Wicked Edge by Rebecca Zanetti
This one’s for Big Tone,
because for our first date,
he took me on a motorcycle ride
to visit my Nana.
I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have many people to thank for help in getting this second Wicked book to readers, and I sincerely apologize to anyone I’ve forgotten;
Thank you to the readers who’ve followed the Dark Protectors into the Wicked Realm, and thanks for understanding that I make up places and people in my books (the island isn’t real in this one, gang);
Thank you to Big Tone for giving me tons to write about and for being supportive from the very first time I sat down to write. Thanks also to Gabe and Karlina for being such awesome kids and for making life so much fun;
Thank you to my talented agents, Caitlin Blasdell and Liza Dawson, who have been with me from the first book and who have supported, guided, and protected me in this wild industry;
Thank you to my amazing editor, Alicia Condon, who is unflappable, willing to take a risk, and is always a wonderful sounding board;
Thank you to the Kensington gang: Steven Zacharius, Adam Zacharius, Alexandra Nicolajsen, Vida Engstrand, Michelle Forde, Jane Nutter, Justine Willis, Lauren Jernigan, Fiona Jayde, and Arthur Maisel;
And thanks also to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don West, Brandie and Mike Chapman, Jessica and Jonah Namson, and Kathy and Herb Zanetti.
Chapter 1
Daire Dunne swung his leg over his Harley, disembarking and biting back a growl. Music and boisterous voices spilled out the open doorway to the club’s main bar area, and the stench of beer permeated the center concrete courtyard.
Another bloody party at Titans of Fire Motorcycle Club.
He’d spent most of the evening at the Grizzly MC headquarters, quietly drinking aged whiskey and playing poker with several friends, who were supposed to be his enemies. He’d had enough of the potent brew to be feeling nicely mellow, but with his metabolism, the feeling wouldn’t last long. Especially since he’d had to return to Fire, pretending to be a full member.
Enough of this undercover shit.
He rolled his neck and erased his normal pissed-off expression, stalking inside the room heated with too many bodies and alcohol fumes. Maybe he could get a couple of Fire members to finally loosen up and give him the Intel he needed. Spilled booze squished beneath his size fourteen boots, and he felt the scowl forming on his face again.
He scoured the disorganized array of bar tables, stools, and drunks, his gaze hitching on a woman across the room, moving on, and then zooming back in.
Fucking stunning. Long, nearly white-blond hair, deep blue eyes, bone structure masterfully crafted by the gods on a seriously good day. She sat on a stool across a round wooden table, a low-cut black T-shirt revealing high breasts—pushed up and surprisingly full from what could only be described as a petite bone structure.
Her gaze met his and traveled from his head to his boots . . . and then back again. Her pink lips twitched and spread into a smile.
It was the smile that did it. Sweet and filled with challenge, which was a combination he’d never been able to ignore.
He didn’t need to deal with a human female right now, especially one who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, while he’d lived for more than three centuries. Even so, his boots kicked into motion and he moved through the crush of bodies toward her.
A couple of club members greeted him, and more than one scantily clad female tried to halt his progress, but he arrived at her table soon enough.
Young and typically angry, a new club prospect sat across from her, generously pouring tequila into lined-up shot glasses and spilling onto the knife-scratched table. The kid’s name was Grad, because supposedly he’d graduated from college the year before. He stiffened when Daire walked up.