My Reckless Biker

I've run the Ironclad MC for fourteen years. Buried brothers, buried enemies, and told myself none of it touches me anymore. Then Tara Hardin comes through the smoke at the garage, wrapping a bar towel around Deacon's arm before I even get my bearings, telling the dispatcher our address in a voice that doesn't shake once. She's thirty-one. A single mom raising a boy who draws motorcycles on the backs of his homework.
And when she straightens up after checking Deacon's pulse, brushing soot off her knees like it's nothing, I forget every reason I had for walking through that door in the first place. I tell her what I am. I tell her I have men to find, and things to do to them that she doesn't want the details of. She just nods, like a man twenty years her senior with blood on his knuckles is a decision she's already made peace with.
I've wanted her since she looked up at me over Deacon's arm and didn't flinch. Tara doesn't need me. She built her life without anyone's help, and she'd be smart to keep it that way. So the only question left is what I'm willing to burn down to make her stay.