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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2018 by Regina Cole

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Caroline Teagle

  Cover image © Gerber86/Getty Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Sneak Peek of Bad Reputation

  Back Cover

  To Mary. You pulled my cookies out of the fire time and time again. Can’t wait for the next one!

  Chapter One

  There might have been a better way for Trey Harding to get his client’s backdated child support. But pounding the hell out of Vinnie was so, so satisfying.

  “Sorry,” Vinnie mumbled against the dirty floor of the motel room where they’d found him. “Didn’t know she—”

  “You didn’t know she what?” Trey grabbed the bastard by his collar and slammed him against the wall.

  “Easy, Boss,” Wolf, his right hand, grunted. “You’ll shove him straight through if you’re not careful.”

  “They can put it on his bill. He’s got all kinds of cash, don’t you, Vinnie?” Trey jerked his head toward the pile of Baggies on the flimsy TV table. Vinnie had been packaging to sell.

  “I don’t have anything!”

  “Lie.” Trey squeezed the guy’s throat a little, just to get the point across. “Want to try again?”

  Vinnie clawed at the hand holding him up, his legs flailing in midair.

  Trey’s vision went red. This waste of space was holding out on them. He’d seen Vinnie down on Trade Street, seen the bankroll he’d flashed at Cherry Ice, the strip club downtown. When Lynn had begged them to hunt Vinnie down, Trey and the rest of the Shadows had agreed that this job was pro bono, though they usually were paid handsomely for this type of shakedown.

  But Lynn was a mother trying to support her family. As the kid of a mom who’d dumped her baby in a gas station bathroom, Trey was all about helping Lynn out.

  Enjoying the gig was just a bonus.

  “Boss? Boss, he’s turning blue.” A big, meaty hand landed on his shoulder, and Trey bared his teeth in irritation but let the useless meat sack hit the gritty carpet.

  Vinnie coughed, moaning as he clutched at his throat.

  Trey crossed his arms over his chest, his leather jacket pulling tight over his shoulders with the movement. “Go through his bags. Check his pockets.”

  Wolf, Jameson, and the other two Shadows who’d ridden along for this mission complied. Trey didn’t move from that spot, standing there and staring down at the bastard who’d left a young single mother high and dry.

  She’d been saving up to get her and her kids out of this North Carolina backwater town. But now she needed every dime she could bring home just to feed her kids.

  “Got it,” Wolf said, returning to Trey’s side.

  “Now,” Trey said, squatting beside Vinnie, whose cheeks were splotchy and red, “you’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to listen good. I’m not going to kill you.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Vinnie said, his voice thin as he clutched at Trey’s sleeve. “I—”

  “For now,” Trey interrupted, shaking the hand off. He stood again, forcing Vinnie to look up and up and up. Glaring at the gutless worm, whose features had gone suitably pale at the threat, Trey smiled a not-very-nice smile. “If you ever screw over Lynn or those kids again? I will personally see to it that your ass is carved into seventeen pieces and force-fed to those lowlifes you call friends. We clear?”

  Vinnie nodded, pressing himself back against the stained wallpaper.

  Trey glanced back at his allies. “We’re out.”

  Heavy footfalls indicated they followed as he shoved his way out of the hotel room, but he didn’t look around. He didn’t need to.

  Wolf would be right behind him. If he’d had such a thing as a best friend, it was dark, sinister, and utterly dangerous Wolf. Jameson would be next. He was a military hard-ass with haunted eyes and a helluva dark side. Nobody messed with Jameson unless they wanted to go home in a body bag. All of the Iron Shadows were that way. They were together because they all had something society found unappealing. They worked well together. Trey could count on them.

  They were the only family he had, and he was damn proud of the fact that they’d chosen him to lead them.

  A thin girl with greasy hair and baggy clothes started into the hallway. She looked their way and backed the hell up.

  Five dudes in bike leathers with tattoos and pissed-off attitudes apparently weren’t the type she wanted to hang with tonight.

  Trey shoved through the doors from the stinking, run-down lobby, glad to be in the cold of the fresh air. He slung his leg over his Ducati ST. Wolf paused by Trey’s handlebars.

  “Ruby’s?”

  Trey nodded.

  Bike engines roared, and Trey led the way out of the motel�
�s postage-stamp-size lot and down the rural highway, his gang of brothers behind him.

  North Carolina winters could be cold as balls, but at least they weren’t the bitter freeze that he’d endured as a kid back in Michigan. The February wind buffeted his leathers, cutting his cheeks like a fistful of knives as he opened up the accelerator.

  The speed felt good. No, the hurt felt good. Distracted him from the thoughts that were threatening to eat him alive.

  Lynn was a good woman, and she’d been trying to do her best for her kids. Trey envied them, in a way. Sure, it was a tough life. That single-wide trailer had definitely seen better days, and there wasn’t a lot of room for fun in their threadbare budget.

  But she and the kids had each other. And until the Shadows, that was something Trey’d never had.

  Almost half an hour later, Trey’s headlights swung around the corner into the parking lot at Ruby’s. The rickety old honky-tonk was made for the blue-collar set. Ask for anything other than beer, straight-up whiskey, or Jack and Coke, and you’d get a hairy eyeball.

  It belonged to the Shadows. At least, as much as any establishment could belong to anyone who didn’t actually pay the mortgage.

  Trey cut his engine on the small concrete pad by the back door, and four other bikes filed in. One by one, engines silenced.

  “I thought that loser was going to piss himself,” Ace said, laughing as he swung his leg over the bike saddle. “I haven’t had that much fun since we tailed that asswipe who was dating the porn star, you remember?”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “How could we forget? You hooked up with her after the fact and wouldn’t stop talking about it for months.”

  Ace rolled his hips as Trey and the rest of the crew walked by on the way to the door. “Who wouldn’t want this?”

  “Can it, Ace. I’m not in the mood.”

  Ace fell silent at Trey’s words and hustled to the door with the rest of them.

  Trey’s skin was too tight and his muscles twitchy as he pushed through the heavy wooden doors into the darkness of Ruby’s. A few people were in there—construction workers, truckers, a working girl or two. The crowd was pretty light; after all, it was a Tuesday. But of course, some new clueless wonder had set up camp at the Shadows’ corner table, a blond twentysomething sitting on his lap.

  “Hey, y’all.” Ginger had a tray on the flat of her palm, a pitcher of beer in the other. “Oh, shoot. I’ll clear your table.”

  Before Trey could tell her not to worry about it, she’d hurried away to deliver her drinks.

  “That woman’s going to work herself into an early grave,” Jameson muttered, and Trey couldn’t help but agree. With her sister, Lynn, having delivered a baby only four weeks ago, and Ginger the only paycheck going into the household, she’d been making double time for months now. The strain was beginning to show on her face.

  She’d been hoping to drop back to shorter hours to help Lynn with the new baby and the older kids, but Vinnie’s disappearing act had forced her to change her plans to make financial ends meet.

  The waitress bent down, and with a smile and an efficient manner, had the interlopers out of the Shadows’ table and the surface clean and waiting for them. She pulled out Trey’s chair as he approached.

  “Here.” Trey reached into his jacket and retrieved the money they’d found in the motel room. He hadn’t counted it, but there was obviously more there than she’d been missing.

  He didn’t give a rat’s ass. Vinnie had put the family through hell, and they deserved every dime.

  “Oh my God,” she said, eyes widening as she took in the sight of the money. “That’s too… How did you—”

  “Take it home to Lynn and the kids,” Trey said, pressing the money into her hand. “He won’t be late again.”

  Ginger bit her lip. “Thank—”

  “Don’t. Just…don’t.”

  She tucked the money into her apron and hurried off toward the bar.

  “Damn, Boss,” Ace said as he sank into his usual chair at their big, round table. “You could have at least let her thank you.”

  “No need.” Trey sat down as Jameson headed to the bar to get their drinks.

  The tabletop was mottled and scarred from years of abuse. Who knew how many games of cards, drinks, and pissed-drunk assholes had beaten the hell out of this surface?

  His insides felt like that. Pockmarked and scarred and too chewed-up to be useful. His twenty-nine years of life had more than left their mark.

  “You okay?”

  Trey hiked an eyebrow at Wolf, who then looked away with a sniff.

  “Sorry, Boss.”

  Accepting the beer that Jameson dropped at the table, Trey sighed. He was being a dick, and it wasn’t Wolf’s fault.

  It was his own.

  “What’s that guy doing in here?”

  At Ace’s question, Trey looked up.

  There, silhouetted in the doorway, was a man wearing dark cargo pants and a form-fitting gray sweater. His haircut was short, almost military. He didn’t look familiar.

  “Who is it?”

  Ace curled his hand around his beer mug, frowning hard. “He’s a private investigator. Came knocking on my door last year when we roughed up that asshole bookie who cheated Flash.”

  Trey’s hackles rose. Why was this PI on his turf, and who was he looking for?

  He stood, intending to head over there and figure out what was doing, when the guy looked his way. Their gazes locked, and the PI nodded, walking toward him.

  Trey just folded his arms and waited.

  “You Trey Harding?” the PI asked. His gaze raked Trey up and down.

  Not flicking an eyelash, Trey responded, “Who wants to know?”

  The PI slapped a paper down in front of him. Trey didn’t look down, just waited for the question to be answered. “That’ll tell you all you need.”

  “You can’t answer the question?”

  “You can’t read?”

  Trey’s hand shot out and grabbed the smart-ass by the throat. “You want to play around a little, or you want me to take you outside and show you why you need to watch your mouth?”

  The PI just smiled. “Your mother’s going to love you.”

  Trey’s blood ran cold, and his fingers went numb. He dropped the PI, hardly daring to breathe.

  “My…who?”

  * * *

  Bethany Jernigan’s smile was as brittle as a ninety-five-year-old’s bones, but it didn’t crack.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  The teenager flipped her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I said I’m leaving early today. I’ve got stuff to do.”

  Bethany could actually feel her blood pressure rising in the thudding of her pulse in her ears. Mindful of the shoppers who were milling around the women’s shoes just a few yards away, Bethany kept her voice pitched low.

  “Tiffany, you can’t just leave early whenever you want. We’ve had this discussion multiple times before. In fact, your last two write-ups were for exactly this.”

  The girl shrugged. “Uncle Ernest doesn’t care.”

  Bethany’s teeth ground audibly. “I know you got this job because of your family connection, but I’m the manager. It’s my responsibility to ensure all our employees—”

  “Blow it out your ass,” Tiffany snapped and then flounced away.

  “Wow.”

  The unfamiliar voice made Bethany turn, and she was mortified to realize that a customer had heard Tiffany’s outburst.

  “I’m so sorry. Did you need help finding anything?”

  “No thanks,” the woman said with a smirk and walked away.

  Un-freaking-believable. Bethany had had it. She marched past displays with vibrant red and pink hearts declaring their last-minute Valentine’s Day sales. Her office was a
t the back of the store, just past the security station where a uniformed guard was seated in front of a bank of monitors. She nodded to him and shut the door.

  Her desk was littered with sales reports, employee schedules, and time cards from the archaic system corporate refused to replace with anything more modern. Rounding the desk, she slumped in the relic that passed for her office chair.

  Fingers stabbing the phone’s keypad like it owed her money, Bethany dialed Ernest Junes, the district manager…and Tiffany’s uncle.

  “Junes,” the voice on the other end of the line snapped.

  “Mr. Junes, this is Bethany Jernigan.”

  “Yeah, the top shelf. Don’t give me any of that cheap stuff.”

  Bethany’s nails stabbed into her palm, and she drew a deep breath in through her nose as she grabbed the nearest pen and started doodling giant, emphatic Xs on the scrap of paper in front of her.

  “Mr. Junes, this is Bethany Jernigan,” she started again. “Store manager of—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know who you are.”

  The background noise got even louder, music and laughter forcing Bethany to turn down the volume on her handset. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, no, just a business lunch. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to talk to you about an employee termination.”

  The frown was easy to hear in his voice. “Jernigan, why do I care about that? It’s supposed to be your responsibility. I’ve got much more important things to be doing. You handle—”

  “It’s your niece Tiffany.”

  “What?”

  Suddenly the background noise faded. Bethany couldn’t relax though. She was pretty sure she knew where this conversation was going.

  “What do you mean, my niece is being terminated?”

  So she told him. She outlined the many written warnings Tiffany had gotten, the attitude she’d thrown, and the final insult in front of a customer. Any other employee would have been out months ago. But Bethany had held off because of the family relationship.

  She was good at her job. She’d started at the store when she was just a teenager, stocking at first, and then making her way up to department manager. She’d had to work hard to earn her degree in business while juggling her job at Hudson’s, but she’d done it.