The roadside bar reeked of cheap whiskey, spilled beer and bad judgment but Zoe Delacourte wasn’t about to turn tail and run even though her knees were practically knocking together like two castanets in the hands of a Spanish dancer.
This was her chance, her big break, her opportunity to show her editor that she could deliver the real deal, a solid story the readers wanted to read about.
Maybe even a Pulitzer.
Okay, maybe not a Pulitzer but this was some serious journalism and she had chops to prove.
Okay, so technically, no one knew she was doing this but all the more reason to make it count.
Fortune favored the bold, or so they say. Time to put that saying to the test.
Where others saw a one-way ticket to the morgue, she saw a golden opportunity to finally make her mark.
From her furtive digging she managed to dig up two names: Jax Traeger and Hunter Ericksen.
Bad boys to the core, Jax and Hunter seemed to be running The Kings, a motorcycle club with a shady reputation and an allergy to the law.
But no one said anything about them being hot as sin with an eye for curvy, naive girls who have gotten in over their head.
Oh, Zoe, what have you gotten yourself into this time?