Reckless: Backsteel Bandits MC

by Olivia Stephens

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Reckless copyright @ 2016 by Olivia Stephens. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  EPILOGUE

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  TANK

  DAMON

  CHAPTER ONE

  The early morning sun peeked through the blinds of the Legacy Bank's large windows. That was the only indication Miranda Groves had that time was passing. She glanced up from her computer, catching dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight. Outside, sounds accompanied the slowly awakening town. More cars rushing down Main Street, the mail car trundling noisily down the back alleyway, the opening and slamming of doors as people rushed in and out of the diner down the block. Miranda's stomach clenched, as hunger nagged at her thoughts.

  She hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. Before Nate had texted her. Miranda scowled at her reflection in the computer screen. No, she wasn't going to think about that loser. She huffed and focused her eyes on the e-mail she had been reading.

  “So, Nate broke up with you last night.” It was more of a statement than a question. Miranda jolted from reading the latest e-mail from corporate. She spun around in her chair, shooting an agitated glare at her co-worker, Naomi. The blonde woman stood in the doorway to Miranda's office, leaning against the doorjamb with an amused look in her dark blue eyes. Naomi looked immaculate in her royal purple pencil skirt and nicely pressed white blouse. She slung her purple jacket over her shoulder, while her free hand held a cup of overpriced coffee.

  Miranda did her best to not feel ashamed in her forest green and tan outfit. She also didn't want to admit that her blue-eyed friend was correct. Nate had dropped her quicker than a sack of manure. Via text, of all things! Instead, Miranda raised her eyebrows at Naomi and retorted, “What makes you think that?”

  “You got here early.”

  Miranda forced a tight, false smile to her lips. “I'm always here early. The duties of a manager are never done.”

  “You got here, like, an hour and a half early for your shift,” Naomi shrugged, taking a sip of her overly expensive coffee. Her wine-colored lipstick stained the lid as she pulled the cup away. “Plus, you're dressed like a spinster.”

  “I always dress like this!” Miranda bristled, feeling the hair rise on the back of her neck. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to shield her fashion from Naomi's critical eye. Pursing her lips, Miranda muttered, “Besides, how do you know I got here that early?”

  “Reginald from the gas station saw you come in.” Naomi grinned, teasingly.

  “Well, I’ll have a word with him,” muttered Miranda, scowling. The old man at the gas station – who often ran the midnight oil – had a big mouth for gossip. “Perhaps several, even.”

  “Go easy on him. He's just an old man.”

  “Yeah, yeah, don't you have any work to do?” Miranda shot Naomi a glare, wrinkling her nose playfully at the other woman.

  “Yes, ma'am,” Naomi saluted, sharply, before ducking out of Miranda's office.

  Miranda counted to eight before she heard Miranda begin her preparations for the day. Sighing, she sunk back into her computer chair. Turning round to her desk, her eyes landed on her cellphone. She hadn't used it much since Nate's breakup text.

  A sharp, wallowing pity filled her heart. She really thought Nate could be the one. Or, at least as close to 'the one' as she'd ever get. He was sweet, thoughtful, fun, and had a butt that looked cute in jeans. He was better than most of her boyfriends over the past ten years. But, apparently, Miranda wasn't his ‘one.' Men weren't worth the thought. Maybe old, single cat-ladies had the right idea. She shook her head, the tight bun at the back of her head pulling at her roots.

  She had work to do. There were only fifteen minutes until they opened and Fridays were big bank days. With that thought in mind, Miranda shoved all romantic inclinations from her head.

  * * *

  The roar of the motorcycles filled Tyler's ears as his gaze swung around the landscape. It was just before noon and he was taking a damn long ride down memory lane. For the last thirty miles, since leaving the highway, he began to recognize more and more of the landmarks: the tree split right down the middle from a lightning bolt, the glaringly fluorescent “Mega” Adult Store sign, and, perched back from the street, the tiny windowless store, and the huge white church on the hill with immense stained glass windows.

  Faint memories burrowed through years of fresher recollections and toddled into Tyler's immediate thoughts. Almost ten years had passed since he last set foot in his hometown. An itch of apprehension crawled over his arms, but he beat the worries away. Even if his old schoolmates were still around Legacy, they would be hard-pressed to recognize him, especially with his sunglasses on. Besides, who would want to recognize him? He barely remembered anyone in this rundown town.

  A name briefly flashed through his thoughts, but he didn't have time to focus on all the attached memories. He and his other motorcyclist, Jack, roared passed the sign welcoming them to Legacy, Arizona. Tyler wondered how long it'd be until they wore out that welcome.

  As the two bikers pulled up to Main Street, Tyler could feel the eyes of the citizens on them. It wasn't much different from everywhere else. However, in his own hometown, that anxiety came flaring back to his thoughts.

  The late-morning sun hung high in the sky, glaring down on the street. Kids ran up and down the streets or dodged across the road, and Tyler knew they were heading toward the field behind the school. People on lunch break or with late work hours fiddled about on the street in front of Janelle's Diner. Each and every person threw Tyler a curious look, before whipping their gaze away.

  Beside him, Jack took off his helmet and took a look around. He raised an eyebrow at Tyler, his hazel eyes glinting with disbelief. He ran a hand through his dirty-blonde helmet hair and muttered, “This is where you're from?”

  “What's wrong with it?” Tyler stifled a glare
as he tugged his helmet off.

  “Oh, I dunno,” Jack replied with a shrug. He cast a critical gaze over the block and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Just seems too Pleasantville-y for you.”

  “Yeah, well, you don't pick where you're born, right?” Tyler pushed away from his hog and strolled the sidewalk. His gaze flickered around, wondering if anyone was listening in. Most of the citizens were too afraid to stare at them for long, especially once they caught the steel-plated skull on their vests. He couldn't imagine anyone eavesdropping.

  “Ain't that the truth,” Jack snorted and his footfalls clumped next to Tyler.

  “I gotta hit up the bank,” grunted Tyler, nodding to a squat building along Main Street. “I've been stashing some money off to the side.”

  Jack's eyebrows rose, surprise tickling at his words, “Been planning this for awhile?”

  “Never know when you need an untraceable vacation,” Tyler threw his friend a cocky grin.

  Jack grunted in reply, a look of dubiousness crossing his features. Tyler ignored him, glancing up and down the street until his eyes settled on the Legacy Bank. It had a makeover in the span of time he was gone. Tyler nodded toward the building, before heading off with a swagger. As the two of them made their way down the sidewalk, whispers followed in their wake and the pedestrians gave them a wide buffer zone.

  Smugness mixed with uncertainty in Tyler's head. Maybe returning home wasn't the best idea. He didn't have any better ideas. Jack's mom and pop were out of the question and Tyler knew his way around Legacy, even if his memories were a bit outdated. If they started to get too restless, he could empty out his bank account and jet with Jack. It was probably a better idea to keep moving, anyway. Pete was bound to catch whiff of their scent.

  Tyler shoved on the Legacy Bank's door. As he crossed the threshold, a chime sang out over his head. The quiet conversation inside dropped a half-decibel. Nosy eyes turned toward the door, curiously. The last of the conversation stopped dead. Tyler trudged to the counter, against the wall of silence that had been hastily erected. He waited behind the red rope for a teller to become available.

  From the corner of his gaze, he caught an old teller reaching under the counter for the silent alarm. Off in a cubicle, a man with thinning hair was speaking in hushed, frantic tones on his cellphone. Tyler stifled a bitter chuckle.

  “Friendly, ain't they?” Jack whispered near Tyler's ear.

  Tyler only replied with a derisive snort.

  “Next,” a rich, sultry voice called out from the counter. Tyler jerked to attention and stepped forward.

  “Yeah, I have an account here.” He stepped forward. The teller didn't even bother to turn her face to him. Vexation painted his thoughts, though he kept it from his voice, “I'd like to withdraw some money.”

  “Do you know your bank account number?”

  “Nope.”

  The woman swallowed down a frustrated sigh, but Tyler knew it was there in her throat. Without inflection, she asked, “Name?”

  “Tyler Ferguson.”

  “Do you have your debit…card…Mr. Fergu–” The woman shook her head and turned her green eyes in his direction for the first time. They widened in recognition, “Tyler?”

  “Mir…” With his eyes wide with shock, he had to look like a dope. Never had Tyler been so thankful for sunglasses. Although, he briefly wondered how the hell Miranda recognized him. Surely he had changed over the years. A matured face, a few more scars, a different hairstyle. Not to mention the kutte he wore as part of the Backsteel Bandits.

  “Um,” Miranda closed her eyes and shook her head. Shock had completely overridden her mental script for work. She forced her eyes back to the computer screen and typed in his name. “May I see some ID, Mr. Ferguson?”

  “I don't know, Mir. You seemed to recognize me without any problem.”

  She shot him a glare, her lips twisted into a humorless scowl. “It's protocol.”

  Tyler sighed and dug out his wallet. Flipping it open, he flashed his driver's license in Miranda's face. Her eyes lingered on it for a half-beat longer than Tyler anticipated. She jerked her head away and mumbled a quick 'thank you.' Her typing continued, filling the vacuum of the nearly silent bank. Tyler could feel Jack's curious gaze drilling into his back.

  “Ah, there we go.” Miranda paused, her eyebrows ticking upward. There was quite a lot of money in Tyler Ferguson's bank account. It seemed strange considering he left nearly ten years go. With the invention of the Internet, anyone could bank from anywhere. Pushing her surprise away, she flashed Tyler one of her practiced smiles. “All right, how may I help you today, Mr. Ferguson?”

  Tyler didn't care much for the glassy smile Miranda flashed him, but he answered her, “I wanna withdraw money.”

  “How much?”

  “Uh,” Tyler glanced at Jack, gauging his partner's interest in the conversation. Jack was too busy leering at a pretty blonde farther down the counter. Tyler shrugged and turned back to Miranda, “A thousand will do.”

  “How would you like it in bills?”

  Tyler almost said 'small' to see the look on Miranda's face. Making her count out a thousand ones appealed to the mischievousness side of him. But, judging from her glares and frowns, it wouldn't have been a welcome antic. Realistically, the money was stacked, anyway. “Mixed, please.”

  “One moment, Mr. Ferguson,” Miranda kept her stiff smile affixed to her lips as she pushed away from the counter. As she waltzed back to the safe in the other room, Miranda resisted the urge to glance back. She didn't need to. She knew Tyler watched her sashay away.

  Tyler's leer was broken by Jack's curiosity. “Who's the leggy brunette?”

  “Old high school sweetie,” answered Tyler. He refrained from tossing an irritated glare in Jack's direction, though his tone betrayed his cool.

  “Seriously?” For the second time, Jack's voice lilted with incredulity.

  Tyler grunted with a slight nod. He wasn't sure if he should be flattered or annoyed by Jack's tone. He decided to simply ignore it for the time being.

  Jack didn't notice – or didn't care – about Tyler's pinched expression. He motioned wit his head farther down the counter. “What about blondie?”

  “The one you've been ogling?” Tyler gave the woman a sidelong glance. She was pretty, that was for sure. A blonde bombshell with full lips and a knack for – what Tyler assumed – being fashionable. Her face, though, didn't register under Tyler's synapses. “Don't know her.”

  Jack nodded with satisfaction. “Good, I don't like seconds.”

  Tyler raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice, “We haven't been in town for five minutes and you're already looking to get your dick wet?”

  Jack shrugged, his lips tilting into a cockeyed smirk. “Hey, at least I wasn't drooling over a former flame.”

  Miranda returned with a stack of mixed bills in her hands before Tyler could answer Jack. She counted down from one thousand. By the time she was finished, there was one neat pile of hundred dollar bills, another for fifties, and one for twenties. From under the counter, Miranda pulled out a discreet paper bag, carefully placing the money inside. Tyler watched her throughout the whole process. The way her long fingers handled the money and her graceful movements brought memories flooding back to his forebrain.

  Her crisp voice cut through his musings, “Here you go, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “Thanks, Mir.” Tyler smiled as he grabbed the bag from her fingers.

  Briefly, their fingertips touched and electricity ran up Miranda's arm. She pulled her hand away a little too quickly. Her mind, however, was still set to work mode. “Can I do anything else for you, sir?”

  Oh, Tyler could think of a few things – especially after the tingles raced along his arm. His lips twisted into a grin and, from the way Miranda pinked, she knew what was on his mind. He leaned on the counter, nudging his sunglasses onto his head. Miranda's heart thundered in her chest. Tyler's eyes always got to her. His warm brown eyes,
coupled with his freckles and the erratic red curls. Of course, he had changed. Gone were the curls, in favor of a more masculine, spiky cut. Age had broadened his shoulders and faded the freckles, but they were still there.

  “Actually, Mir, want to catch up later?”

  Miranda nearly flinched. She knew what 'catching up' was. She had 'caught up' with other exes in the past. A few hours later, they dropped off the face of the earth. Miranda drew her gaze away from Tyler's eyes and bit her bottom lip. She didn't want to go through another heartache after Nate. Plus, she couldn't ignore the biker gang vest Tyler was wearing. Memories flitted through her head, stabbing deep into her chest. Quietly, Miranda muttered, “No, I really shouldn't, Tyler.”

  Shock pushed him away from the counter. He really hadn't expected Miranda to shoot him down. Then again, she had no reason to agree. Her family hated him and, quite frankly, he had no right to come barging back into her life. A pang of guilt shot through Tyler's thoughts. After pushing his sunglasses back in place, hiding his disappointment and surprise, he muttered, “Well, I'll just go then. Good seeing you.”