I stole from the wrong motorcycle club.
They didn’t shout. That was the frightening part. They took me four hundred miles north and put me in a room and told me my choices, and every one of them ended with a man deciding what I was worth.
Then their road captain raised his hand.
Silas Loveless can talk a dog off a meat truck. He has never told the whole truth in a single sentence in his life. And I’m going to wear his name like a leash until the debt is paid.
Here’s the problem. I can’t read him. He can’t work me. Two professional liars, invisible to each other, sharing a van and a certificate and one very bad idea about a lake house in Colorado.
I know exactly what he is.
So why is he the only person I’ve never wanted to lie to?
