“She suggested that we get you a motel for a few weeks, until she’s had a little space,” he adds, hitting me with the final blow.
I’m not even welcome in the family home anymore. I know how badly I’ve fucked up, but that hurts more than I’d like to admit.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I whisper.
“I know you are, sweetheart,” he replies sadly, and then starts the engine.
I close my eyes and give myself a moment.
I vow in that moment that I’m going to figure out what I need to do to make my parents proud again. I’m never going to see that look of disappointment in his eyes ever again.
I’ve got a lot going against me.
A criminal history.
People who will want to bring me back down with them.
No support from the woman who gave birth to me.
But you know what?
Watch me win.
Chapter One
“Why haven’t you hooked up with anyone in the MC?” Dee asks, studying me over the seat of his motorcycle. I’m putting the finishing touches on his beautiful machine. When he came in telling me he had scratched some of the paint off, I was happy to restore it to its original glory. I love his bike. It’s an older-model Harley, but it’s a beauty. Newer doesn’t always mean better. “You’ve been around for years but have never been interested in any of us.”
I wrinkle my nose at his question. He asks some weird ones sometimes, but this takes the cake. He actually sounds surprised that I’m not attracted to even one of them. Years of women throwing themselves at him must have gotten to his head.
“I can admire that most of you are good-looking, but you’re all like family to me.” I tilt my face to the side. “And not really my type. Also, get over yourself. Some women won’t like any of you.”
The Knights of Fury MC own this garage, and there’s no way I’m going to get involved in all of that. I love the men, though, I really do. They gave me a chance, and a job, when no one else would, and I will always owe them for that. But I’m not looking to bring my personal life into work. It’s hard enough building a reputation as one of the best custom bike designers, despite being female, so having a reputation for sleeping with the MC would do nothing but take away from that.
This is a male-dominated field, and it’s taken a lot of work for me to make a name for myself, so the last thing I want is to ruin that. And to be honest, since my ex I haven’t been interested in anything more than having fun. I don’t think messing around with any of them would be a smart decision.
They are more effort than they’re worth, all work and little reward.
And sex?
Well, you can get that anywhere.
Dee holds his hand against his heart as he stands. “Ouch, Cam. That hurt.”
I grin and roll my eyes. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, just curious,” he replies, following me out of the garage. “It’s not every day you meet a woman oblivious to our charms.”
I know the MC have been worried about me. Ever since we lost Billie, a woman I was close friends with and casually dating, I haven’t really felt like myself. I’ve been quiet, and the only time I leave my house is to go to work and back. I know everyone is thinking that I’m heartbroken, and I am, but more so because Billie had become one of my best friends. Yeah, we had a thing, but it wasn’t serious in that way—it was more just some fun for two girls who really got along well.
But the loss of a good friend, that grief has hit me hard.
“Well, I hope you feel humbled.” I laugh, shaking my head at him. “What about you, Dee? Still on your quest to find love?”
“I think I’ve given up on love,” he admits, and I’m with him there. He stops at Bronte’s desk and takes a seat there. Bronte is the receptionist here at the Fast & Fury custom garage, and she keeps the place running. The two of us have always got along well, but we’ve become even closer since our friend Billie died, and she’s become such an important fixture in my life.
I’ve worked here ever since I moved to the city, about two years ago now. I came in as a mechanic, but now I’m the creative director and artist, designing and creating beautiful custom motorcycles, and loving every second of it. I got my love for motorcycles from my dad and my love for art from my mother, and I love that my job incorporates both of them.
“Do you think Bronte has some chocolate stashed away somewhere?”
“It’s seven in the morning,” I say to him, arching my brow. “And don’t go through her shit, she will kill you.” I slap away his hand as he reaches for her drawer. The men around here have no boundaries whatsoever.
“What the hell are the two of you doing?” Trade asks curiously as he approaches, eying the two of us. He’s wearing worn jeans and a tight white T-shirt, and I can’t help but think what a lucky woman his partner Ariel is. Although he’s equally lucky, because she is also a catch. Between them, they have four beautiful children and make the cutest little family ever. “And why are you both here so damn early?”
“I wanted to fix up Dee’s paint job before we open,” I admit. Trade is pretty chill, but he runs the place differently than my former boss did. Not better or worse, just different, and I’ve had to adjust accordingly. Crow kind of let us do our own thing, in our own time and space, and Trade prefers a little more structure and routine. I don’t know Trade as well yet, so that might factor into it. Crow knew how good I was at my job, and what a hard worker I am, and I want to make sure that Trade sees the same. Not to mention Crow and I have a really close friendship, so there’s a different vibe that comes along with that. “And now I’m stopping Dee from stealing Bronte’s chocolate.”
“So she does have some.” Dee grins, eyes lighting up.
Trade ignores him, more concerned about his bike. “How did the paint scratch off?”
Dee nods toward the garage. “There was an incident involving her and a fence.”
“The woman he was sleeping with wasn’t necessarily single and her husband came home while they were...”
Trade blinks slowly. “I don’t even want to know.”
And I’m sure he doesn’t. Trade is Temper’s baby brother, and Temper is the president of the MC, and therefore Trade’s boss, and big brother.
Trade isn’t actually a member of the Knights, though. He didn’t think it was in his children’s best interests to be a member, but to be honest, he’s around all of them enough that anyone would assume he was one of them.
And he once was.
I don’t know if this is something you can just walk away from, but they’ve given him that illusion.
“You don’t need to, because it looks as good as new now.” Dee grins, turning to me. “Thanks to this goddess here. I owe you one, Cam.”
“You’re welcome. And you don’t owe me anything. Just try to avoid any fences from now on,” I reply, smirking. “Or maybe stay away from married women so you don’t have to leave their house in a rush, hence riding against a fence to begin with.”
He winces, nods as if considering my words, shrugs and then leaves.
“He’s a character,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. “Where do they find these guys?”
Trade laughs. “You don’t want to know. The cleaners should be coming in now, so the place is going to be spotless before we open.”
“I’m going to go and grab coffee,” I announce, grabbing my bag. “You want one?”
“I’d love one.”
I head to the café down the road, and return with four coffees in my hand, placing one on Bronte’s desk and handing the other to Trade. I leave the other near Chains’s workspace, knowing he will be looking for it when he arrives. Chains is a mechanic here, and also a member of the MC.
I don’t know if they are aware of it, but Fast & Fury is like a second home to me, and I’m glad to b
e here every day.
“You got me a coffee.” Bronte beams as she comes toward my desk, clasping it in her hands like the Holy Grail. “You are the best, Cam. I’ve had hardly any sleep; Quinn kept getting up last night.” Quinn is Bronte and Crow’s beautiful little daughter. Crow is a member of the Knights of Fury MC, and left here to manage another one of the MC’s businesses.
“Poor thing. My hat goes off to working moms—I don’t know how you guys do it,” I say to her.
“Me either, but it gets done,” she replies, grinning widely. “Luckily there’s only two clients coming in today, so it won’t be too busy. When does Chains get here?”
Chains is Crow’s best friend, and also an MC member. Out of all the men, he’s the...hardest to get along with. He definitely has some issues, but he’s always there if anyone needs him. He’s the black sheep of the group. The more time I’ve spent with him, though, the more he has grown on me. I have to admit, he’s a pretty interesting guy.
“Should be here any minute,” I reply, glancing down at my watch. “If he’s coming in on time anyway. I better get back to work. I want to finish the Harley’s paint job today. I think this might be my favorite work yet.”
Bronte’s eyes smile. “Really? Is it because the bike it hot pink? Because I don’t even ride and I want one.”
“It’s not every day I get to do a sexy feminine design,” I admit, clapping my hands together in excitement. “Whoever this bike is for is one lucky woman.”
“Temper didn’t tell you who it was for?”
“Nope, he just gave me the bike and said it was for a woman, and told me to go to town on it, so I have.”
“Huh,” Bronte replies, turning on her computer. “Well, I can’t wait to see it when it’s done and we can show it off on our social media pages.”
“And I can’t wait to read the comments on it about how talented I am and to let them get to my head,” I joke.
She laughs out loud. “I knew you did that. What’s new with you? How’s your online shopping addiction going?”
I wince and shift on my feet. “Bad for my bank account, but I can’t help how happy I feel when that package arrives on my front doorstep.”
Ever since Billie died, I’ve tried several coping mechanisms. I started out with alcohol, but have now taken up the addiction of retail therapy. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the perfect distraction and I’m a little obsessed with it.
A package a day keeps the sadness away.
“I know what you mean. I got a few packages yesterday—it was like Christmas came early.”
I sit down on her desk. “What did you buy? Where from? Do I need to order something from there? Talk dirty to me.”
Bronte bursts out laughing, and leans closer to me, bringing a husky tone to her voice. “Well, I bought some mustard bedsheets, and new pillows and a throw rug...”
“Mmm. I love mustard sheets,” I tell her, my eyes hooded.
“What are the two of you talking about?” Chains says as he walks in, eying the two of us. “Looks sexual.”
“Bedsheets,” I reply, standing straight. “I need to buy some.”
“You have a problem,” he deadpans, shaking his head.
“You really do,” Bronte adds, amusement etched on her expression. “Lucky Temper pays you well.”
She’s right on both accounts. I do get paid well, but I also do have a problem. If I’m not buying my feelings, I’m eating them.
But we all do what we have to do to get by, right?
Copyright © 2021 by Chantal Fernando
Keep reading for an excerpt from Exposed by Cathryn Fox.
Exposed
by Cathryn Fox
CHAPTER ONE
Gemma
MY PHONE PINGS—finally—and I jump from my buttery-yellow sofa as excitement jolts through me. I slide my finger across the screen and ask, “You’ve landed?”
“We just cleared customs, actually,” my best friend, Mia, says, but the barrage of airport noises and announcements coming through her cell makes it difficult to hear her.
I press my phone harder to my ear and place my palm over the other one as I step outside my Belize villa, straight into my backyard oasis. God, I love it here. With the scorching, late morning sun falling over me and a medley of floral scents drifting by on a breeze, I take a rejuvenating breath and say, “Your driver will be holding up an orange place card with your name on it. Let me know when you see him.” I would have picked the girls up myself—I really wanted to—but our small Porche fits only four—with me behind the wheel, that makes five. By sending a driver, no one is left to cab it alone.
“Looking, looking,” Mia says, and I can almost visualize her scanning the arrival lounge as she pushes through the crowd. Mia is a born-and-bred New Yorker—fast-talking, fast moving and the best friend I’ve ever had. We both work at my mother’s art gallery—Swerve—in Manhattan. I love her to pieces and would be lost without her management skills. I’m the right-brained artist; she’s the left-brained problem solver. Talk about a team made in heaven. “Wait. Hang on. Yeah. I think I see him. Come on, girls, follow me,” Mia says.
A thrill grips my stomach. I’m so happy four of my closest friends have flown in for the weekend, eager to throw me a bachelorette party. Although to me, having them here, it’s less about the partying and more about us being together again—it’s been far too long since we’ve hung out, chatted and spilled secrets over tequila. Not that I’d ever tell them my deepest, darkest secrets. No, I’m the good girl, a senator’s daughter who’s always under scrutiny. If my secret dirty cravings ever landed in the wrong hands—were ever exposed to the wrong people—it could destroy my father’s good reputation and my mother’s high-end art gallery.
“I found him,” Mia yells, pulling my thoughts back. “Get ready to party, girlfriend,” she says. “I plan to feed you so much tequila you won’t be able to walk down the aisle.”
I chuckle at that. My wedding isn’t until August, so I’m sure I’ll be walking just fine by then. We’re having my bachelorette party mid-July simply because we all lead extremely busy lives and this weekend was the only one that worked for everyone—and who wouldn’t want to let loose in the Caribbean, right?
Oh, just my fiancé, Bentley.
I sigh. Bentley and I have been here for a week, and I thought we were going to spend time together before the girls all arrived, but sadly, his phone has seen more lip-action than me. Yes, he’s a hard-working lawyer with his eyes on the Senate—my father loves that my fiancé is following in his footsteps—but we were going to treat this vacation like a honeymoon. Yes, yes, I realize our wedding is weeks away, and we’re putting the cart before the horse, so to speak, but I’d rather an early honeymoon than to postpone until God knows when—or forever.
I have a big case coming up, Gemma. At this stage in my career, work must come first.
As his words bounce around inside my head, my gaze drifts to a gorgeous multicolor butterfly that just landed on the passionflowers weaving their way in and out of the wrought-iron trellis. So pretty, yet it does little to soothe that incessant ache inside me, one that’s been there since my college days.
“It’s about a thirty-minute drive,” I tell Mia. “I can’t wait until you guys get here.”
“Same,” Mia says. “Hey, are you okay? You sound a bit funny.”
“Fine,” I quip, injecting a bit of enthusiasm into my voice, but that’s like wrapping a gift with cellophane. Pointless. She knows me too well.
“Everything okay with you and Bentley?”
“Fine, fine.” I wave my hand even though she can’t see me. “He’s just been rather busy this week.”
She goes quiet for a second, and I brace myself. Mia has never been a Bentley fan. She’s questioned his love for me in the past, and mine for him. When she says things like “I plan t
o feed you so much tequila you won’t be able to walk down the aisle,” she’s only half teasing.
But I’ve made my choice, and she’s here to support me. That’s what best friends do. Besides, it’s not like I’m ever going to hook back up with my college love, Josh Walker, from college. No, he took my virginity and then broke my heart back at Penn State. We met when I used the Penn Pal app to find a safe escort home from a party. He was a little wild, different from the men in my social circle, and I fell for him. Hard. When he pushed me out of his life, for reasons I still can’t understand, it destroyed me. After college, I vowed one thing to myself: no more bad boys.
I almost snort. Bentley is what one would consider the complete opposite of a bad boy, which is why my father likes him. Sometimes I think he likes him better than his only daughter. My father introduced us, actually. Bentley Banks is the son of dad’s colleague, and my father had made a list of his attributes, informing me he checked all the right boxes and would be great husband material.
Sadly, there is one box he’ll never check. No one has. Not even Josh Walker from Penn State. The fault is not entirely theirs. My deepest, darkest bedroom secrets are mine and mine alone. Not that Bentley could even come close to giving me what I want behind closed doors, even if I told him about my salacious desires—and gave directions. Josh, however... But I’ll never know, because he sent me packing and my secrets are tucked away safely, locked in my heart behind an impenetrable vault. Why, you ask? Oh, because I was brought up to be prim and proper, and it’s wrong to want such dirty things between the sheets. I never even touched myself until I was in my early twenties. Sinful. My mother’s word regarding masturbation or sex for only pleasure, not mine.
“Listen, Gemma, if you’re having second thoughts—”
“I’m not,” I say, knowing Bentley is a good fit for my life, outside the bedroom anyway, and I do truly care about him and his well-being. “Just hurry up and get here,” I say. “I miss you guys. That’s all that’s going on,” I say, driving the point home—this discussion is over.
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