“Don’t call me that! We’re done talking.”

Train felt his hands clench into fists. Just like every other time he tried to talk to her, it had ended up in an argument. Just once, he wished the funny, sexy woman who had gone for a ride with him would show again. He wanted to see the woman who had brazenly tried to ride his bike, who didn’t have a shy bone in her body, and who was the one who had made the first move between them, igniting a fire that hadn’t been put out since that day.

“Yes, we are,” he growled.

Before he could change his mind, Train pinned her to the hood, thinking, Damn! It couldn’t feel as good as the last time I kissed her. However, when his tongue entered her mouth, he had to admit he had been mistaken. It was even better.

“You have exactly two seconds to get your hands off my bitch,” Sex Piston snarled at the exact moment he felt cold steel pressed against the back of his head.

Lingering, he released her lips, yet whispered against them, “We’re not done.” He then held a soft kiss against her lips for an infinite second.

She pushed him away. “Yes, we are.”

In another second, he was surrounded by women who could make any dick shrivel. That’s when Train noticed Rider, who was a scared little bitch, hadn’t volunteered to have his back.

Train stepped up to the truck. “I’ll see you in three months. Don’t forget me.”

“Dude, you’re already a memory,” Killyama said as she turned away.

After shutting the door, Train rolled down the window. “Don’t worry; I’ll remind you when I see you again.”

Before she or any one of the other bitches could say anything else, he hit the door as Rider drove away, the wind blowing strands of hair into his face.

“You do know that was a loaded pistol pointed at you, right?”

“Killyama wouldn’t have let her kill me.”

Rider shook his head at him.

“Don’t worry,” Train assured. “I’m not stupid enough to underestimate her or those friends of hers.”

“Really?” Rider spared him a glance as he drove onto the interstate. “Then tell me something.”

“What?” Train pulled a rubber band out of his pocket before dragging his hair behind his head.

“How did Killyama know you were going on a flight?”

1

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Killyama swung her legs off the side of the hospital bed. Swaying, she grabbed the handrail to keep herself from taking a nose dive toward the floor.

“Lay your ass back down.” Sex Piston lifted her feet back onto the bed.

“I want to go home,” Killyama complained, laying her head down on the pillow and closing her eyes. She had to fight back the dizziness, taking deep breaths to calm the nausea that had her gut in a vice grip.

“What’s the damn hurry?” Sex Piston slid the handrail up, preventing her from trying to get out of bed again. “You only got out of surgery five hours ago; the doctor won’t release you for another couple of days.”

“I’m not asking for his permission. I want to get out here before …” Killyama looked toward the doorway as the door opened after a brief knock.

The reason she had been trying to get away walked through the door behind Lucky.

Crowding into the small room, the two men ignored the women huddled around her bed. Her friends hadn’t left her side since they had met the ambulance at the Jamestown Hospital after she had been shot trying to save The Last Riders’ president’s wife.

Winter had gone into labor during a home invasion that had only one objective: to kill Winter and Viper. Anyone else who had thwarted that goal was simply collateral damage. Raul Silva had a score to settle with The Last Riders and the Destructors after putting an end to his cartel’s tyranny in a small town over the Mexican border.

Lucky came to stand at the foot of her bed as Train leaned against the wall underneath the small television set mounted high on the wall.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m still breathing.” Killyama focused on Lucky, ignoring Train as if he weren’t even in the room.

It wasn’t easy ignoring him since the biker was tall, even with his frame leaning against the wall. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, legs braced apart, and his muscular forearms showed under the black jacket he had pushed up to his elbows. His skin was dark, hinting a Native-American heritage, with high cheekbones and a sensual mouth. He had a sex appeal that could hit a woman any time he entered a room, and the fucker knew it.

“I can see that.” Lucky’s lips twisted in humor. “Stud called when you came out of surgery and said the doctor didn’t think there wouldn’t be any lasting damage.”

“I heard that Viper’s kid isn’t doing well.”

Lucky’s humor vanished. “No, she isn’t. That’s why I’m here and not Viper. He wants me, as vice president, to extend our gratitude to you and Sex Piston on his behalf.”

“Well, aren’t you being all fancy talking.” She looked away from the two men’s gazes, not wanting them to see how concerned she was for Winter and the baby’s condition.

Everyone who knew her thought she didn’t have a soft bone in her body. She hated soft-spoken bitches who could cry at the drop of a hat. Killyama prided herself on holding her own, no matter what she was up against. She had no intention of dropping her heartless façade in front of these two men.

“It’s a serious topic. The Last Riders don’t take what you both did lightly. Anything you want, if it is within our power, we’ll take care of it.”

Sex Piston swung her head toward Lucky. “We’ll call it even. You don’t owe me shit. If Raul had lived, everyone knows that fucker would have come after Stud, Cade, and Fat Louise. Besides, I only held Winter’s hand. Killyama is the reason we got out alive.”

Killyama averted her eyes from Sex Piston. If the bitch got mushy in front of the men, she would bitch slap her, right after she hugged her.

Lucky nodded at Sex Piston, and then turned toward Killyama. “How about you? You need a new ride? That car you drive is a piece of crap. The muffler is held on with a zip-tie.”

“Don’t need a car,” Killyama refused. She could tell from Train’s stiffening stance he had expected her to jump on the chance of getting rid of the car. “It’s a classic. Just because it’s old doesn’t mean I need to get rid of it.”

“Take your time. Let me know when you decide—”

“Believe me; I will.” Killyama sat up straight, almost laughing at the trepidation on both of their faces. “Scared, Train? Afraid I’ll ask for another ride?”

“You want another ride, then all you have to do is ask.” His indifferent shrug took all the fun out of baiting him. “I think saving Winter’s life is worth more than a bike ride.”

Unable to bite back the hateful words spilling out of her mouth, she caustically replied, “I agree, especially not one from you. From what I remember, a ride from you wasn’t that great.”

Red stole up from the neck of his T-shirt.