t really like me being in his way. But I set him straight.”

Hugo snorts. “Did you see that patch on his jacket?”

I blink, realizing I’d been so focused on his face—and arms... and, well, everything—that I hadn’t even noticed his clothes. “What patch?”

“Stoneheart MC,” Felix supplies, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re the local motorcycle club. Dad says we should steer clear.”

“Oh, come on,” I roll my eyes. “This isn’t Sons of Anarchy. I’m sure they’re just a bunch of guys who like leather and loud engines.”

But even as I say it, I can’t help the tight feeling I get in my stomach. And it’s not nerves. It’s excitement. 

“Whatever you say, sis.” Hugo shrugs. “Just don’t fuck around with ‘em like you normally do. We don’t need the trouble.”

I stick my tongue out at him, ever the immature younger sister. “Get back to work, you two. That shit pipe isn’t going to fix itself.”

“We’re serious, Poppy,” Felix insists. “Don’t mess with the bikers.”

“OK! I’ll be nice…” I hold my free hand up in mock surrender as Hugo and Felix share rolled-eyed looks before heading back to the pipe repairs. The moment they’re out of earshot, I finish my sentence under my breath, “as long as they’re nice to me.” 

Chapter 2: Axel

“Smell that?” I call over my shoulder to the pack of bikes behind me. “That’s what freedom smells like.”

The morning sun paints the mountains in shades of gold as I lead the brothers on a run through winding back roads. It’s still cool enough that my leathers don’t feel like a second skin, but not so warm that the scent of hot asphalt fills my nostrils. Instead, the wind is carrying hints of pine and the roadside wildflowers. Perfect riding weather.

Or it would be perfect if I could get that damn traffic girl and her incessant gum chewing out of my head. Why is it that all I can think about is plucking it from between those juicy lips of hers and putting it between mine? The fuck is wrong with me?

“Taking the long way today?” Lee pulls his bike alongside mine at a red light, shouting over the rumble of engines.

I jerk my chin toward the ‘ROAD CLOSED’ sign blocking our usual route back to town. “City’s got half the roads torn up. Gotta go around.”

Lee’s grin turns sharp. “Sure that’s the only reason?”

I shoot him a look that would have the prospects pissing themselves. Lee just laughs.

“Word is you been getting cock-blocked by a girl with a stop sign lately.”

“Watch it, kid,” I grouch, knowing how much he hates being called that. Lee has been giving me shit since I joined the club and he was still a teen. Perks of being the president’s son—he can get away with running his mouth, but I make sure I give as good as I get now that he’s a full member.

The light turns green and I gun it, leaving Lee’s laughter behind. But I can’t outrun the memory of bright eyes and a bubblegum smile. She stands up to me like I’m just another guy in her way, not someone who could make her life difficult.

It’s... refreshing. Annoying as hell, but refreshing.

We round the bend that would take us back to the clubhouse, and I damn near lay my bike down.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

There she is again, yellow vest making her look like some kind of demented ray of sunshine. Like most days, her long dark hair is pulled back in a messy braid, hard hat perched at an angle that somehow looks sassy.

And she’s grinning at me like the cat that got the cream.

“Morning, Toto!” she calls as I pull to a stop. “You like my new boots?” She clicks her heels together as she fishes into her pocket and pulls out that pack of gum she’s always chomping on.  

I blink, momentarily stunned by the sight before me. This girl, this maddening traffic controller who’s been the bane of my existence since she showed up in Stoneheart, has somehow managed to transform her standard-issue work boots into something straight out of a storybook. The steel toes are now encrusted with what looks like hundreds of tiny red diamantes, caked in mud, while also still catching the morning sun and throwing off dazzling sparks of crimson light. They glitter and shine with every slight movement, turning her simple footwear into a pair of honest-to-god ruby slippers—trailer trash edition.

“What in the...” I trail off, unable to find words. The rest of the club pulls up behind me, engines rumbling.

“Cat got your tongue?” she teases, popping a piece of gum in her mouth and chewing with exaggerated movements. “Or should I say, lion, got your tongue?” 

I shake my head, trying to clear it. This girl is something else. “You always this extra?” I growl, but there’s laughter under my words. I really don’t want to be, but fuck, I’m amused by her.

She shrugs and holds out her gum to offer me a piece. “Depends on how bored I get. How about you, Toto? You always this lost? I could help you get home with my ruby slippers if you like.” She clicks her heels and gestures to the signs they have up, using an otherworldly voice while singing, Follow the yellow detour signs, off key. 

Behind me, I hear Lee choking on laughter. I decline the gum—and every part of this interaction—with a shake of my head. 

“Suit yourself,” she says as she quits singing and shoves the gum packet back in her pocket. She blows a strawberry scented bubble while looking me dead in the eyes. Once it’s popped, she chews it back up and tilts her head. “Do I need to sing a different song for you to figure out you need to find another road to travel down?” 

I can feel the eyes of my brothers boring into my back, waiting to see how I’ll handle this curvy firecracker. My jaw clenches as I fight the urge to smile. Damn if she isn’t ballsy.

“Thought I’ve made it clear that I don’t have time for all these detours,” I growl, trying to keep my voice low and menacing. But something about the sparkle in her eyes tells me she’s not buying my tough guy act.

“And I thought I’d made it clear that I’m Dorothy, and you’re Toto in this particular scenario. And since I’m the one with the ruby slippers, you don’t get to go anywhere beyond my magical signs without my say so,” she retorts, her grin widening. “But hey, if you want to trade boots and click your heels three times, be my guest. I could use the entertainment.”

I can hear the muffled snickers of my brothers behind me. This girl is making me look like a fool in front of my club. I should be furious. I should be intimidating her into letting us pass. Instead, I find myself fighting back a smile. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” I lean forward on my handles and pull my sunglasses down just enough that I can meet her eyes directly. “I’ve got a pack of impatient bikers behind me who aren’t as charmed by your little act as I am. How about you do us both a favor and let us through this time?”

She leans in closer, her scent—a mix of strawberry gum and sunscreen—wafting over me. She’s close enough that I can see the light dusting of freckles across her nose.

“Listen, sugar,” she says, mimicking my tone, “I’ve got a pack of impatient construction workers behind me who aren’t as charmed by your tough act as I am. So, how about you do us both a favor and take a detour like the good boy I know you are?”

“This is the detour I’ve been taking,” I say flatly.

She presses a hand to her chest in mock sympathy. “Oh honey, I know this is probably hard for you to figure out on your own on account of all the exhaust fumes you must inhale every day. But you’re gonna need to detour the detour. Stoneheart City Council has a ton of road work they’ve asked us to do as a part of their beautification project. So you’re gonna need to be flexible so we can do our job.” She blows a bubble, letting it pop with deliberate slowness. “But hey, at least you know you’ll get to see my smiling face again. And again. And again. Something I really enjoy. You’re the highlight of my every day.”

“Do you really need to be this much of a pain in the ass?” 

“It’s in the job description, sugar.” She winks. Actually winks at me. “City infrastructure doesn’t fix itself, you know.”

I look past her to where a crew is knee-deep in what looks like a fresh hole in the road. Two guys who have to be related to her—same dark hair, same shit-eating grin—are arguing over some equipment while an older man barks orders at a bunch of the Summit grunts we saw moving into the temporary housing on the old factory site. Interesting.

“You call what you’re doing here beautification?” I scoff. “It’s been a month of this shit, and so far it just looks more like you’re tearing the place apart.”

She shrugs, still grinning. “Sometimes you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet. Or, in this case, break a few roads to make a smoother ride.” She’d actually have a point if these works ever get completed. 

“How much longer do we have to put up with this?”

She tilts her head, considering. “For you? Extra long. I don’t like your attitude.”

Jesus Christ. This woman is going to drive me insane.

“Listen, sweetheart—”

“Nope.” She pops another bubble. “The name’s Poppy. And unless you’ve got a better solution for that mess back there”—she jerks a thumb at the construction—“you’re just gonna have to turn that fancy bike around and find another route, same as you have every other day.”

Poppy. It suits her—bright and delicate-looking but tough as hell to dig out once rooted.

“Come on, brother,” Lee calls. “Let the girl do her job. The old man’s waiting on us.”

I circle my bike around her slowly, taking my time. Can’t help but appreciate how those work pants hug her ass, especially when she plants her hands on her hips and glares at me like she knows exactly what I’m doing. With a muttered curse, I finally turn toward the detour, but not before catching the little victory dance she does when she thinks I’m not looking.

***

“The city’s up to something,” Stone, the Club President, says later, his voice carrying from his position at the head of the chapel table. “Construction contracts have gone to some new outfit nobody’s heard of. Local crews are getting shut out. And nothing’s getting done.”

“On that note, we need to add Mrs. Bryant to our list of people Summit is targeting. She stopped by the clubhouse yesterday,” Mack, our Secretary, adds, referring to the notes in front of him. “Said the council hit her with some bullshit code violations. Wants her to replace her entire front porch.” He looks back up at us. “Woman’s on a fixed income, can barely afford groceries.”

“How many residents does that make?” Stone asks. 

“In this area? Fifteen in the last month, twenty-two overall.” 

“Land taxes went up again last month,” Cash, the club treasurer, notes, shuffling through some papers. “Third time this year. Council’s saying it’s funding the ‘beautification project.’” The air quotes are clear in his tone.

I lean back in my chair, thinking of Poppy and her family working on the roads. They don’t look like a big operation, the fact Summit is providing extra workers proves that. But they are outsiders. Are they part of the council’s plans? Or just a bunch of schmucks caught in the middle?

Not that I care about Poppy’s family business. A month ago, my life was great—easy. Now, she’s a daily pain in my ass that I really don’t need.

“Duck says the same thing’s happening over on Cedar Street,” Lee adds. “Small businesses getting hit with violations, noise complaints. Summit keeps swooping in, offering to buy them out before they go under from all the fines.”

“You notice anything on your runs?” Stone asks me.

I shake my head. “Just a lot of road work. More than usual for this time of year. And it’s concentrated in certain areas.” I pause, thinking. “Mostly on our side of town, around the low-income housing. Nothing much closer to Main Street.”

Stone drags his fingers through his beard. “At what point in the last decade has the council bothered to fill in so much as a pothole on the west side of town?”

“Never,” I growl, jaw clenched. “They’ve left our neighborhoods to rot while pouring money into those fancy new developments on the south side of the national park.”

“Yeah. Club’s been keeping these roads passable for years,” Lee chimes in. “Now suddenly they care?”

Stone nods, his expression grim. “Exactly. This ‘beautification project’ isn’t about making our neighborhoods better. It’s about pushing our people out.”

A heavy silence falls over the chapel. We all know what Stone is implying. This isn’t just about road work or code violations. It’s about pushing out the working class, the poor, the people who’ve called this neighborhood home for generations. People like us.

“Cash, correct me if I’m wrong, but I doubt the club can keep bailing out the old folk and the businesses who can’t keep up with the fines,” I say, looking to our Treasurer. 

Cash nods. “You’re right.”

“So, what do we do about it?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair. “We can’t just sit back and watch them destroy everything they don’t like the look of, everything we’ve worked hard for.” 

This town has been our home for generations. The club has deep roots in Stoneheart, looking out for our own when no one else would. Now some suit-wearing bastards think they can just waltz in and push out the very people we protect? Not on our watch. 

Stone’s eyes narrow. “We’ve been quietly opposing them up to this point. Nuisance stuff like fucking with their machinery to slow them down. I think we need to ramp up our efforts.”

There are nods of agreement around the table. 

“But first, we need more information. We know the cartel is bankrolling them, but we need to find out who the politicians are behind this ‘beautification project’ and what they’re getting out of it.”

He turns to me. “Axel, I want you to keep an eye on that road crew. See what you can find out about their company, who in the council hired them, what exactly they’re working on. Something doesn’t seem right. Get friendly with them if you have to.”

I nod, already dreading another encounter with Miss Bubble Gum and her smart mouth. But orders are orders. 

“Lee, you and Cash dig further into these code violations. Get copies of the fines and see if they’re using the same manufactured letterhead they used when they were trying to push Duck out of the garage. Talk to every business on the west side. Find out who’s getting hit and how hard. Cash, I want you tracking every penny of those increased taxes. Follow the money trail. See who’s making a profit out of all this.”

With orders given, the meeting wraps up and I head to the bar with a few brothers to wind down. After the shit show of a day I’ve had—detours, city corruption, and thoughts of a certain traffic controller and her ridiculous boots—I need a drink and a game of pool.

Devil’s is quiet for a Thursday. A few regulars nurse beers at the bar while Merle Haggard croons softly from the jukebox. The place has seen better days—peeling paint, creaky floorboards, and enough stories in its walls to fill a library. But the familiar smell of stale beer and whiskey wraps around me like an old friend. It’s the best bar in town as far as I’m concerned, a neutral ground where civilians and MC members drink side by side. Summit’s suits have been circling like vultures here too, trying to add it to their collection of properties. But from what I’ve heard, Devil isn’t interested in selling his slice of local history to some corporate developer’s ‘revitalization’ plan.

“We’ll get the drinks. You set the table up,” Lee says before he and Cash head to the bar to grab our usual round. I make my way toward the back to rack up a game. My shoulders start to relax for the first time all day.

That is, until I round the corner to the pool tables and every muscle in my body goes rigid.

At forty, I’ve seen enough corporate takeovers to recognize the signs. Been watching Summit play the same game I saw my father orchestrate two decades ago—before I walked away from my old life of boardrooms and backdoor deals. I should be focused on that, on protecting what’s ours. Instead, I’m getting distracted by her. Almost every day for a solid month, I’ve gotten on my bike and somehow I’ve managed to run into her, or at least those unfinished roadworks her family keeps dotting all over the west side. She’s either in my way or on my mind. And now she’s here. In my bar. Like some kind of cosmic joke the universe keeps playing on me.

Poppy Bennett is bent over the pool table wearing painted-on jeans that hug her curves in a way that should be illegal. She’s lining up what looks like a tricky bank shot. Her braid has come loose, dark strands falling around her face as she concentrates. The tip of her tongue peeks out between her lips as she focuses.

This is the point when I realize I should turn around. Go find a different bar. Hell, a different town. But I don’t. Of course I fucking don’t.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. Her head snaps up at my voice, those bright eyes finding mine instantly. 

“Well, well. Look who finally followed the yellow signs.”

This girl’s eye contact game is insane. Because she maintains it as she draws back for her shot, the crack of the cue ball echoing, followed by the satisfying thunk of the eight ball dropping into the corner pocket. That sunrise of a smile spreads across her face—the same one that’s been haunting me all month. 

My dick goes rock hard in an instant, and I can’t keep denying what I already know. 

This woman is trouble. The kind of trouble that could bring a man to his knees if he’s not careful. 

And I’m supposed to get close to her. 

Shit.

I’m going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than beer.