Scarlett Cole’s (writing as S. Cole) is introducing us this week to the new Colorado chapter of the Iron Outlaws, and I have an excerpt for you from the first book in this electrifying new MC series—a grumpy/sunshine, widowed hero romance. Get ready to see some familiar faces but also to meet a brand new lot of cowboy bikers!
Excerpt
“Boys,” Margie says when a group of men, who must be friends with Wraith, enter the diner three days later.
They’re dressed similar to Wraith. Heavy denim. Leather. Big, thick-soled boots. From those leather vest things they wear, I see their names are Butcher, Grudge, and Smoke. Makes me wonder where those names come from, because I’m not sure whether Butcher is literal or metaphorical.
Oh, or a butcher of his enemies.
My thought makes me shiver.
“Morning, Margie,” Butcher says. The man has thick salt-and-pepper hair and shrewd eyes. His skin has the tan of a man who spent the whole summer outdoors.
I’m finally back on my feet after the bug I picked up knocked me on my ass. Thank God it was the weekend, so I didn’t have to get Fen to kindergarten.
The second day, Margie appeared at my door with more food supplies and the offer to take Fen out for a walk to the park. While I had a momentary freakout about letting Fen go off with someone who is still technically a stranger, I felt like my employer, who owns a diner and has a biker son, wouldn’t kill my kid and bury him in the undergrowth.
“Raven, can you grab the boys some coffee?” Margie asks.
Instead of asking how they take it, I pour three large mugs and provide a bowl of small creamer containers.
Loud voices break my concentration, and I see the bikers drag two customers from the booth Wraith sat at the other day.
“Find some other fucking place to sit,” Smoke says. He has pale gray eyes that match his moniker, with a lean but muscular frame. He wears a denim shirt beneath his leather vest.
Margie quickly hustles the two men to another booth and tells them their drinks will be on the house.
I can’t decide if the two customers fearfully accommodate these men or respect them. And I’ve seen what happens when men like this are crossed.
So, I’ll play nice. Well, maybe, nice enough.
Enough that I don’t make trouble for myself or Fen, but not so much that I get sucked into their vortex.
I grab the three mugs and place them on the table. “There you go. Can I get you guys any food?”
“We got one more coming, sweetheart.” The third man, Grudge, has colorful ink up the sides of his neck. I can see from his undercut that the tattoos go up onto his skull. It reminds me of a stained-glass window, but I can’t make out the image.
Smoke’s hand slips around my waist. “But you could come sit with us for a minute until he gets here.”
I pick becoming a statue out of the freeze, flight, or fight triumvirate.
“Get your hands off her.” The gruff voice behind me is now familiar.
Smoke’s hand tightens on my waist. “You calling dibs, Wraith?”
I look over my shoulder to Wraith. Looks like he just took a shower. Wet hair lies in tight spirals on his shoulders. His scruff is neatly trimmed, and he smells better than he has any right to.
He confuses me. I lay in bed thinking about how he cared for me when I was sick. How Fen was excited because of the way Wraith cut his lasagna. The actions all seem out of character, and yet…I have to admit, I barely know the man to know what’s in character or not.
What I do know is that he stirs something in me, even as his world scares me.
“Not calling anything. But she works for Ma and has a kid, and the look on her face tells me your fucking hand on her waist is unwanted. So, unless you want me to break the fucker, you’ll move your hand.”
Smoke grins as he releases me.
“Say sorry to Raven for putting your hands on her in her workplace,” Wraith says.
“It’s fine,” I say, but there is a betraying waver to my voice. “We’re good.”
“She says we’re good,” Smoke says. “Sit your grumpy ass down, Sarg.”
“Apologize.” There is no room for misunderstanding in Wraith’s tone.
Smoke looks at me. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
“Umm. It’s okay. Thank you.”
I turn to face Wraith, who is studying me curiously. “You should have taken another day off,” he says.
“If you can find me a job that pays me for not showing up, I’ll gladly take it. Now, are you going to sit and order, or should I give you all another five minutes?”
Butcher laughs. “Okay. Quit it, the pair of you. Wraith, do as the woman says and sit your ass down. And you”—he points right at me—“watch your mouth when you’re talking to one of my men.”
“Five minutes it is,” I say, and turn from the table.
“Stop her,” Butcher says to my retreating back.
A hand clamps around my wrist, and this time it’s Wraith. His grip is firm, but not so it hurts.
“I’ll give you a pass because you’re obviously new here,” Butcher says to me when I face the table again. “I ever walk in here, you clear this spot for me. If I talk to you, you most definitely don’t turn your fucking back on me. And you ever give me sarcasm like that again, I’ll get you fired from this job and make you unemployable in this town. Understood?”
I nod. Icy terror fills my veins that any words I might say next will inflame the situation.
“Everything alright over here?” Margie asks, hustling in front of me, pushing me ever so gently back.
I glance at Wraith, who looks over to Butcher before he tips his chin the tiniest fraction of a movement toward the storeroom. Hoping the gesture means what I thought it did, I step away.
Each step performed gingerly, with Wraith’s eyes on me.
Slowly.
So as not to attract attention.
And that makes my mind up. I need to quit this town.
As soon as I make payday. I’m not running out on the money I earned already. And with the paycheck, I’ll be able to open my own bank account and afford somewhere a little nicer for Fen and me.
But I’ll be ready. I won’t unpack or attempt to make where we are any more of a home beyond keeping it clean and organized.
As soon as the money hits my account, we’ll run. I can’t escape one illegal enterprise for another.
Margie hurries into the storeroom. “Butcher didn’t mean no harm by it.”
Flight, fight, or freeze turns into verbal diarrhea. “He meant every word, Margie. You can see who these men are, surely. They could crack my skull as soon as look at me. All I did was my job. I got groped by a man I don’t know and treated to a lecture by a man named Butcher. Butcher! A name I’m sure he didn’t get because of the ways he could cut up a cow carcass.”
Margie’s face changes. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
“Two minutes for what? I don’t need a…”
When I turn to where she’s looking, Wraith stands leaning against the door frame.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
“Ma,” he says when Margie passes him.
My heart thuds oddly in my chest, as though it’s lost its rhythm.
“Axel.” She pats his shoulder. “Be nice.”
Axel. I wonder if that’s his real name. It humanizes him a little to know it, but I’m no less afraid.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I wouldn’t have said those things if I knew you were standing there.”
I see the corner of Wraith’s mouth twitch for the second time. It’s almost like he’s forgotten how to smile. “But you meant them, right?”
“Is my life safer if I lie or tell the truth?” I ask the question to break the tension, but also because I need to understand the rules.
He huffs and folds his arms. “Do you know how to stay out of trouble?”
“I think maybe living somewhere other than here would be a good start.”
Wraith’s eyes trail lazily down my body. It’s in complete contrast to the disdain on the rest of his face. “Not sure the location is the problem.”
“I just need somewhere I can raise Fen quietly and without any fuss. I didn’t mean any disrespect by it.”
He pushes off the door frame and walks up to me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. There must be at least twelve inches between us. Maybe more. I was the shortest in a short family. “See. Here’s the thing. You have to admit there was an issue to be able to solve it. Smoke meant no harm by putting his hand on you. It was playful. But you not telling him you were uncomfortable meant I had to step in and threaten to break my brother’s hand.”
I shake my head. “And if I’d told him to get his hands off me, what would Smoke have done? Butcher have done? And Smudge…Budge…no, Grudge have done?”
“Smudge?” Wraith says before breaking out into laughter. “Fucking Budge.”
“I’m being serious.”
Wraith manages to school his face, and I immediately miss the way his whole face changed with laughter. The way his eyes seemed bluer and how the laughter lines went right up to the corners of them. It strikes me he doesn’t have too many reasons to smile.
He looked handsome, became a man I’d look twice at. For a moment, I wonder what life has done to him to make his laughter so rare.
He runs a hand over his face. “Sorry. That was fucking funny, though. I’m gonna call him both those names again on occasion. And to answer your question, Smoke would have done whatever he wanted. And Butcher would have done whatever he wanted.”
“Wow. That’s helpful and so twenty-first century of you. Thanks, Wraith.”
Wraith blows out a breath, but puts his thumb on my lower lip, brushing it gently.
“You just need to be a good girl, Raven. You think you can do that for me?”
Everything in me melts, and I feel like such a pushover. I want to tell him that, yes, I can be a good girl. But it conflicts with wanting to stand my ground.
Wraith’s eyes leave mine and glance to his right bicep. My hand grips him tightly, and I have no idea when I did that.
I snatch my hand away and try to step back, but he preempts the move, pinching my lip tightly between his finger and thumb.
“Ah, ah, ah. See, that wasn’t respectful. Was it?” He tugs me closer and lowers his head, so his lips are a hair’s breadth away from mine. Where his cologne smells even better, and his warmth reaches me.
I shove at his chest, suddenly worried for my safety.
He releases my lip immediately. “If you don’t want the attention, dial it down. Braid that fucking hair of yours. Baggier jeans, looser top. Let Margie deal with any bikers who come in here. I’ll tell her to keep you away.”
“I can do my job if you all adapt your behavior a little. I should be able to dress how I like. I don’t deserve to be groped in the workplace. Not by Smoke and not by you. And to be fair, you were the one who started it, acting all caveman, and ‘get your hands off her before I break it.’”
“Wasn’t doing it for you, little Blue. I was doing it for Smoke, so you didn’t haul him in front of some judge saying he assaulted you.”
I shake my head. “Why are you even back here?”
“Been asking myself the same question for the last five minutes.”
We stand almost toe-to-toe, our eyes locked together, an air of expectancy hanging between the two of us. I need to move, but don’t want to.
Maybe I can’t.
Wraith turns me around and scoops his hands under my hair.
“What are you—?”
“Helping you blend in.” Gently, with deft movements, he braids my hair.
The storeroom is off the kitchen, and while we can still hear the sounds of Floyd cooking and diners chatting, it’s muted. I feel every swish of my hair and brush of his fingers against my neck.
I shiver at the touch, and swear that even in the dim storeroom light, he must be able to see the goose bumps forming on my skin.
As I look over my shoulder, he fishes around in the top pocket of his cut with two fingers and drags out an elastic. He makes short work of wrapping it around the end of my hair, then fists the braid around his hand before putting his lips close to my ear.
“Your face is growing on me. So, take care of it, yeah?”
And with that, he lets me go and leaves our strange encounter.
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