by Skye McNeil
Hawk chuckled and flicked his ash in an empty coffee can on the table beside the couch. “Anything’s better than that.”
They sat in the cool room, the AC rumbling out low temperatures. Out of all the Macha members, Hawk was the one Doc got along with best. They both enjoyed whiskey and fast women. Hell, everyone here does. But Hawk was the first to show Doc any form of friendship. He’d never forget it either. He’d do anything for Macha.
Doc smirked. Something I never thought I’d say.
“That was some party.” Hawk inhaled deeply, the orange glow from the cigarette showing his face.
Doc thought back over the endless drinking, laughing, and initiation. “It was very fun. I think I’ll like being Macha full time.”
“Aw, poor baby can’t spend all your free time at the clinics anymore,” Hawk teased.
Instead of replying, he just shrugged. He’d find time to volunteer at the free clinics in Snowshoe. It felt good to give back when he could. His uncle—and club president—didn’t mind and in fact encouraged community work from the MC. Most merely gave money, but Doc preferred time.
“You smell like perfume.”
Doc lifted his arm and sniffed. Sure enough, it reeked of nymph. “Yeah, I need to shower. Just waiting for the room to stop spinning.”
“How many this time?”
“Two.”
Hawk crushed the butt and laughed. “Yeah, you’re Macha all right.”
“Hey, I can’t help if the nymphs love me.”
“Whatever, bro. Just don’t knock one up.” Hawk patted Doc’s shoulder and stood. “C’mon, move your ass before all the showers are full. Nobody wants to use a stall after Shovelhead.”
Joining him, Doc grabbed the last bottle and followed him to the residential hallway. From each room, gradual sounds echoed. Hawk left to grab fresh clothes, but Doc hopped under the shower after stripping. Clothes could wait.
After a quick rinse, he wrapped a towel around his hips and emerged just as Brewer, Rubble, and Cueball reached the bathroom. Each one reeked of booze, cigarette smoke, and nymph.
“How the fuck you up already?” Cueball asked, cradling his bald head.
“Thirsty,” he replied, leaning against the wall. Brewer eyed him, then stepped into the bathroom. It felt like a fraternity house the longer he was in Macha. But the better version. The Irish version instead of Greek.
Rubble yawned and nodded toward Doc’s room. “How many you avoiding today?”
“Yeah, should’ve given you a different club name,” Cueball added. “Doc? Hell no, more like Co—”
Doc’s door opened and the two platinum blonde nymphs scurried off to their hole. When two more hurried out, Rubble slapped Doc’s back, then laughed all the way to the showers.
“Shit, I lost count.” He shook his head and peeked into the room. It was empty. Thank God.
“Sober up, Doc. You have a job.” Reaper’s accented voice turned Doc’s head.
“This early?”
“Yep. Her flight arrives within the hour.”
“Who is she?” he asked, pulling on fresh clothes.
“Isadora Walsh.”
The name jumbled in his mind but didn’t ring any bells. He buttoned his jeans. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
Reaper grinned. “She’s the reason you’re here, Doc.” He patted the wall. “We weren’t sure when she’d arrive, but the time’s come. Until I say, you’re her bodyguard. Do not let her out of your sight unless I approve. I trust my men, but you’re blood.”
“Oh yeah.” Doc pulled on his cut. “She’s Phantom’s daughter, right?”
“Yep, so handle with care. She’s one of us. Better even because she’s Macha royalty.”
He snorted. “Great, I get to babysit a Macha princess. I guess it won’t be too bad.”
A peculiar smile crossed Reaper’s face. “Sure, Doc, whatever you say.”
3
Isa
Gray eyes flicked to the front of the plane, then back to the seat in front of her. She never liked flying. Being a homebody, she never had a reason. The airplane dipped, and her stomach mirrored the act. Her left hand gripped the empty paper bag, her breakfast somehow staying put. They were making the final descent into Colorado Springs. That was what the pilot said over the speakers.
Isadora Walsh pushed back her light brown hair, reminding herself to add highlights once she landed. She’d never let herself go this much. Her mum, Colleen, wouldn’t hear of destroying her long locks with dye. Isa, on the other hand, tended to live on the artsy side of life. She managed a small smile, tears welling in her eyes. Now she was on her own and didn’t have an Irish mum to scorn her for tattooing her ribs or piercing her nose.
The wheels hit solid ground, jolting Isa’s gaze up from her hands to the window. Specks of snow were visible on the distant peaks, reminding her of Ireland. Will I ever go back? She clenched her hands into fists. She had to. Her entire business hinged on her return.
Other passengers started readying for their arrival, but Isa was still in Ireland. Or her mind was, at least. She’d shown up at the Macha clubhouse only to be shipped off shortly thereafter. The family reunion she’d hoped for was dashed equally as fast as their first meeting in twenty years. She barely remembered her father. When she saw him yesterday, Malcolm Kerry wasn’t the same man she knew as a child. He was rough around the edges and looked much older. Probably because he’s the MC president now.
Her mother—God rest her soul—told her the truth of her father’s occupation on her deathbed. Somewhere deep, she’d known her father wasn’t merely a motorcycle repairman as she’d been told growing up, but hearing the club involvement put the pieces together for her. It started to make sense why Colleen Walsh left the club life to raise her daughter. They’d never gone by her father’s name. Isa was a Walsh for as long as she could recall. Although, technically, I’m a Kerry.
She let out a steadying breath. The little research she’d done on Macha MC was unrewarding. The club stayed out of the limelight until a rivaling MC, the Twelve Brothers, decided they wanted Macha’s territory. That’d been six months ago. She’d read the articles but never made the connection to her father.
After her mum’s death, she went to see Malcom Kerry—Phantom, as she’d heard his fellow bikers call him. Her father, while excited to see her, was more worried for her safety, she could only assume because he was the president and she was his child. Why couldn’t he have hidden me in Ireland? That was the root of contention, but she eventually obeyed his request to stay with the Colorado chapter of Macha. But only after her best friends encouraged her to have an adventure. She’d been scared out of her mind to leave, but the decision was simple: she needed to see a bit of the world, even if it was only Colorado.
The pilot came over the intercom and the seat belt sign flicked off, summoning Isa to shaky legs. Her head hit the lowered ceiling above the seat, and she grunted. Having her father’s height never pained her more than this moment. Normally, she adored her five-foot-eleven stature. Today, she loathed it. Being stuffed in an airplane with hardly any room to stretch out made flying drop lower on her preferred methods of transportation.
Phantom—not “Da” like he’d prefer—promised to retrieve her once the MC fight was put to bed. He couldn’t give a time frame, which pissed her off. She didn’t like to wait. Especially when it had nothing to do with her.
Retrieving her carry-on, she slung it over her shoulder and followed the crowd off the airplane. Phantom said to expect an MC man to be waiting. Just what I need. Another man giving me orders. She’d gotten used to being alone. Well, as alone as she could get living five minutes away from her protective Catholic mother.
The Colorado Springs airport wasn’t overly busy. Isa took her time weaving through the hallways, watching planes depart through the large windows. She was in no hurry to begin a mandatory exile from the land she loved. Her father’s Macha man could wait. He’s probably just some ratty old guy anyw
ays.
After stopping at a Cinnabon and filling her belly with her favorite treat, Isa continued slowly toward the baggage claim. She stopped by a cute tourist shop and perused the trinkets. A tie-dye T-shirt boasting the Rocky Mountains caught her eye, and she had to purchase it. Wherever she went, she bought a T-shirt. She hadn’t been many places, so her collection was in dire need of a facelift.
When her phone started ringing, she pulled it out of her carry-on. “Orla, I miss Ireland.”
Her best friend laughed. “You’ve been gone a whole day. Give it some time.”
Isa plopped into an empty seat near a departing terminal. “My da—er, Phantom said he’d come for me when it was done. Why don’t I believe that?”
“Probably because he’s been a no-show your entire life.” Orla sighed. “We miss you at the shop. Niall is already driving me mad. He’s trying to recreate that dress you made last week. I’ll send you pictures. It’ll help your mood.”
“My mood is fine,” she snapped.
“Oh, aye, I can hear that.”
Knowing her best friend was right, Isa tried to steady her nerves. Leaving home without her blonde-haired twin was difficult. Most people assumed they were sisters, their height and eye color the only differences. Orla and Niall were her best friends since childhood, and the only time they’d been apart was on holiday. It’d taken longer than expected for Niall to admit he was in love with Orla, but now they’d been married two years, and their love antics only made Isa envious.
“I miss Mum.”
“That never goes away, love. But Niall and I are here for you when you return. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting across the travelers passing by. “Are you sure you can’t come over?”
“Who’d run the shop—our shop?”
They’d opened the small candle and soap shop that also provided Isa the opportunity to try her fashion designs on the locals. Thus far, they loved her shirts, dresses, and skirts. Her plan was to become famous. As famous as a Northern Irishwoman can be in fashion.
“I know. Wishful thinking is all.” She glanced at the clock on the other end of the terminal. Almost two hours had passed since she landed. Time was never something she managed well. “I better find my chauffeur. I’ll call once settled.”
Setting her laced-up boots on the floor once more, Isa hurried to the baggage claim and scoured the signs for her flight. Panic lined her gut when none of the signs showed her flight number. She ran a hand through her thick hair. “Eejit, I shouldn’t have dallied.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
The deep voice sent a tingle down Isa’s back. Slowly, she turned around and was pleasantly surprised as she looked straight into a man’s piercing eyes the color of a tumultuous sea. The look on his face said his attitude was equally stormy.
“Isadora Walsh?”
“Last I checked.”
The man wearing a leather cut and dark blue jeans nodded. “I grabbed your bags when you didn’t show up. They kept going around the belt, squeaking annoyingly. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“That’s too bad, because I like to dawdle.”
Isa slowly ran her eyes up and down the man she guessed was a few years her senior. He was definitely not what she expected when biker came to mind. A greasy-haired scoundrel, sure, but a man who could double as a model? No. This man had lean muscle and a wide chest. Tattoos curled around his biceps all the way down to his wrists. She’d bet her sketchbook there were more hidden beneath his black T-shirt and jeans. His blond hair was a bit too long and completely wind tousled, giving him a vibe she could only describe as smoking hot. His dark blue eyes were cautious, searching her curiously. For a moment, she saw a flicker of a smile, but he hid it just as fast.
Heat flushed her face when she noticed he was equally scrutinizing her appearance. Normally she’d mind, but with this biker, her pulse skyrocketed.
“Doc.” He held out his hand. That too held tattoos. Her mind went wild at the intricate designs and how fun it’d be to trace every last one. Her small village didn’t have many tattooed men. She’d Internet surfed, of course, but seeing a man like him decked out in tattoos of all colors made her pulse quicken.
Get it together. She pasted on a smile. “You can call me Isa.”
Doc shook her hand, then grabbed both bags under his arms. “All right, Isa, let’s go. We’re already late.”
Isa struggled to keep up with his long strides. Normally it wasn’t such an issue, but he evidently wasn’t in a good mood and wanted to punish her for being tardy. “Late for what?”
Pausing in front of a black pickup truck, he tossed her luggage in the back. “For church.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Church?”
He smirked and unlocked the truck. “Not the hymn type of church. The MC meeting church.”
“Oh.” She climbed into the jacked-up truck and barely got the door shut before the vehicle squealed out of the parking lot. “Are you trying to kill me?”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes, then slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Just what I was going to ask.”
Isa’s gaze whipped to him, no longer concerned with the seat belt. “What?”
“Nothing.” He nodded to her skirt. “You may want to change before you meet the club. We’re respectful of women, but the way you wear that miniskirt will make more than one brother toe that line.”
Her hands immediately went to her thighs. In retrospect, wearing the gray tweed skirt wasn’t her idea but Orla’s. She’d loved the skirt matched with a flowing, long-sleeved white shirt paired with old-fashioned lace-up boots. She adored the outfit. “You’re saying men in America can’t keep it in their pants?”
He chuckled. “Oh, we can.” He glanced over to her, a crooked smile showing perfectly straight teeth. “I’m just saying I won’t particularly like my Macha brothers ogling you.”
Isa crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would you care if they ogled me?”
Instead of answering, he fixed his gaze on the highway. His jaw tightened, as if his words were meant to be silent. Despite the blond scruff, she saw the grin.
A hint of a thought echoed in her mind. She shivered at the notion that he might want her all to himself. She’d never been anyone’s before. Not in the real sense.
Sneaking a peek over to the solemn Doc, Isa’s stomach flipped unexpectedly.
Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.
4
Doc
Fuck me, she’s gorgeous. Doc pulled into the club parking lot and threw it into Park. The entire ride from the airport had been hell for him. Isa’s lavender scent filled the truck cab, and her tiny skirt made it impossible to concentrate on anything she said. Her Irish lilt tempted him to pull over and kiss her luscious lips.
Fuck, I don’t get bent up about women.
When the Macha princess didn’t show up on time, he’d been pissed. He called Reaper to bitch, but of course the man didn’t answer. He’d arrived six months ago to help his uncle on the medical side of the club. He’d never guessed an ulterior motive. Reaper failed to explain why Doc was chosen for this particular protection detail, but he always enjoyed the role when it rotated to him. Most of the time, the jobs were simple and done by dinner. Until today.
He climbed out of the cab and grabbed her bags from the bed. Isa’s sandy blonde hair swept over her shoulders, enticing him to run his fingers through the lengths that almost reached her delectable ass. Walking around the truck, he held his breath. Her long and slender legs did him in. The instant he saw her, he imagined her willowy body wrapped around his.
Fuck. Stop it! He didn’t get cockeyed over a woman. Then again, he’d never met this woman before.
Isa turned enough to grace him with a smile he didn’t deserve. He’d acted like an ass since meeting her. He barely spoke during the drive to town despite her best efforts. Her soft words sent him over the edge, and h
e had to stay quiet lest he fuck up his job already. It was bound to happen if he didn’t stop thinking of Isa like she was a goddamn goddess.
“Where am I staying?” Her gray eyes swept over the main clubhouse in Snowshoe. It was next to the garage, where he spotted a few members working on cars. The place could use a fresh coat of paint but overall fit the biker motif.
“For now, you’ll stay here.” He nodded toward the front door. Already, three patch members had caught sight of Isa in her skimpy clothes. If she were his woman, he’d swat her ass until she swore to never show that much leg around the brothers again.
“Hello,” she greeted Cueball, Klink, and Snoopy. The three were always around each other. That was what he’d learned since arriving. That and they tended to share their women. They were the three amigos, if the legendary three had tattoos and smoked nonstop.
Snoopy tilted up his ball cap and whistled low. “Mamacita, don’t tempt me.”
“Shut up, Snoop,” Doc growled.
The Hispanic man and his two buddies roared with laughter. “Oh look, our newest patch got himself whipped already.”
Doc refrained from completely wailing on the trio. He was no match. Being the newest Macha member meant he was lowest on the pecking order, and they’d use it to their advantage given the chance. Cigarette smoke wafted in the air, and he picked up his pace.
Opening the door to the clubhouse, he was pleasantly surprised when Isa lifted her head defiantly and ignored the catcalls from Snoopy’s groupies. While Macha held women in high regard, the patches didn’t always color in the lines when it came to club nymphs.
But she’s no nymph.
“Who’re they?” she asked, pausing in the doorway. Her eyes sought out his, and when they collided, Doc forced his body to stay stoic.
“Patch members of the club. They like giving people a hard time.”
“I don’t like them.”
He smothered a grin and followed her inside. “Not all members of the MC are as awesome as me.”