Dark Riders 3

Zane

Tension builds among the Dark Riders when doubt begins to creep into everyone's

mind. It started out as playful teasing. Zane wanted to rattle Detective Jack Tate. Marking
the detective was a way to get into the man's mind to find out what the cop knew. What
Zane hadn't expected was to lose a part of his soul.

Detective Jack Tate has a hard-on for the Dark Riders. He wants them out of

Paradise City. But when Zane shows up at a crime scene, telling Tate that they need to talk,
things take a turn down a road Tate was not prepared to travel.

Someone is out to destroy not only Zane, but Tate as well. Tate's partner is

determined to end what Zane and Tate have, by any means necessary. Can Tate and Zane
survive long enough to explore their fiery romance, or will the overwhelming obstacles
become too much?

Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary, Paranormal,

Vampires/Werewolves

Length: 37,830 words

ZANE

Dark Riders 3

Lynn Hagen

EVERLASTING CLASSIC

MANLOVE

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic ManLove

ZANE

Copyright © 2014 by Lynn Hagen

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-529-3

First E-book Publication: April 2014

Cover design by Emma Nicole

All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or

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Table of Contents

Title Page Copyright Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter
Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen About the Author

ZANE

Dark Riders 3

LYNN HAGEN

Copyright © 2014

Chapter One

Zane cursed when he glanced through the dark visor of his helmet and saw flashing

lights in the side mirror of his Ducati. It wasn’t a black-and-white cop car, but a
puke-brown Crown Vic. Which meant it could only be one person.

Detective Jack Tate.

Pulling to the side of the road, Zane removed his helmet and placed it on his lap.

The vice car pulled in behind him—a little too closely in his opinion. If the son of a bitch
scratched Zane’s bike, he was going to bite the man.

Detective Jackass—the name Jake had given the cop—got out of his car, walking

over to Zane in slow, sure strides. It looked like he was dressed casually today. There was
no rumpled suit or unkempt dress shirt. The guy was wearing jeans that hugged his body
nicely and a dark T-shirt that showed off a toned-looking chest.

Zane’s eyes ran the length of the man, a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth.

“Problem, Detective?”

“You were going ninety in a fifty-five zone.” The guy flashed his badge, as if Zane

didn’t know who he was already. Fuck he was sexy…intense…Zane had an urge to bite.

Broad shoulders filled his line of sight, and Zane’s eyes traveled over the man’s

thick chest, nicely shaped biceps, and the fuzz on the man’s jaw. He was glad his helmet
was sitting on his lap or the detective would have seen just how much he affected Zane.

“I wasn’t aware detectives did routine traffic stops.” Tate was staring a little too

hard at Zane, like the guy was trying to figure something out. He had knowledge in his
eyes. About what, Zane wasn’t sure.

“Don’t screw with me, Zane,” Tate warned in a deep, gruff voice that held the

thickness of a growl. The sound turned Zane on, making his nuts draw close to his body. “I
could haul you in for going that far over the speed limit.”

“Just itching to get something on me,” Zane teased, not really worried about being

taken in for speeding. He could beat that charge with no problem. “I have a few ideas about
what you could get on me, but we’d have to be naked first.”

Tate did not look amused. Zane had never gone through so much trouble to flirt

with someone before and was starting to wonder about his sanity. He wasn’t even sure why
he was putting forth this much effort. The cop was clearly not interested in him. Zane was
beginning to think that maybe it was the challenge that kept him fired up when Tate was
near.

It had also been forever since anyone had sparked Zane’s interest. Unfortunately,

Jack Tate was a tough nut to crack. He could feel the anger rolling off of the guy, and that
only charged Zane’s blood even more. I really am psychotic for enjoying this.

“Give me your driver’s license.” Tate held his hand out, giving Zane an expression

that said the cop was itching for him to argue. Zane slowly reached into his leather and
pulled his wallet free. He opened the wallet and slipped the card out, handing it over.

“Don’t even think about taking off,” Tate snarled as he snatched the ID from Zane’s

hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweet cheeks.”

With a grunt, Tate walked back to his car, slid inside, and radioed in Zane’s

information. The only legit thing on the card was Zane’s name. There was no way he could
put his real birthdate on there, and no one had his current address. That was just asking for
trouble.

He heard the squawk of the radio as Tate spoke. Being a wolf shifter, Zane’s

hearing was dead accurate, the range far surpassing any human’s capacity for hearing. He
smirked when Tate cursed. The dispatcher had come back and told Tate that Zane had no
priors or warrants.

He didn’t even have a traffic ticket. But that just might change if the Tate wanted to

be hard-nosed. Tate got out of the car at the same time that Zane removed his leather
gloves.

He was up to no good and really should behave. But Zane had never been any good

at behaving. He liked living on the edge, flirting with danger, and pushing the limits. Tate
walked back over to him, his eyes still gazing over Zane as if he were trying to figure
something out.

The cop handed Zane back his ID, and Zane nicked the guy with the tip of a claw

that he’d let slide out a fraction of an inch.

“What the hell!” Tate pulled his hand back, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Zane

and then looked down at the small nick. There was a tiny bead of blood on the backside of
his hand, nothing major. “I could arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”

Zane was getting tired of this song and dance. Didn’t the guy have a happy button?

He probably did, but he wasn’t letting Zane anywhere near it. “For what, forgetting to trim
my nails? My bad.”

Stepping closer, Tate snarled, “I don’t like you. You’re nothing but a punk who

thinks he can break the law just as long as he doesn’t get caught, darling.”

Zane froze. It wasn’t so much that Tate had called him darling, as it was the way he

had said it, like he knew about the creatures that preyed on unsuspecting humans. A
Darling’s bite was so painful that the victim writhed in agony for hours. They were nasty,
foul creatures who needed to be wiped off the face of the earth.

Humans fantasized about vampires, a myth based on the Darlings, but had no

concrete proof the creatures even existed. Tate shouldn’t know them by their true
identity—their real name.

Shouldn’t. But given the way he had hinted at the word, Zane had a feeling Tate

was privy to that information. That had to be the reason for the strange look. Was the guy
fishing for info or did he already know about Darlings? Zane played his hand smoothly, not
letting on that he had caught the hint. “Oh, now we’re going with endearments, buttercup?”

He should just take his license and leave, but…fuck him, he couldn’t help teasing

the man. Zane really was certifiable.

The cop stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not your buttercup, sweetheart,

sweet cheeks, love muffin, or any of those other pukish names. I’m Detective Jack Tate and
you will remember that by the time I’m done with you.”

The guy was making this too easy. Zane bit his lower lip, forcing himself not to

reply to that salacious comment. It was lewd for him, at least. “Yes, sir.” He purred the
words.

Tate’s lip curled back before he shoved a finger at Zane. Zane still wanted to bite

the man. “Slow down or I’ll run you in.”

Zane winked and blew a kiss at the cop. “Keep talking like that and I might get the

impression that you like me.”

The detective snorted. “In your dreams, punk.”

Zane smiled. Oh, he planned on being in Tate’s dreams. He had marked the guy. He

still wasn’t sure why, but now he would have a connection to the cop, the ability to get
inside the man’s head. Because Detective Jack Tate was definitely already in Zane’s. He
couldn’t stop thinking about Tate and it was driving him nuts to always have the guy on the
brain.

“Keep talking shit and I will haul you in for speeding.” Tate rested his hand on the

butt of his gun, making Zane watch him a little more closely. He’d only had one or two
run-ins with the guy, so he didn’t know him all that well. Word on the street said that Tate
was a tough SOB who didn’t let up until he had his perp. There was more than one guy
who would love to put a bullet in Tate’s head.

“Shouldn’t you pat me down first?” Zane moved his helmet aside to reveal the hard

outline in his jeans. “I promise you’ll find something you’ll need both hands for.”

“Can’t take no for an answer, can you?” Tate looked like he was getting worked up.

Zane hadn’t meant to turn this into anything other than a good time. It was just him and the
cop on this back road and he would really hate to have to hurt the bastard. Zane was much
larger than Tate, towering over the man. But he had to give it to the human. Tate showed no
fear.

The guy seemed as hard as one could get. But so was Zane, although his hardness

was more south than anything else right now.

“For your information, I’m not gay,” Tate said. “So stop with the flirting and

kissing, asshole.”

Zane gave the man a wicked grin, winking at the cop. “One night with me and

you’ll be the grand marshal leading the rainbow parade, sweet cheeks.”

Tate made that grunting noise again and Zane honestly hoped the man was lying to

him. Sweet cheeks was just too handsome not to be gay. It would be a waste of a good man
if he wasn’t.

“You’re full of yourself. I bet you pull that line on every guy you try to lay.”

Zane flexed his fingers, feeling his body tense. He narrowed his eyes at Tate,

resenting the fact that he was calling Zane a shallow man. “I don’t flirt with every man I
meet and I don’t sleep with every guy either. When I set my sights on someone, he
becomes the most important person to me.”

“Until the sun comes up.”

He had Zane there. He couldn’t argue with the truth. Zane went after his men with

finesse, slowly pulling them into a web of fucking and having a good time, but he never
stuck around after first light. No guy had interested him enough to make him want a
commitment. He chose his lovers carefully and was a very sensual and giving bedmate, yet
no one had satisfied the part of Zane that was missing.

“And you just probably grunt your way through sex, turning over and going to sleep

afterward.” Zane curled his lip back. “You look the type.”

“You’ll never find out.” Tate began to walk back to his car. Zane’s eyes stayed

glued on the man’s backside, his cock growing thicker as he imaged what it would be like
to slip his dick between those well-rounded globes.

No matter what Tate said, Zane was going to find out.

* * * *

It had been on the tip of Tate’s tongue to ask Zane about wolf shifters. He was still

reeling from the recording he had heard in which Lonnie—one of the owners of
Andromeda Tattoo and Piercing—had confessed to having been converted into one of those
things. Tate had run down every lead he could think of and he’d still come up empty
handed.

If wolf shifters really existed, then they hid their secret well. And he still had no

answers when it came to Darlings. He wasn’t even sure if that reference meant anything,
but Tate wasn’t giving up.

Rubbing his hand where Zane had nicked him, Tate watched as the guy pulled away

from the side of the road. The dumbass was going to kill himself on that crotch rocket. Not
that Tate cared, but he didn’t feel like filling out the paperwork when the guy became
roadkill.

“I’m not giving up. The Dark Riders are going down. I don’t care how long it

takes.” Starting his car, Tate pulled back onto the road and drove toward the Upper West
Side of Paradise City. He had a lead on the Vincent Hullender case that he needed to check
out.

Too bad Bandit had been fired from Andromeda. The guy had been Tate’s

informant. Tate had thought Bandit useless, not giving him very much, until he had handed
over that tape.

But what good was the tape if Tate didn’t know what to do with it? He hadn’t even

told his partner Ames what he had learned. It was just too insanely farfetched. There were
some days when Tate thought he was losing his touch. It had never taken him this long to

find dirt on anyone, yet the Dark Riders kept coming out squeaky clean.

They were good.

But Tate was better. It was just going to take time. He believed in doing things the

legal way and wasn’t into setting people up. Karma was a bitch when it came back to bite,
and his luck was already on the wrong side of the coin. What had disturbed him the most
was how much he really had enjoyed Zane’s flirting. He had lied to the guy, saying he
wasn’t gay only to throw the man off, but truth be told, Zane was the hottest thing on two
legs.

But you can’t be attracted to the man you want to put behind bars.

The question was, jail bars or kennel bars? Was Zane one of those wolf shifter

things? Tate had tried to find something in the guy’s face, anything that might give him a
clue. But all he had seen were gorgeous eyes, masculine features, and goddamn if the guy
hadn’t smelled good.

“Missed my turn,” Tate grumbled, pulling himself from his thoughts as he slowed

and then busted a U-turn. Even now, when the guy was nowhere around, Tate was
distracted by thoughts of the enigmatic man. He needed to get his head back in the game.

He wasn’t even sure why he had stopped Zane in the first place. The guy had been

right. Tate didn’t do routine traffic stops. He wasn’t running the beat anymore. But
something had made him hit the lights and siren.

Tate didn’t even want to think too hard about the whys of the situation. He knew he

wouldn’t like the answers. Zane was one of the biggest guys Tate had run into in a long
while—aside from Santos and Emilio Alverez. But Zane wasn’t a jerk about his size, just
flirtatious as a mofo. It bothered Tate that he wasn’t turned off by the guy’s boldness.

Pulling his Crown Vic in front of the deli on Sycamore Street, Tate parked the car

and looked over at the graffiti-riddled building across the street. It wasn’t the best of places,
but he’d seen worse. Someone had called in and said they had a tip about the murder of
Vincent Hullender—the guy who had been found dead in Garrett Grissom’s apartment.
This was the address the informant had given.

Tate was in gangbanger territory and needed to watch his back. He wasn’t sure how

much this Marcus Keiffer knew, but it was worth checking out. Tate was tired of getting
nowhere on this case.

Getting out of the car, he scanned the area before crossing the street. Tate kept his

hand loose by his side piece, ready for anything someone might try to pull. Cops were not
welcome in this part of town. But Tate had no problem going places where people loved to
skin pigs. He wasn’t a badass without fear, just a determined detective with a set of brass
balls.

The few people who were out at this time of the morning glanced his way, but said

nothing. After taking the stairwell up to the second floor, Jack knocked on the door. He
could hear loud music coming from down the hall. Latin maybe. The hallway smelled like
many people were cooking at once, the combination creating a unique scent. Not bad,
just…unique. It was a scent not unlike that of many apartment buildings in the area. Some
of the walls were written on, gang signs and tags.

The vomit-green metal door he’d been knocking on swung open and Tate found

himself staring at a huge-ass man. The guy had to be close to six five and weigh in around
three fifty. Tate’s fingers unsnapped the leather strap over his gun when Lumberjack Bill
leaned in, inhaling deeply before his eyes transformed from ordinary blue to a blue that
held a tint of red.

What. The. Fuck?

“You smell good.” The guy’s tone almost purred with pleasure. “I see you were

marked.”

Jack had no freaking idea what the man was talking about, but he had no qualms

about shooting the son of a bitch if he came any closer. “Are you Marcus Keiffer?”

The man licked his lower lip and that was when Tate saw the sharp teeth. “Why

don’t you come in so we can talk?”

Tate took a step back as he curled his lip in disgust. Even this early in the morning,

the hallways were dimly lit by dirty, globe-covered lights. None of these neighbors were
the type to come out and help. They’d stay behind their metal doors, listening to whatever
went down, ignoring the chaos. Gotta love the hood.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” Tate flashed his badge with the hand that wasn’t

perched right over his piece. “Detective Tate. You called about some information regarding
Vincent Hullender’s death.”

The guy sniffed deeply, his eyelids fluttering. “You smell like Zane,” he said and

then his eyes snapped to Tate, the irises turning a deep red. “Just one little taste, cop. Zane
owes me that much after he killed my dog business.”

Tate pulled his nine millimeter, aiming at the freak’s head. “Try to bite me and I’ll

bite back with a bullet.”

The man advanced, making Tate take another step back, and then another. Tate was

now teetering at the edge of the stairs. “One more move and I’ll cripple you.”

The guy stilled, hunger deep in his eyes. He looked like he was weighing his

options. Tate was on the wrong side of town to be alone with Lumberjack Bill coming after
him. Easing backward down the steps, he made it to the first landing before the guy rushed
him.

The man tackled him, snapping his teeth close to Tate’s throat. Tate shoved the

palm of his hand into the guy’s jaw, pushing the meaty flesh away. He had no choice. The
man wasn’t giving him one. When sharp teeth snapped at him again, hot breath coming too
close to his jugular, Tate fired his gun.

Lumberjack Bill rolled away, howling in pain as Tate jumped to his feet, racing

down the steps. When he broke through the door downstairs, he ran across the street to his
car. He reached in and grabbed his radio, calling for an ambulance and backup.

Tate had been struggling with what he’d heard on the recorder, wondering if what

Lonnie had said was real.

Now he knew for a fact that Lonnie was telling the truth.

Fuck. Me.

Chapter Two

The following day, Zane was coming out of the Dirty Hole when a fist connected

with his jaw. He stumbled back before getting his bearings and tackling Tate. Dropping the
detective onto the pavement, Zane tussled with the human, trying his best not to hurt the
guy, but pissed that Tate had gotten one off.

“What is your problem?” Zane asked, grabbing the man’s wrists and pinning them

to his sides. Tate bucked, but Zane was just too big to be knocked off so easily. “Is that
your way of flirting with a guy?”

“Marcus Keiffer.” Tate spat the words like they were acid on his tongue. Zane froze

at the familiar name. Marcus was the Darling who had killed Santos’s good friend Ernest,
the owner of the record shop. Marcus was also the guy who had been running an illegal
dog-fighting ring that the Dark Riders had destroyed not too long ago. He was a big fucker
with a chip on his shoulder.

“What about him?”

“You son of a bitch!” Tate swung his legs up and used them to scissor Zane around

his upper body. The cop placed a death lock on him before yanking Zane free. Zane
knocked into a trash can in front of the bar, rolling over some trash before he was back on
his feet again. The cop moved to his hands and feet, getting up swiftly before throwing
another punch. Zane dodged it with ease. “You know him!”

“My knowledge of who he is will depend on the reason you’re so pissed.” Zane

placed his feet into a boxing stance, elbows down and in, hands up. He slapped Tate’s fist
away when the man swung once more. For a human, Tate wasn’t a lightweight. The man
had power behind his punches. Zane’s hand actually hurt.

“How did you mark me?” Tate rolled back his sleeves and loosened his collar.

“What did Marcus mean when he said that you marked me?”

Oh, hells bells. Zane checked the guy over, but knew Tate hadn’t been bitten. If he

had, Tate would be in a world of pain right now, not standing out here on the street trying
to remove Zane’s head from his shoulders. “What happened, cop?”

Tate’s face was still flushed and the corded muscles in his neck were strained as he

abandoned his fighting stance and waved toward his car, gesturing for Zane to get in. Zane
waited until the guy slipped into the driver’s seat before he got in on the passenger’s side.

Tate adjusted his brown, worn jacket, settling in his seat as two punks raced by the

car, shouting profanities at one another. Zane could still hear the crowd at the Dirty
Hole—loud cheers and music floating his way. Tate turned in his seat, his hard eyes dead
serious, knowledgeable, and intelligent. “Tell me what the guy meant or I swear I’ll shoot
you.”

Zane hadn’t expected Tate to run into any Darlings. He had been stupid enough to

believe the cop was safe since he was law enforcement. It bothered the hell out of Zane that
his assumption had nearly cost the guy his life. Resting his arm on the door, Zane ran a
hand over his chin. “First you tell me what happened, and then I’ll answer your question.”

His stomach tightened as he listened. The detective had gone looking for Marcus.

Zane wanted to knock the man on his ass for being so careless. Only a shit for brains went
after a Darling. But how could he be pissed when Tate was ignorant of the nonhuman world
around him?

“You shot him?” Zane asked as his eyes widened.

“What did you think I was going to do, let him eat me? He was one big SOB.”

Tate’s jaw grew hard as he sat there staring at Zane. “Was he a Darling?”

Zane had suspected that Tate knew about the creatures. The question was, should he

tell the truth or lie? Rule number one in staying alive for as long as Zane had—deny
everything. “Was he a what?”

Tate slammed his fist on the dashboard and Zane could see a vein popping on the

side of the guy’s head. “Damn you, Zane! Having that knowledge could save my life. Not
having it nearly got me killed.”

“I don’t owe you shit, cop.” Zane grabbed for the door handle. “You’re trying to

sink me and the Dark Riders. Why should I help you?” He got out and slammed the door,
walking away before he gave into the temptation to go back to the car and kiss the shit out
of Tate.

He was also getting out of there before the guy made Zane tell him what being

marked meant.

Asinine move, Zane. You should have never marked him.

He’d known it was a stupid move when he’d done it. Zane just hadn’t thought of the

consequences concerning Darlings. All he had been focused on was getting into the
detective’s head and finding out what the guy knew—plus possibly making out with the
man in his dreams. Now Zane had to either have sex with Tate or convert him in order to
remove the mark. Either option was going to be a challenge.

I’m not gay so stop with the flirting and kissing, asshole.

Jumping on his motorcycle, Zane took off, zigzagging through the humid streets,

moving around cars and zipping past the city limits. He needed to get to the cabin and lay
low until Tate cooled off. If not, the guy would harass him, and Zane wasn’t going to give
the man any answers. But he did need to let the other Dark Riders know that Tate was
prime meat for the Darlings.

Guilt began to eat at Zane. He couldn’t just leave the cop with his balls hanging out.

Tate was right. Knowledge would keep him alive. But then again, the guy was trying to
find anything he could on the Dark Riders so he could lock them up.

Zane growled at the war waging inside of him. The cop was really starting to get to

him, on a mental level. He cursed and then cursed again as he turned his motorcycle
around. He really should be committed for caring so much about someone who wanted to
sink him.

By the time he made it back to the Dirty Hole, the cop was gone. Fortunately for

Zane, he now had a connection to the guy. Although marking Tate had its drawbacks, it
was about to come in handy. There was a faint, lingering scent where Tate had been parked.
Zane used that to track the cop down.

He finally caught up with him on Howard Street. The Crown Vic was parked in

front of a deli, the car empty. Zane pulled over, a few cars down, watching. Babysitting the
man wasn’t an option he was looking forward to, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice.

“Following me?”

A smirk pulled at Zane’s lips when he heard Tate behind him. He wasn’t sure how

the guy knew he was being tailed. Zane had never been so easily detected before. “I’m still
looking for that kiss, buttercup.”

“The only thing you can kiss is my ass.”

Zane hissed when Tate yanked on his long braid. If they weren’t out in public, he

would take the guy down for pulling such a bold move. “I would advise you not to do that
again.”

“Why are you following me, punk?” Tate sounded ticked off, but he released Zane’s

hair. The guy moved in front of the bike, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Waiting to see
me uncover the truth?”

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on that gorgeous ass of yours.” All Zane

needed was one kiss. At will, wolves could emit a serotonin mixture from their saliva—a
handy thing when trying to calm someone down. Just as long as he didn’t deep throat the
cop, Zane wouldn’t have to worry about putting the guy in a coma.

High doses tended to do that.

Tate pivoted on his heel, heading toward his car. “Stop tailing me before I run you

in for impeding my investigation,” he said over his shoulder.

There was no way in hell Zane could let the man too far out of his sight. Not when

the cop was marked. After waiting until Tate pulled away, Zane started his motorcycle and
followed the scent.

* * * *

As Tate crossed the street to the crime scene, he felt eyes on him and had a sneaking

suspicion that Zane was still tailing him. He’d felt that way all afternoon. Tate had tried his
best to give the man the slip, but Zane was like a dog with a bone. He wasn’t giving up, but
neither was Tate. He was hard-nosed and had been working these streets too long to let
some punk get the upper hand.

“What do we have?” Tate asked the cop standing by the front of the building. He’d

gotten the call about a double homicide but didn’t have the details just yet. The uniform
tucked his thumbs into his duty belt, giving Tate a look that said he didn’t like detectives
being here. It was a uniform who had found the bodies, and Tate assumed they wanted the
credit.

Tate didn’t have time for some rookie to piss all over the sidewalk and mark this

place. “Spill it.”

“Me and my partner got a call ‘bout a domestic dispute.” The uniform shrugged.

“When we got here, they’d offed each other already.”

After going upstairs and checking out the crime scene, Tate knew this wasn’t a

murder-suicide. There was no way in hell that was the case given the shape the bodies were
in. After checking out the scene, Tate headed outside and around the back of the complex.

That wasn’t a normal domestic dispute. Whoever had killed that couple had bitten

them multiple times. They’d looked chewed up. A complaint had been called in right before
the dispute call, complaining of noises from the rear of the building.

Tate felt eyes on his back once more and was pissed that he had been snuck up on

so easily. Tired of Zane’s bullshit games, he pulled his piece and turned. Only it wasn’t
Zane standing behind him. It was Marcus—the guy who had tried to eat him once already.

“We meet again.” An evil grin spread across Marcus’s oversized features before he

grabbed Tate by the throat. Tate tried to lift his gun to shoot the son of a bitch, but Marcus
was fast, wrapping his thick fingers around Tate’s wrist painfully, making him drop his
weapon. It hit the ground with a loud clatter before Marcus leaned in close, baring those
sharp teeth. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Sputtering, Tate slapped at the man’s beefy hands, kicking out at the same time. He

nailed the guy’s nuts, but the bastard didn’t even flinch. Spots started to gather in front of
Tate’s eyes and he thought the streets were finally going to take him out.

That was until Marcus’s head was severed from his shoulders.

The tight grip around his throat relaxed and Tate fell hard onto the concrete.

Suddenly, Lumberjack Bill disintegrated. The guy just turned into a pile of soot at Tate’s
feet.

Game over, but thanks for playing.

Tate looked up. Standing where Marcus had been a second ago was Zane.

“You really shouldn’t be prowling dark corners alone.” His tone was mirthless and

demonic as he twirled a sharp blade in each hand.

Tate massaged his neck, staring up at Zane as if the man were the antichrist. There

was no way a guy could just turn to ashes without being set on fire first. Tate pulled
much-needed air into his lungs, backing away from the Dark Rider who stood there looking
down at him like the angel of death. His eyes were darker than Tate remembered and his
lips were set in a hard, firm line. There was a menacing air about him that hadn’t been there
before.

“You need to go back up front with everyone else.” Zane turned on his heel and

began to walk away. Tate was too stunned to say a word. The man had just saved his life,
but Tate wouldn’t have been attacked if it hadn’t been for Zane marking him.

And he still didn’t know what that meant. He just knew the crazies were after him

now. Marcus wasn’t going to be the only one—not if Marcus’s reaction when scenting Tate
was anything to go by. Tate was pretty damn sure there was more of his kind out there.

Darlings.

Staggering to his feet, Tate made his way to the front of the building. The coroner’s

van had shown up and was hauling the bodies away. Everything seemed normal, a routine
scene, but his eyes were slowly being opened to a whole new world and Tate wasn’t sure he
wanted to see what lay waiting in the dark.

He leaned against his Crown Vic, the coolness of the steel sinking through his jeans

as he let out a long breath. He’d seen some crazy things in his time, but this was over the
top. He had known there was something off about the Dark Riders, but never in his wildest
dreams had he suspected they weren’t human. Tate still had the recording that Bandit had
given him, and the more he encountered Zane, the more he believed the evidence to be true.

“What the hell happened to your throat?” Ames asked after exiting the building, his

blue eyes skimming over Tate’s neck. “It looks like someone wanted to end your life. You
pissing those uniforms off again?”

The stinging burn that was just below the skin returned with Ames’s comment.

Unconsciously, Tate rubbed his neck, remembering how Zane had killed Marcus. He
couldn’t even arrest the guy or fill out a police report. What was he going to say? That
Marcus had his head removed from his shoulders and then disintegrated into a pile of
ashes? Tate would be locked up quicker than he could blink his eyes.

Tate stopped rubbing his neck and began to rub his five o’clock shadow instead,

noticing that the bristly hairs were getting long. He normally didn’t let his facial hair grow
this much, but he’d been hunting down leads and shaving hadn’t been a part of his morning
routine lately.

“I don’t care what they say.” Ames turned toward him after watching the forensic

team vacate the building. “Those deaths weren’t domestic violence. That couple looked
chewed to hell and back.”

Tate started to tell his partner what he knew about the Dark Riders, but something

kept his trap shut. It definitely wasn’t loyalty to Zane and his crew, but more like a sixth
sense. “Let the coroner make the call on what killed them.”

“Really?” Ames was gazing at him suspiciously. Tate had never let go of something

this bizarre before. Normally, he would hunt down information and stay on the trail until he
had an answer. His gut told him he didn’t want the answers to this one. If the person or
persons responsible for the couple’s death were anything like Marcus, Tate was steering
clear.

Not that he held fear in his heart, but he still didn’t have answers about what being

marked meant, and he didn’t need a horde of those things coming after him. He was going
to find Zane and get some answers. Tate didn’t like being anyone’s goddamn snack.

“I’m heading over to Starbucks. Care to join me?” Ames asked, starting toward his

car before Tate even said yes. But his partner knew Tate would agree. Starbucks was his
one guilty pleasure.

Tate pulled his keys from his pocket. “On West Kramer or Brookpark Road?”

“Kramer. It won’t be that busy at this time of night.” Ames slid into his car and

drove away, the sound of a loud muffler adding to the already-noisy night. The guy needed
to take care of that thing. He wasn’t sure how Ames heard anything other than his muffler
when driving.

Tate got into his car and followed his partner to a perfect cup of coffee.

* * * *

Tate gasped when Zane’s hand slid down his chest. The touch was like nothing he’d

ever experienced before. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Zane didn’t respond, but the air around him seemed to change. Tate started to

wonder if going to the bar after Starbucks had been a good idea. His head was pounding
something fierce.

“Just relax, cop.” Zane straddled Tate’s legs. The normal braid Tate had always

seen the guy wear was gone. In its place was flowing black hair, silky, shiny. It was
cascading over Zane’s shoulders and past his hard, naked pecs.

Where in the fuck were their clothes? Tate hadn’t gotten that plastered. He would

have remembered inviting Zane to bed.

Zane leaned forward, his hair creating an obsidian veil. “Give in, Tate. Let me show

you what it could be like between us.”

Tate glanced down to see that not only was Zane’s cock fully erect, but so was his.

This can’t be real. I have to be dreaming this.

“So what if it’s a dream,” Zane said as he brushed the tips of his fingers over Tate’s

nipples. “Why can’t you have a little fun?”

“Because I deal in reality, not illusions.” Tate’s tone was hard, but his throat was

dry. Fuck, Zane was the sexiest man alive. The urge to give in, to give the guy what he was
asking for, was strong.

But this isn’t real.

Tate hissed when Zane wrapped a strong hand around his cock, stroking him. He

instinctively thrust his cock into the tight fist. A groan worked its way up through Tate’s
throat, threatening to break free. Zane’s hand was like magic. Fucking beautiful magic.

“I can show you so much more, bring you so much more pleasure.” Zane leaned

down, the long strands of his hair tickling Tate’s chest and stomach. Tate jerked when Zane
sucked on one of his nipples, teasing it between his lips and teeth. Tate shuddered, gripping
the sheets in a stranglehold.

“You can show yourself to the door,” Tate said, but there was no heat behind his

words. He simultaneously wanted to kick Zane out and beg him not to stop.

Zane closed his eerily dark eyes and stroked Tate harder, causing Tate to forget his

demand and give in. If this was just a dream, why not? It wasn’t like Zane would ever
know. There would be no awkward morning after or fumbled excuses of why Tate had to
rush out.

“Just you and me, cop.” Zane opened his eyes. A smile played on the man’s lickable

lips. “No strings attached.”

Tate crinkled his eyebrows. “None?”

“Just a dream, remember?”

“Yeah.” Tate groaned and thrust his hips. He wasn’t having any success getting the

friction he wanted. Zane was a heavy bastard. The guy’s well-muscled thighs tightened
around Tate’s and Tate wondered what the man was up to.

Zane licked a long path up Tate’s collarbone and then to his right ear. He nipped the

lobe before he asked, “Ever been fucked, cop?”

Tate’s pulse skyrocketed. He refused to go there. This was his dream and personal

questions were off the table. That was one question he wasn’t going to answer.

Zane chuckled. “Your silence says it all.”

“It doesn’t say shit.” Tate thrust his hips upward, fighting to get off. But Zane kept

him on the edge, just this side of frustrated. “Get me off or disappear.”

“Demanding,” Zane said. “But I don’t rush with my lovers.”

“I’m not your fucking lover.” Tate gripped the sheets tighter and bucked, pissed that

Zane was teasing him. His cock was so hard it was damn near painful. He ground his teeth,
trying to cage his raging hormones, but it was no use. Tate was too far gone and he wanted
to come.

“Us naked in the bed says otherwise.”

“This is just a damn dream,” Tate argued. His head snapped downward when Zane

moved off of Tate’s legs and settled between them. Zane stretched out, grinning wickedly
up at Tate before mouthing Tate’s sac.

“Jesus!” Tate’s head rolled back as Zane shoved his legs further apart. Zane’s hot,

lethal tongue was a weapon and he wielded it like a pro. Damn, Tate wanted to taste Zane
and give the man the same pleasure he was receiving—though giving wasn’t something
Tate had ever thought about before. But right now, he wanted it all. Plus, he had an
unmistakable urge to bite the guy.

This was starting to feel like reality. Tate had never had a dream this vivid before.

Not even when he was a teenager and masturbation had been a constant.

Zane lifted his head and swallowed Tate’s cock down his throat. Tate’s lips parted

and he fought to breathe. Zane’s mouth was pure magic on Tate’s dick. He stopped fighting
it and released the sheets, cradling Zane’s head as he thrust his hips.

And Zane took it.

Tate no longer cared if this was reality or an illusion. He was so close that his balls

were tight against the base of his cock. He just needed a little—Tate cried out when Zane
slipped a finger into his ass, twisting it as he took Tate’s cock all the way down his throat.

His cum shot out of his cock and Tate saw stars. Big, bright, beautiful fucking stars.

His body felt like it was imploding as his cock continued to give up his release. Tate
collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily.

When he opened his eyes, Zane was gone and all Tate had was his own limp cock in

his hand.

Chapter Three

“What’s eating you?” Lonnie asked from behind the glass display case. The short

guy was wearing one of his more outrageous getups. His dreads were pulled up into a
messy bun and he was flipping through a magazine, popping a piece of gum in his mouth.

Zane had been sitting there, chewing on his lower lip, thinking about last night. Tate

had thought it a dream. And it had been, but it was also a real product of their combined
desires. Zane’s plan had been to seduce the cop and find out what the guy knew.

Nothing had gone as planned.

Instead, Zane had found himself wanting to please Tate, wanting to show the guy

just how skilled a lover he was. All business had been forgotten. That was the least kind of
cool. Zane needed to know what Tate knew, but hell if he’d remembered to ask.

“I’m gonna head outside for a bit,” Zane said as he pushed from the black leather

sofa. Falcon was in the back with Garrett, so leaving Lonnie up here wasn’t a problem.

His nonstop thoughts of Tate were the problem.

Zane knew he needed to track Tate down and make sure no Darling was following

the guy. But Zane was feeling edgy, a nervous energy flowing through him. Seeing Tate
might drive Zane to fuck the cop, and that was something Tate was adamantly
against—when he was awake.

Lonnie ran from behind the counter and stopped in front of Zane, blocking him

from leaving. “Is someone messing with you? If so, let me know and I’ll get my broom.”

And just that easily Zane’s tension was gone. He liked Lonnie—had liked him since

the ex-alpha of the Durangos had come in here and smashed the display case. Lonnie had
had tears in his eyes that day and Zane had wanted to kill Callahan. Since then, he and
Lonnie had gotten along.

He reached out and flicked one of Lonnie’s dreads to the side. “I’m fine, Lonnie.

Just gotta work some shit out in my head.”

“We could always go to Ruby Red.” Lonnie was grinning from ear to ear. They

both knew that Santos—Lonnie’s lover and one of the Dark Riders—hated the music that
Ruby Red played. Santos’s tastes were more on the jazz side of things.

“You are trying to get me into trouble, aren’t you?” Zane asked with a smile. “I’m

game.”

Zane’s mind drew up an image of Tate sitting in Ruby Red—preferably on Zane’s

lap, naked. He couldn’t see the cop hanging out in a place like that, but damn if Zane didn’t
want to feel the guy up. The dream had been hot and still had him aching inside, but Zane
wanted the real deal, in the flesh.

“You won’t get into trouble,” Lonnie said. “Santos doesn’t control my life.”

“I don’t?”

Zane chuckled when the man walked into Andromeda. The guy was a big, badass

son of a bitch that anyone with an ounce of sanity would know to avoid. But when it came
to Lonnie, Santos turned into a damn teddy bear. It was fun as hell to watch Santos
crumble, though he tried not to show it in front of the guys. Zane still remembered hearing
the tape where Santos was working shit out in his head, confessing his love for the little
blond.

He decided teasing Santos right now wouldn’t be any fun. Maybe when everyone

was around.

“Uh, no,” Lonnie said as if Santos should have known the answer. “But you do

control my temperature.” Lonnie moved in close, placing his hands on Santos’s chest. “And
right now I’m hot as hell for you.”

He was used to seeing the two tear into each other with barbs, snarls, and threats.

But ever since the two had finally gotten their acts together, it seemed they couldn’t keep
their hands to themselves.

“That’s my cue to get gone.” Zane headed toward the door. “See you tonight.”

Neither Lonnie nor Santos was listening as Zane pushed open the chrome-and-glass

door and walked out of the shop.

* * * *

“Was that Zane who just left?” Falcon asked as he walked toward the front of the

shop. He scented his twin, but didn’t see the man anywhere. Over the past two weeks, Zane
had been mentally preoccupied. He knew his twin was thinking about that cop, and he
worried about his brother. Nothing good could come from Zane pursuing Tate.

Absolutely nothing.

Not when Tate had a hard-on for the Dark Riders, and not in a good way.

“It was,” Lonnie said. The dread-head was leaning against the glass display case,

licking his fingers and turning the pages of a magazine. Santos was standing on the other
side, watching the action with close interest.

“Did he say where he was going?” Falcon could have called Zane, but lately the

man wasn’t answering his phone. That disturbed him. Zane had never shut himself off from
the Dark Riders before and he had never shut himself off from Falcon.

“Something about cleaning his head out.”

The last time Zane had needed room to think was when he and Falcon were first

converted. Zane had become reckless back then, taking chances he normally wouldn’t have
taken and living on a very dangerous edge. If this was anything like the last time, Falcon
needed to track his brother down and find out where his head was at. The two of them
might be seven hundred years old, but Falcon would never stop worrying and caring for
Zane.

Lonnie straightened when a stranger walked into the shop. The guy looked from

Santos to Falcon, hesitating before he moved toward the counter.

“He said he’d meet us at Ruby Red tonight,” Lonnie said before he turned toward

the customer.

Falcon planned on being at Ruby Red. It might not be anything at all. People were

allowed to work things out in their head. But his gut was telling him that Zane was on the
verge of walking that very dangerous line once more.

* * * *

Tate was seven kinds of pissed off. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed Zane into his

dreams. Here he was trying to sink the Dark Riders and he’d woken with a spent cock and a
feeling of emptiness when he realized Zane was gone.

He needed his head examined.

“Come take a look at this,” Ames said, pulling Tate from his thoughts. He pushed

away from his Crown Vic, walking over to the side of the cannery. He pushed the Dark
Rider from his mind and dove into his work.

Another gangbanger was dead. That was no surprise. They lived dangerous lives

and sooner or later their numbers were up—mostly sooner. It still bothered Tate that the
guys being dumped around town looked like they hadn’t even started living yet. They were
young and it bothered him to see such youth wasted.

But the city had a way of eating up and spitting out those who lived the fast life.

Tate tried his damnedest to keep the crime down, but he felt as if he were working against
the grind.

The summer night was hot, the heat index rising well into the triple digits. The sun

setting hadn’t cooled things off by much. On nights like this, the crime in Paradise City
seemed to double.

Tate pulled his suit jacket off and loosened his collar, wishing he’d worn a T-shirt

instead.

The cannery had been closed for years, and every once in a while, someone used it

as a dumping ground for a body or two. Tonight was no exception.

Ames pointed toward a set of tire tracks. But that wasn’t all he showed Tate.

Someone had dropped a wallet. It could be the vic’s. The short Latino could have been
robbed.

But Tate doubted it.

Ames handed him a pair of latex gloves and Tate snapped them on before he lifted

the wallet from the asphalt. There was a small amount of cash and a few business cards, but
no ID.

“We’ll have to run the wallet for prints,” Ames said.

Tate pulled his cell phone out and snapped a picture of the business cards. He would

show the guy’s photo around and maybe he could not only get an ID on the vic, but a
backstory as well. It was a long shot. Most people clammed up when it came to the gangs.
No one wanted to get involved for fear that not only would their place of business go up in
flames, but revenge would be sought.

Tate looked over at the couple who had found the body. The woman was still

weeping, hugged close to her boyfriend. The boyfriend didn’t look like he was in any better
shape. It was probably the first dead body he’d come across.

The guy had flagged a black-and-white down and the cop had called it in.

Tate stood, glancing around. There were flashing lights, rubberneckers, and the

coroner’s van had just shown up. There had to be a reason why so many gangbangers were
turning up dead lately. The numbers were rising, but Tate hadn’t a clue why.

Tate squinted as he stared across the street at the open mouth of the alley. There was

no mistaking those obsidian eyes and long braid.

Zane.

What in the fuck was he doing here?

Returning to the scene of the crime? Having heard Emilio Alverez confess to some

crimes that Tate couldn’t prove, he had no doubt the Dark Riders could be and probably
were involved with the dead bodies that kept surfacing.

I’m going to nail that son of a bitch.

Tate handed the wallet over to Ames so it could get bagged as evidence before he

walked across the street. Zane hadn’t run. The man stood there with tenebrous eyes,
watching Tate approach.

The guy had balls. That was for sure.

“Y’know, returning to a crime scene isn’t a wise move.” Tate glanced over Zane

and his dream came rushing back to him. That only pissed him off. He shouldn’t feel
butterflies in his goddamn stomach for this punk. The fact that he did set Tate’s molars
grinding.

“If I had killed him, there wouldn’t be a body.” There was no humor on Zane’s face.

Not tonight. Tate had grown used to the man’s flirtation and easy grin. He’d even witnessed
the man’s smoldering bedroom eyes.

In my damn dreams.

Nevertheless, Zane was wearing the same look he’d worn when he’d killed Marcus

right in front of Tate. He was still trying to decide if that had really happened or if he’d
been so stressed that he’d imagined the whole thing.

“So why are you hanging around here? And please don’t insult my intelligence by

saying you’re just curious. Don’tcha think it raises my suspicion?”

Zane looked a bit on edge as he glanced across the street. The guy knew something.

Tate had a gut feeling about this. “Talk to me, Zane.”

The man’s braid bounced around as Zane shook his head. “Not here.”

Now Tate was getting somewhere. “Where and when? And don’t screw with me on

this. I’m already walking a fine line.”

“Me, too.”

Tate had no idea what Zane was talking about. He just wanted answers. He still

hadn’t been told what being marked meant or what a Darling was. Tate intended on getting
some answers or he was going to bury Zane under the damn jail.

“There’s a bar on the outskirts of town called the Bloody Mary. You familiar with

it?”

Tate nodded. “I’ve heard of the place.”

Zane’s eyes wandered over Tate’s body and there was no mistaking what the guy

was thinking. Tate had to stop the shiver that threatened to take hold and shake him. “Meet
me there in an hour,” Zane said.

“Don’t fuck with me on this.” Tate turned and headed back across the street. He

heard the roar of a motorcycle and then the sound faded into the night.

Tate removed his gloves and tossed them in the nearest trash can before rubbing the

palms of his hands into his eyes. It had already been a long day and now it was going to be
a long night.

* * * *

Striker sat back in his car, a block away from the crime scene. What in the hell was

Zane up to? Was he working with the detective? Striker glanced over toward the crime
scene. It pissed him off to no end that the body hadn’t been dumped in the river like he’d
instructed.

Recruiting humans wasn’t working out the way he’d planned. They couldn’t think

for themselves and they fucked shit up at every turn. Striker couldn’t afford to have his
name surface or be pointed to by one of those stupid-ass Blood Heart members. Killing

them was much easier and hassle-free.

Or so he thought. He just hoped like hell that no evidence was left behind to link

him to this murder—or any other for that matter.

He started his car and pulled away. It seemed that the detective needed to have an

accident. If the guy was really working with Zane, then he probably knew too much
already.

Chapter Four

While talking with Tate, Zane had had a feeling he was being watched. He had tried

to be as discreet as possible, but apparently he hadn’t been discreet enough. Was it Falcon?
He didn’t think so. Zane had made sure to rev his bike while he took off, making a show of
leaving. But he hadn’t gone far. He had circled around the block.

Low and behold.

Striker.

Zane knew in his gut that Striker had dumped the body. The Dark Riders had

already established that the alpha of the Durangos was recruiting gangbangers. But Striker
wasn’t watching the crime scene. His eyes were fixed on Tate. Zane could see the
calculated expression in Striker’s eyes and knew the man was formulating a plan to take
care of the cop.

Zane couldn’t let that happen.

Striker drove away.

When the cop got into his car, Zane followed. He wasn’t sure how much he should

tell the detective, but Zane wanted Striker on the chopping block. The problem with letting
Tate know even a little was that he would be in more danger than he already was. But Tate
was taking too many chances, and Zane needed to let the guy know that he had to stop
chasing down leads that involved Darlings.

Zane only knew about Marcus, but there was no telling what else Tate was getting

into. He wasn’t sure why he was putting his neck on the line for someone who wanted to
take him down. It made no sense to Zane whatsoever. He could no longer deny the growing
attraction he had toward the cop. It was getting stronger and Zane was starting to mentally
freak over what he was feeling. The insane need to protect the guy was starting to warp
Zane’s brain.

When the light turned red, Zane stopped, watching the tail end of Tate’s car as it

drove down the street. Zane sat up, gazing around, looking for Striker or any signs of
trouble.

There was a vibration in the inside pocket of Zane’s leather. He slipped his phone

out to see Falcon calling him. Zane had forgotten that he was supposed to meet Lonnie at
Ruby Red. Though he was sure Falcon was calling for other reasons. Zane started to answer
when the light turned green. He slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and took off.

The brown Vic pulled in into the parking lot of the Blood Mary. Zane had said an

hour, but it looked like Tate was anxious for answers. He waited until the guy went inside
before parking his bike next to the detective’s car. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he
and Tate would become pals. That was never going to happen. But Zane needed to remove
the mark. The connection to Tate was getting strong and he couldn’t have that.

Then you shouldn’t have marked him.

It had been a split-second decision, something Zane hadn’t thought through. Not

once had he imagined that the connection would go this deep.

“What the fuck.” He removed his helmet and ran a hand over his face, letting go of

a long breath. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” He had started this, and now Zane had to fix
it.

He swung his leg over his bike and entered the bar. It wasn’t very well lit and the

television over the bar was a bit loud. But Zane wanted it loud. He didn’t want anyone
hearing his conversation. Tate was sitting at the bar, a drink already in front of him.

“You know how to pick ’em,” Tate said as Zane took a seat next to the cop. “This is

about as average as you can get.”

The place catered to a lot of old-timers. It wasn’t wild and rowdy like a lot of the

bars Zane frequented. “Whatcha drinkin’?” Zane jutted his chin toward Tate’s glass.

“Crown Royal.” Tate lifted the glass, saluted Zane, and then took a drink. He hissed

before he set the glass back down on the smooth wood of the bar.

To be honest, Zane was surprised the man gave him a straight answer instead of

drilling him. He ordered the same and then rested his helmet on the counter. “Long day?”

Tate turned his head slightly, giving Zane a look that said he wanted to know what

Zane knew. In time. Call him a crazy son of a bitch, but Zane wanted to get to know Tate.
The guy was handsome, in a rough sort of way, and edgy, but Zane could see laugh lines
around the man’s eyes.

He wanted to see Tate smile.

“I know you didn’t invite me here to shoot the shit.” Tate took another swallow of

his drink. “So cut to the chase.”

The bartender set Zane’s drink down and then took the five Zane had placed on the

counter. “Maybe we should get a booth.”

Tate nodded and got up. Zane followed. He placed his helmet next to him on the

brown cushion and took a swallow of his drink, studying the cop. “You know I shouldn’t
be telling you squat.”

Tate grinned and Zane felt a thump in his chest. Damn, that was one gorgeous

smile.

“Because I’m out to sink you and your buddies?” There was a bowl of peanuts on

the table and Tate helped himself to a few. “Can you blame me? It’s my job to put the bad
guys away.”

“Who said we’re bad?”

This time Tate chuckled. Not only did Zane’s cock jerk but so did his heart.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me. Try telling that to someone who doesn’t know about the
Dark Riders.”

“Name something we’ve done wrong.”

Tate brushed the dust from his hands and then took another sip of his drink. “That’s

the problem. I know you’ve done wrong. I just can’t prove anything.”

Zane could hear the tight anger in Tate’s voice. The man truly was pissed that he

couldn’t pin a crime on the Dark Riders. Zane wasn’t sure how they had even come to be
on Tate’s radar, but the man had a hard-on for them. “You’re being followed.”

Tate’s brow rose a fraction of an inch. “I know. I’ve caught you a few times

already. That’s called stalking where I come from.”

If only this were a joking matter. Zane had to be very careful what he told Tate. He

wanted the man aware, but not too aware. “The guy who killed your vic is following you,
Tate. I’m thinkin’ he wants your head.”

“Why?” Tate’s tone said he wasn’t buying what Zane was selling.

“Because you were seen with me.” Honest but not too much info.

Tate seemed to ponder Zane’s words before raising his hand and ordering both of

them another drink. After their drinks were set on the table, Tate looked Zane in the eye
and asked, “What’s a Darling?”

* * * *

Tate watched Zane and knew the man was hiding a hell of a lot of things. A veil had

come down over those obsidian eyes and he could feel Zane closing up.

What confused Tate was that he could actually feel Zane putting up a wall. It was

like the guy was in his head and he was in Zane’s, only he couldn’t read what the guy was
thinking. But he sure as shit could sense the man’s emotions.

“Tell me I was seeing things when you took Marcus’s head off.”

Zane glanced around before settling back in his seat. He tossed an arm over the

back, the other hand holding his drink. “You weren’t seeing things.”

“Goddamn it,” Tate groused. “If I want roundabout answers, I’ll go see Lonnie.”

Zane smiled.

“What in the fuck is a Darling?”

“Tell me where you heard that name,” Zane answered. Tate had asked him already

if Marcus was a Darling, and the cop had hinted at the word as well. But Zane had avoided
the question—which he clearly planned on doing again. “You come clean, I come clean.”

Tate highly doubted that. Zane was an enigma. The man was too damn secretive,

yet flirtatious and forthright about what he wanted from Tate. That wasn’t going to happen.
One dream was enough. He wasn’t going to get sexually involved with a suspect. That was
a big hell no in his book.

“An informant.” That was as much truth as Zane was getting out of him.

“I wouldn’t rely too heavily on what Bandit tells you.”

How the hell…? “It doesn’t matter who told me. Are they real?”

Zane swirled the drink around in his glass, remaining quiet. Tate didn’t push the

guy. He let Zane work things out.

“They’re real.”

About fucking time he had a straight answer. “What are they?”

“Your worst nightmare.” Zane swallowed the rest of his drink and placed the glass

on the table. “I invited you here to warn you to stop hunting them down. You’re only
inviting trouble if you go after them. You don’t want to tangle with one.”

“Who’s following me?”

“His name is Striker Hullender.”

“Vincent Hullender’s brother?” Tate hid his shock. Why would Striker come after

him when Tate was trying to solve his brother’s murder? It didn’t make any sense to him.

“He’s the one recruiting Hearts.” Zane grabbed his helmet from the booth and

slipped free. Tate was tempted to demand the guy sit back down, but didn’t. “He’s the one
you should be looking at for the recent string of murders.”

“At least tell me why he’s killing them.”

Zane shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

Tate watched Zane walk out of the bar. He cursed when he remembered that he’d

forgotten to ask the guy about being marked. But Tate doubted Zane would have told him.
The guy had given him enough already and it looked like Zane was done dancing with
Tate.

Leaving his drink on the table, Tate walked outside to the balmy air and sounds of

the city. A fire truck whizzed by, its siren blaring as Tate walked to his car. He didn’t see

Zane’s motorcycle anywhere.

As he fished out his keys, Tate felt someone watching him. He glanced around,

spotting a few pedestrians walking by, but no one had their eye on him.

You’re losing it. Stop letting Zane’s warning get to you.

Tate went for his keys again, only this time he pulled his gun and turned, aiming it

at the man standing behind him.

“What the fuck!” Tate felt his heart kick up a notch when he realized it was Zane.

Zane smirked and then slipped a piece of paper into Tate’s hand. “Just in case you

have to get ahold of me.”

Tate was half-tempted to shoot the man just for scaring the shit out of him. He

holstered his gun and climbed into his car, heading toward the station to look up Striker
Hullender.

* * * *

Ames sat low in his car, watching as Tate pulled into the lot of Bloody Mary. He’d

seen his partner talking with that piece-of-shit Dark Rider, Zane.

Why had Zane shown up at the crime scene? Why had Tate and Zane talked

privately in the mouth of the alley? Ames wasn’t sure, but he was livid that his partner was
going behind his back.

Ames’s brows furrowed when he saw Zane pull his motorcycle into the lot, parking

next to Tate’s car. The guy just sat there for a second, staring at Tate’s vehicle before he
waltzed into the two-story brick building with a cocky stride.

Fucking punk.

Many times Tate had stated that he wanted to sink the Dark Riders. Many times his

partner had commented that he wanted them out of Paradise City.

So what was with the secret meeting? Was Zane an informant? The idea was

downright ludicrous. There was no way Zane Mancinni would turn on his twin. The two
were as thick as thieves and as low-down as scum could get.

Sweat began to trickle down Ames’s back. He wished he could turn the car on for

some much-needed AC, but his sedan was in need of repair. No doubt anyone on the street
would hear it running. He thought about letting the driver’s window down, but he didn’t
want to be spotted. Someone walking down the street or looking this way would
immediately zero in on an open window in this crappy neighborhood.

So Ames compromised and let the passenger window down, praying for some sort

of breeze on this muggy night. Unfortunately, the only thing that wafted his way was the
mixed smell of humidity and blacktop. The combined scent smelled like absolute garbage.

He sunk a little lower when, twenty minutes later, Zane left the bar and took off.

Tate came out next. His partner was walking through the lot when Zane made a U-turn in
the street and parked his bike, walking back over to where Tate was standing.

When Tate pulled his gun on Zane, Ames’s heart quickened. But to his dismay, his

partner didn’t shoot the prick. Instead, Zane slid something into Tate’s hand before he left.

Ames ground his teeth, his jaw muscle quivering as he watched Tate get into his

car. This meeting only told him that his goddamn partner didn’t trust him.

He was going to get rid of those Dark Riders if it was the last thing he did.

* * * *

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not really here.” Zane moved behind Tate and then reached around, pinching

his nipple. “This is just a dream, remember?”

Tate hissed and then shoved Zane’s hand away. “I’m not falling for that again. This

isn’t a dream. Not like this. It’s too vivid. You’re gettin’ into my head somehow.”

Zane placed his hands on Tate’s shoulders, massaging them, working the tight knot

out. “You’re tense.”

Tate groaned, temporarily forgetting his protest. Damn, the man had magical

fingers. He closed his eyes, feeling Zane’s fingers work through the hard muscles of his
back.

He was lost in tranquility until he felt something poking him in his back. Tate

wasn’t a virgin by any stretch of the imagination. He knew exactly what was knocking at
his back door. “I’m trying to sink you, Zane.”

A soft kiss pressed against Tate’s nape. “Yeah, I know.”

“So why do you keep coming around?” Tate let a moan slip once more when Zane

worked the muscles of his lower back. God, yes, right there. Tate rolled to his stomach
without thought, the knot unwinding.

“You intrigue me,” Zane admitted. Tate shuddered when Zane leaned over, his long

hair once again brushing over Tate’s skin. The guy kissed the skin right over Tate’s left ass
cheek. “There’s something about you, cop, that does it for me.”

“You’re insane,” Tate murmured, telling himself that he needed to put a halt to this,

that he needed to make Zane leave. A thought struck him. “This is how you marked me.”

Zane said nothing. He just continued to kiss his way over the lower half of Tate’s

back until he was settled between Tate’s legs. For the first time since he could remember,
Tate was nervous. No, he was fucking scared.

Zane was a big guy, a dangerous man. Tate wasn’t blind, though. The guy was a

walking erotic dream. From just one look, Tate could tell that Zane would be a beast of a
lover.

“You smell good.” Zane shoved his nose into Tate’s balls and inhaled deeply, his

tongue snaking out to lick across the wrinkled flesh.

“How are you getting into my dreams, Zane?”

“I wouldn’t be able to if you didn’t want me here.” Somehow Tate felt that was the

honest-to-goodness truth. Was he really inviting the guy into his head at night?

Tate lost all intelligent thought when strong hands slid over his ass. The kissing and

sucking at his balls continued, causing his cock to thicken and strain. Tate grunted and
spread his legs further apart. To hell with it. This was just a dream. It had to be. He hadn’t
had that much to drink at the bar. Even if Zane had found a way to weasel his way in, why
couldn’t Tate enjoy this? It wasn’t like they were really having sex, and to be honest, it was
too bizarre to take seriously.

Zane licked his way upward, his tongue squeezing between Tate’s ass cheeks.

“You must do a thousand squats a day,” Zane said. His hands separated Tate’s

cheeks and then his tongue began to swirl around Tate’s hole. “Nice.”

He really needed to put the brakes on. This was insane, crazy, out of this fucking

world. Tate was supposed to be gathering evidence to put Zane away, not letting the man

suck his damn asshole.

“Only a dream, cop,” Zane said as he nudged a finger into Tate’s ass.

Like hell it was. As much as Tate wanted to believe Zane’s assurance, he knew it

for the lie that it was. This was real, even if Zane wasn’t physically in his apartment.

“Zane,” Tate said in warning, his face pushed into his pillow as he tried to tell

himself to stop this insanity, to make Zane disappear. But damn, the feelings rioting inside
of him were trying to shut Tate’s protest up. What scared him the most was that he wanted
this. He did and he wasn’t sure why. It felt like he and Zane had some strange connection
that kept growing stronger.

“This is all that has to happen,” Zane said as a second finger entered Tate. The

kissing and sucking started again, only Zane had moved back down to Tate’s balls. The
guy’s hand slid under Tate, wrapping around his hard cock.

Tate was going to be pissed come tomorrow. He knew he was. But that didn’t stop

him from wanting what Zane was giving him. His fingers crushed the pillow as he lifted his
hips slightly, giving Zane more room. Zane was stroking him, finger fucking him, and
licking every inch of Tate’s sac and wherever else his tongue trailed. Tate’s eyes rolled to
the back of his head as he jerked, impaling himself on Zane’s fingers until the buildup
became too much.

He cried out, his cum shooting from his cock as his body felt like it had just

exploded. Zane’s fingers fucked his ass harder, his hand stroked faster.

And then…

Zane was gone.

* * * *

Tate woke to a sound coming from his living room. It took a second for him to fully

wake. At first, he didn’t hear anything, and then floorboards creaked. A slight chill washed
over him as Tate went for the nine millimeter he kept under his pillow.

Call him paranoid, but he didn’t care that he slept with a gun.

He highly doubted it was Zane returning. The guy wouldn’t be creeping into Tate’s

house—maybe, but highly unlikely. Tate had a gut feeling that if it was the Dark Rider, the
man would have entered undetected.

No, whoever this was had to be an amateur. The footsteps weren’t all that quiet and

Tate could tell there was more than one person.

He slipped from the bed, grabbing his boxers from the floor before slipping them

around his waist. He combed his fingers through his hair to get the strands out of his eyes
before he firmly gripped the gun. With his heart hammering, he tiptoed over to his bedroom
door, pressing his back into the wall.

Something down the hall scraped across the floor, followed by a soft curse.

Tate released a long, silent breath and waited until he heard the footsteps right

outside his bedroom door. He spun, grabbed the person closest to him, and shoved his gun
to the man’s temple. “Not another move.”

The second guy froze, gun in hand, gaping at Tate. There was a black teardrop

under his eye and a tattoo of a black heart dripping blood inked on his neck. Fucking
gangbanging Blood Hearts. “What are you doing in my house?”

The man Tate had in a full nelson squirmed, but he kept his arm locked tight around

the guy. “Get the fuck off of me, pig,” the guy spat out as he continued to struggle.

The other man raised his gun, a sly smirk on his face and malicious intent in his

eyes. He was going to pull the trigger. Tate could see it. The evil smile sent Tate’s pulse
skyrocketing. “Nothing personal,” the man stated calmly.

He couldn’t believe the son of a bitch was willing to shoot his friend in order to kill

Tate. In one swift movement, Tate pulled the gun he had aimed at the perp’s head and
pointed it at the other guy. He fired, hitting the gangbanger in his chest.

The one in his arms began to fight, elbowing Tate in his gut. The perp managed to

get free and then he spun, assaulting Tate’s stomach once more.

Fuck, that hurts! He was getting sick and tired of the gut shots. Tate wasn’t getting

any younger and a blow to his stomach hurt worse now than back when he was a rookie on
the beat. He was going to feel that punch for hours to come.

The gangbanger dove for the gun on the floor and flipped to his back, aiming at

Tate. He had no choice but to shoot the second perp. It was either his life or the punk’s, and
Tate wasn’t going out like that. He fired his gun once. That was all it took. Second perp
dead.

He cursed as he walked to the phone sitting by his bed. He snatched it up and called

in the shooting. Too bad he couldn’t have gotten some answers before he killed them both,
but he was pretty sure he knew who sent them.

Striker.

The cops and coroner showed up and Tate stood there explaining to his captain what

had happened.

“And you don’t know why they broke into your place?” Captain Savage asked.

Tate wanted to tell the guy what he suspected, but he wanted more time to look into

things before reporting what he had found. If the captain knew what Tate was up to, the guy
would flip the hell out and order Tate to back off. “Not a clue.”

Savage shook his head. “I’m going to check the report when the coroner is done

with these two. There are too many bodies surfacing lately. The Hearts have to be on some
new designer drug. Something has to explain why they’ve suddenly gone haywire.”

Tate let his captain think that. He watched as the bodies were taken away, rubbing

at the stubble that was growing longer around his jaw. “Somethin’,” he muttered.

* * * *

Ames glared at the cop standing on Tate’s porch as he walked inside. His body sang

with tension as he spotted Tate talking with the captain. “What the fuck, Tate. You couldn’t
have called me? Why did I have to hear about this at the station?”

“Sorry,” Tate said. “Things happened so fast.”

“We’ve been partners for seven damn years, Tate. I’m supposed to be the first

person you call.” Ames eyed Savage, but the captain didn’t say a word. He stood eyeballing
Tate with a strange look on his face. Ames wasn’t sure what that was about—aside from
the fact that Tate looked a bit shaken up.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Ames stated.

“I’m fine,” Tate argued.

“No, he’s right,” the captain said, backing Ames up. As his partner stood there

arguing with Savage, Ames slipped down the hall and into Tate’s bedroom. He pulled a

mini video recorder from his jacket and jammed it between some books on a shelf. He
turned the motion detector on and then grabbed a second video camera from his jacket,
turning the motion detection on before palming the thing.

Once he was done in the bedroom, he eased across the hall into the bathroom. If

Tate spotted him, the guy would think that Ames just needed to use the john.

No biggie. They were partners after all.

After putting a camera in the bathroom, Ames headed into the dining room where

Tate took a seat at the dining room table, pushing a hand through his hair as he and the
captain continued their debate. Ames backed up until he was flush against the cluttered
sideboard and then shoved the camera between stacks of paperwork, making sure the
device was hidden from view before he stepped away.

Since Tate thought he could run around without his partner, Ames was going to

make damn sure he knew what was going on.

Chapter Five

“Where were you?” Lonnie demanded as soon as Zane walked into Andromeda. “I

looked for you last night.” The short guy looked peeved as he glared at Zane. “You
could’ve called and said you weren’t going to show.”

“Things came up.” Zane took a seat on the couch and tucked his hands behind his

head. He wasn’t sure if he should have told Tate about the Darlings, but the guilt had been
eating at him. Since Tate carried his mark, the guy should know to watch his back.

Falcon came out of Garrett’s room and Zane knew he was about to get an earful.

His twin glared at him and then pointed down the hall.

“You’re in trouble,” Lonnie said under his breath. “It’s been nice knowing you—I

really did like you.”

Zane rolled his eyes at the twink before he got up from the couch and headed down

the hallway. Falcon walked all the way to the back and then turned. “Do you want to tell
me why you’re spending so much time with that detective?”

“Not really.” Zane crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. “I

wasn’t aware you were watching my every move.”

“Damn it, Zane!” Falcon’s jaw tensed. “It’s my business when it involves all of us.

Have you forgotten that Tate is out to get us?” Falcon cocked his head. “Are you his new
informant?”

“Fuck you!” Zane shot back. “After seven hundred years together, you question my

loyalty?” Zane felt his eyes changing, shifting into his wolf eyes. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Falcon shook his head as he grabbed Zane’s face in his hands. “I worry about you,

Zane. This isn’t like you, your behavior lately, you not answering your phone. If you are in
some sort of trouble, tell me. We can work through this together.”

A chocolate-and-white boxer trotted to the back of the shop, telling Zane that

Emilio was here. He lowered his voice. “I’m not in any kind of trouble, Falcon. I just…”
Zane wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words. But he knew he couldn’t lie to his
twin. “I marked him.”

Falcon’s face fell as his hands dropped from Zane’s face. “No.” His twin turned and

began to pace the back hallway before he spun to face Zane. “Are you in love with him?”

Zane lifted his hand and teetered it back and forth. “Maybe, sorta, fuck if I know.”

“Rider!” Emilio called for the dog and Zane could hear the man approaching. The

dog just sat there on his haunches, staring up at Zane as if he were expecting a treat.

Zane patted his pockets. “I got nothin’.”

Rider stood, giving Zane the evil eye before he wagged his tail and headed down the

hallway. “I think I was just snubbed.”

“Have you told Tate anything?” Falcon asked. Zane didn’t want to answer that

question. Falcon was going to flip his damn rocker. Zane had told Tate about the Darlings
for the man’s own safety, but Falcon wasn’t going to see it that way.

Humans weren’t supposed to know about the creatures.

Falcon studied him for a moment longer and then cursed. “How much does he

know?” The man sounded beyond pissed. There was a small vein jumping at his twin’s
temple and Zane knew exactly what that meant. Falcon was about to lose it.

“I told him about Darlings.”

For a long moment Falcon said nothing. He just stood there staring at Zane as if he

didn’t know who Zane was. The pulse at Falcon’s temple beat harder. Zane wasn’t a small
man and didn’t fear much, but he’d always been leery when his twin got that look.

“You. Did. What?”

“What did you want me to do?” Zane asked angrily. “Darlings were coming after

him. Was I supposed to leave him out there defenseless?”

“He’s a fucking cop. He’s not defenseless!”

Zane felt his anger reaching a pinnacle and then…nothing. He began to laugh. He

laughed so hard he had to grip the counter. Falcon gazed at him as if he had lost his damn
mind. Zane tried to bring his laughter under control, but it took a moment before he could
finally speak. “I know how to fuck things up.”

Falcon narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t funny, Zane.”

“It’s amusing as hell. Let Tate try to prove Darlings exist.” Zane chuckled some

more because he knew the detective wouldn’t be able to. Darlings looked just as human as
everyone else. They weren’t going to let Tate catch them—Darlings protected their own
vehemently.

The only way wolves could detect them was from their noxious odor.

Falcon frowned and ran a hand over his hair. “I want you to stay the hell away from

him.”

“He’s marked,” Zane reminded Falcon.

“Fine, fuck him and then forget he exists.”

Zane knew that was easier said than done. Tate wasn’t about to let him get that up

close and personal. Not when they were awake, anyway. He was going to have to be
extremely careful with his interaction concerning the detective. Falcon wasn’t too happy.
He would shit bricks if Zane continued to hang around the cop.

As much as he loved and respected his brother, Zane had to do him.

“I need to head out and Emilio has an errand to run. I need you to stay here and

watch over Lonnie and Garrett,” Falcon said.

“I got it.” Zane left Falcon standing there as he walked up front. Emilio was already

gone. Jake was behind the register, Lonnie and Garrett in their rooms working. Instead of
taking a seat on the couch, he walked outside and sat on the top step. Because it was still
early in the day, the Dirty Hole was only semi-active. But there was still plenty of noise
coming from the place. Zane watched a stray dog walk by, sniffing at the trash on the curb.

Damn, so much had changed over the past few months. Zane remembered when he

didn’t have too many worries. Life had been much simpler before the Dark Riders started
hanging out on the Lower East Side.

His thoughts turned to Tate, and Zane couldn’t resist. He used their connection to

take a tiny peek into the guy’s head. He could tell that Tate was at the station, but the guy
was thinking about…Zane grinned.

Tate was thinking about the dream they’d shared last night, and there was no

mistaking the lust he felt in the guy’s head. Maybe, just maybe, Zane could finesse the cop
into bed and remove the damn mark once and for all.

* * * *

Santos stood outside the Second Street Market, gazing at his cousin. “Come again?”

Emilio couldn’t believe it himself. If Zane really was in bed with the cop, Emilio

wasn’t sure what he would do. The detective was aching to put the Dark Riders in prison.
And ever since Emilio had killed Vincent Hullender, things had been hot around the
neighborhood.

“I saw him talking with the detective last night,” he told his cousin. “They looked

too damn cozy to me. With everything that’s been going on lately, we don’t need Zane
losing it.”

“He wouldn’t drop a dime on us.” Santos sounded confident, but Emilio wasn’t. It

wasn’t like the Dark Riders were squeaky clean. They’d killed their fair share of Durango
wolves and Darlings. Although killing Darlings left no evidence behind, they could still be
tied to one of the wolves’ murders. It was all in self-defense, but Emilio knew the cops
wouldn’t look at it that way. There was a whole other life beating inside this city that the
humans weren’t aware of.

Emilio pulled Rider closer as people came and went from the market. It was a

gorgeous day out, the breeze barely cooling anything off. But Emilio liked the heat. It was a
hell of a lot better than the snow. “He’s been hot for that detective since he laid eyes on the
guy. What if he marks him?”

Santos glanced around them and let go of a deep sigh. “Zane is a lot of things, but

stupid isn’t one of them. He wouldn’t do something that would put us in danger.”

Rider’s restlessness began to show and he knew the dog was ready to start walking

again. But Emilio wanted answers. If Zane was a threat to them, then Emilio had a right to
know. There was too much at stake here to trust someone who was sleeping with the
enemy. He wrapped Rider’s leash tighter around his hand.

“I’ve had no reason to doubt Zane since we’ve known him, but you can’t tell me he

hasn’t been acting off lately.” Emilio noticed how Zane had been quiet around them lately,
deep in thought and easily distracted. That wasn’t like the guy. Zane was the epitome of
cool and confident, always joking and ready to smile.

“We’ll just have to keep a closer eye on him.”

“And the cop,” Emilio said. “Love, lust, or whatever you want to call it does some

weird, freaky-deaky shit to people’s heads. And right now, Zane is thinking with the wrong
head.”

Emilio stood straighter when he saw Jake heading their way. He was wearing black

jeans that had an intricate lace of chains hanging from various places. His T-shirt was plain
black, and so were his tennis shoes. The guy’s hair was a messy tumble of black strands,
but today he had forgone the makeup.

The guy smiled when he saw Emilio. It was radiant and damn if Emilio didn’t find

himself smiling right back. “What are you doing down this way?”

“Lonnie sent me out for food.” Jake glanced at Emilio’s shoes and he saw a fine

blush creep over the guy’s cheeks. “I spotted you two so I came over this way.”

“I’m gonna head back to the shop.” Santos patted Jake on the shoulder as he passed

by the guy.

Jake stood there, shoving his hands into his front pockets as he looked at anything

but Emilio. Those amber eyes were starting to affect Emilio in ways he didn’t fully
understand. He liked Jake’s shyness. It was a refreshing change from what Emilio was used
to dealing with.

“Need some company?” he found himself asking as Rider tried to sniff at another

dog that was passing by. Jake shrugged, chewed on his lower lip, and then gave a slight

nod, the strands of black shoulder-length hair moving like a wave of obsidian water around
the guy’s shoulders.

“Come on.” Emilio started walking, Rider happily keeping pace. “We’ll go to Mr.

McAlester’s. Lonnie seems to love that place.”

“I’d hate to see his arteries when he gets older.”

Little did Jake know that Lonnie was a wolf shifter. He wouldn’t have clogged

arteries or frail bones. As long as the dread-head didn’t sustain major injuries, he was going
to live for a very long time. “But you have to admit, Mr. McAlester makes the best damn
burgers around.”

Jake grinned. The sunlight caught in the man’s amber eyes and they seemed to

sparkle. “He does.”

Emilio slowed when he saw Zane’s motorcycle parked just a few buildings down.

But the sight of the blacked-out Ducati wasn’t what caught his attention.

It was the puke-brown Crown Vic parked behind it that had Emilio grinding his

back teeth.

* * * *

Zane was sitting on the top step of the tattoo shop when his cell phone rang. He

didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“We need to talk.” It was Tate. The guy almost sounded like he was in a decent

mood.

“Okay, talk.”

There was a gruff grunt on the other end. “Not over the phone, smartass.”

Zane knew he couldn’t leave the shop. Not because Falcon had asked him to stay,

but because Zane wasn’t going to allow anything to happen to Lonnie or Garrett. Lonnie
had been attacked multiple times by Darlings. Santos would lose it if another Darling got to
the twink. And Zane liked Lonnie. “Can’t, babysitting.”

“Didn’t know you had kids.”

Zane laughed. “Can you imagine another one of me running around?” He clucked

his tongue. “Naw, it’s something else.” Even over the phone, Zane could feel the man’s
confusion. Tate wasn’t sure why he was calling Zane. It was an impulse, an urge, a need.

Their connection was growing stronger.

Zane spotted Santos heading his way. “Change of plans. Where do you want to

meet?”

“There’s a burger place a few doors down from you. Mr. McAlester’s.”

The man was trying to get Zane lynched. That was too close for comfort. His bike

was already parked there. The traffic on Second Street was heavy this time of day and
parking was hard to come by. He knew he should tell Tate to name another place. I have to
be psychotic for even considering this. “When?”

He got his answer when Tate’s car pulled in behind Zane’s bike. “Give me a

minute.” He wanted Santos in the shop before he made a move. Zane hung up and slipped
his phone into the inside of his leather.

Santos walked past him, thumping Zane on the shoulder in a silent greeting before

he walked into the shop. Once Santos was out of sight, Zane took the steps two at a time,
heading down the street before anyone could call him back to Andromeda.

Zane walked into the small restaurant to the smell of caramelized onions and the

sound of things sizzling. The place wasn’t big. There was a long counter with a glass
partition where you could watch your food being made. There were modest tables and
chairs, not many, and a large sign over the counter announcing the specials of the day. Most
people got their orders to-go, some ate in.

Tate was sitting at the back table, sipping from a mug as he watched Zane enter.

“You should know better than to meet somewhere around here,” Zane said as he grabbed a
wooden chair and spun it around, straddling it.

Tate slid a file across the table. “Tell me about Vincent Hullender.”

Zane clenched his jaw. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Tate studied him for a moment before he leaned forward and tapped his index finger

on the table. “Two Blood Hearts broke into my place last night, intending to take me out.”

Zane’s skin suffused with heat as his nostrils flared. His eyes scanned over Tate.

Aside from looking haggard, there wasn’t a bruise on him—that Zane could see. Striker had
made his move, as feeble as it was. The wolf shifter sucked as badly as Callahan had when
it came to being an alpha with a brain, but Striker had balls of steel.

“What happened?” But that wasn’t the question Zane wanted to ask. It was on the

tip of his tongue to demand to know if Tate was hurt, but he kept that question to himself.

“They were amateurs.” Tate took another drink and Zane could see that it was

coffee. He nearly smiled at the cliché. All Tate needed was a donut. “I heard them fumbling
through the house. One pulled a gun. I shot him. The other aimed a gun. I shot him as
well.”

Tate stated everything in such a cut-and-dry, matter-of-fact way. But a cold chill

crept along Zane’s spine. The cop could have been killed. What if Zane had been there,
distracting Tate in his dreams, when the two broke in?

“Anyway”—Tate tapped the file in front of him—“that’s not why I asked you here.”

There was more? Zane sat there and listened, keeping his expression inscrutable.

“What I’m about to tell you is confidential.” The man rubbed a hand over the scruff

growing on his chin. “I’m not even sure why I’m telling you.” Tate flipped the file open.
“Striker Hullender is under investigation by the ATF.”

Zane was stunned, but kept his features in check. “For?”

Tate snorted. “I just said ATF. What do you think?”

That sarcastic tone pulled a grin from Zane. “Sorry, I’m slow on the uptake,

buttercup.”

“Stop calling me that before I cuff you and take you out back for a beating.”

This made Zane’s smile widen. “And I just might enjoy it.”

“You are one twisted son of a bitch.” Tate shook his head. “Keep clear of Striker. If

he goes down and you are anywhere near him…”

“No worries.” But it was good to know. Zane was going to have to warn his twin.

The Dark Riders were looking to settle a score with Striker, and they were normally
careful, but now that Zane knew the man was on the ATF’s watch list, they were going to
have to back off for a while.

“By the way…” Tate glanced down at the file, and Zane could tell the guy was

struggling to say whatever was on his mind. He had never seen Tate as anything but
self-confident and arrogant. This change was different, nice. “Thanks for the
warning…about Striker. I owe you one.”

“You can pay me back by leaving the Dark Riders alone.”

Tate narrowed his pretty dark-grey eyes. “No can do.” He slammed his fist onto the

table, taking Zane by surprise. “And if I find out you know anything about Vincent
Hullender, I’ll make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your life!”

Zane’s anger arced in the air around him. He wasn’t sure why Tate had gone feral

on him. They were just sitting here having a decent conversation—for once.

“So stop fucking harassing me to leave the Dark Riders alone before I haul you in.”

“Fuck you, cop.” Zane was done here. The guy had a mental defect. Zane couldn’t

understand Tate’s sudden anger until he got up from the table and spotted Emilio and Jake
standing at the counter, staring in his direction.

Zane slammed his hand into the door and walked out, feeling himself vibrating with

anger. Even though he knew why Tate had flipped out, it still pissed him off.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked when he ran out after Zane. He knew the little goth

hated to be around cops and had probably come out here to get away from Tate.

“Fucking cops,” Zane mumbled, keeping up the pretense, but also pissed at Tate.

“Yeah, they suck.” Jake glanced back at the shop. “Mind if I walk back to

Andromeda with you?”

Zane grabbed Jake by the nape of his neck and gave a light squeeze. “Sure, let’s

go.”

His cell phone chirped, indicating that he’d just received a text message. While still

holding onto Jake’s neck, Zane pulled his phone free and checked.

Come by my place tonight so we can finish talking.

Tate had left his address.

Zane slipped the phone back into his pocket and smiled at Jake. “Let’s go see what

the guys are up to.”

Jake chuckled, seeming pleased to be a part of the crew at Andromeda. From day

one, Zane had gotten the impression that Jake just wanted to be accepted. He wasn’t a bad
guy, quiet, but nice. Zane gave one last squeeze before he released the guy.

As he mounted the steps to the tattoo shop, Zane couldn’t stop thinking about

tonight.

* * * *

Ames sat in his car, a half a block down from Mr. McAlester’s. He lifted his camera

and listened to the click as he took pictures of Zane coming out of the burger shop. That
weasel Jake Galleti rushed out, no doubt simpering at the Dark Rider’s heels.

A pulse ticked at the side of Ames’s jaw as he watched the two walk back to the

tattoo shop. Tate was meeting Zane too damn often now. Was Zane bribing Tate? Was he
blackmailing him? There had to be some explanation as to why his partner was suddenly
chummy with Zane.

Tate exited the shop.

Ames lifted his camera and took dozens of photos, some of them close-ups. He

dropped the camera in his lap and slid down into his seat when Tate glanced around.

Thankfully, his partner hadn’t spotted him. Tate opened the door to his car and slid

in, driving away.

Chapter Six

Tate stared at the bottle of red wine and wondered if he’d gone overboard. He’d

started out making something quick to eat before Zane showed up, but that “quick” meal
had turned into beef stroganoff and garlic toast, a side salad, and this goddamn bottle of
Merlot. He wasn’t trying to impress Zane.

Was he?

Frustrated, he shoved the bottle into the fridge, telling himself that he wasn’t going

to dig it back out. They were meeting here to talk, so why was he pulling out all the stops?

“You’re trying to sink him, not date him.” Tate glanced at the elegantly decorated

table and grunted, refusing to go there. His place wasn’t much, not on a detective’s salary,
but it wasn’t bad either. He had a flare for decorating, but he would cut off both arms
before he admitted that to anyone. He was a cop from the hood who had grown up poor and
appreciated everything he had.

There was nothing wrong with that. But if the guys at the station found out that Tate

knew how to put pleats in drapes, he’d never hear the end of it.

Thank fuck he hadn’t placed any candles on the table. Wouldn’t want to give Zane

the wrong idea.

And what idea is that, hmm? That you can’t stop thinking about Zane’s dream visits

and how the man curls your damn toes?

“Shut up,” he said to himself, pissed that he was even entertaining those thoughts.

Just as Tate was pulling the garlic bread from the oven, the doorbell rang. He nearly

dropped the tray.

“Stop acting like this is a date, moron.” Nevertheless, Tate ran his hand down his

shirt, his nerves jumpy as hell. He glanced at the stereo on his way to the door and growled
at himself for even thinking of playing some background music.

This isn’t a date!

He swung the door open and froze. Zane was a big male, admittedly. But he stood

there on Tate’s porch wearing jeans, biker boots, and a tight-ass T-shirt, with his braided
hair lying over his left shoulder. It was his normal look, but there was something different
about him. Tate couldn’t pinpoint what that something was, but as he stood there, the scent
of Zane’s cologne filled Tate’s lungs.

His mouth began to water.

Zane’s arm was braced against the doorframe, a wicked smile and a pair of

Ray-Bans on his face. Tate’s heart kicked in his chest as lust slammed into him at full
speed. He cleared his throat, letting the guy inside.

“Smells good in here,” Zane said as he slipped his leather off and draped it over

Tate’s couch. “Good thing I’m starving.”

Tate started to say that he had only cooked for himself. He felt completely

embarrassed now that he’d set the table so elaborately. What would Zane think? Would he
automatically assume that Tate had done it on purpose? He had, mostly, maybe. Ah hell, he
wasn’t sure.

Tate closed the door to the noise of the neighborhood and wandered into the

kitchen, feeling a bit lost at what to do. He decided to cut the bread.

Zane gave a low whistle when he entered the room. “Am I interrupting some sort of

date for you?”

Tate closed his eyes for a second and thought about lying. He really did. He had to

be certifiable to have gone through this much trouble over a Dark Rider.

I’ve finally lost it.

“Something like that.” Evasiveness worked well for him. He glanced over his

shoulder to see Zane standing by the dining room table—a table Tate normally never used
except to spread files over—and saw the man touching the silverware, a pensive look on his
face. If Tate wasn’t mistaken, the guy looked…pissed. Zane’s jaw was clenched tight as his
eyes gazed over the entire display.

Tate didn’t say a word when Zane pulled a chair out and took a seat. “Then I guess I

won’t be long,” Zane said with a hard edge in his tone.

Why Zane’s jealousy pleased Tate, he wasn’t sure.

You really are certifiable.

He turned back around and shut the oven off. “Guess so.”

Fuck it. Tate wasn’t admitting a damn thing or giving away anything. He grabbed

the file off of the counter and pulled out the chair from the other side of the table, moving it
closer to his guest.

Zane’s obsidian eyes flicked over toward the stove where the stroganoff was sitting.

Tate started to tell Zane the truth about dinner, but resisted. A twisted part of him was
getting a kick out of seeing the guy act this way. Besides, he wanted to see what Zane was
going to do next.

“So, as I was telling you earlier about Striker—”

“I don’t care.”

Tate frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t care about Striker right now.” Zane nodded toward the stove, his jaw

working harder as a dark, ominous look spread across the guy’s face. “Who the fuck are
you having a date with?”

Tate slammed the file down on the table, his anger rising at the way Zane had

growled the question at him. “That’s none of your business.”

What had started out as nervousness now turned into principle. Tate wasn’t going to

let anyone talk to him in that tone of voice. Hell, he’d gone toe-to-toe with his captain once
for yelling at him.

Zane shot out of his chair so fast that Tate barely had time to blink. He pinned Tate

to the table, a low growl emanating from his chest. “Who in the fuck is coming over?”

Tate gasped when he saw Zane’s irises transition from black, to brown, to a dark

blue, then to a dark, dark amber. He’d never seen anyone’s eyes do that before. “Get the
fuck outta my face, Zane, before I shoot you.”

With one hand, Zane trapped both of Tate’s wrists, holding them firmly. He used

his other hand to cup Tate’s jaw, lifting it until their eyes met. “Don’t push me, cop. You
don’t want to fuck with me on this.”

The stamp of ownership was thick in the air, slamming down on Tate’s forehead as

if Zane held a hot iron in his hand. The man’s thumb stroked over Tate’s skin in a
provocative manner, raising goose bumps in its wake.

“Back off, Zane.” Tate knew that his command wasn’t as resolute as it should be.

Those three words had come out unsteady, more like a question than a command.

Zane gave a low snarl and Tate had to blink. Had he just seen long, thick canines?

No, he couldn’t have. He knew what he’d heard on that tape—that Lonnie was a

werewolf—but when faced with the real possibility, his mind quickly rejected the idea.

The file fell to the floor as Tate leaned back. He heard the papers scatter but didn’t

care. Not when Zane was moving dangerously closer, his eyes still that strange amber
color.

Tate pulled his head back, his mouth going bone-dry.

Zane stopped, the side of his mouth pulling up into a half smile, telling Tate without

words that Tate was going to give in no matter the protest.

And Tate knew he would. Even though the house was at a comfortable temperature,

the air around them seemed to spark and grow hotter. Tate could feel a trickle of sweat run
down the back of his scalp at the thought of kissing this man.

Zane’s hand tightened around Tate’s wrists, not hard enough to bring pain, but

enough to remind Tate that Zane wanted him.

Fuck me six ways from Sunday but I want this, too.

As Zane’s head began to lower again, Tate didn’t move, couldn’t move. The guy’s

soft lips feathered over his, and Tate breathed in Zane’s cinnamon-scented breath. He
fought to control his thumping heart when Zane’s tongue slid erotically across his bottom
lip. But Tate wasn’t one to fully submit. Not by a long shot. He bit Zane’s bottom lip, and
dear god, the biker growled as his nostrils flared.

That turned Zane on.

What in the hell am I getting myself into?

Tate inhaled sharply when Zane applied a little more force to his wrists, the man’s

tongue plunging deep. From the way Zane had just behaved, Tate would have sworn the
kiss was going to be fierce, punishing. But it wasn’t. It was drugging, sensual, slow, and
made Tate’s brain go off-line as his pulse throbbed in his ears. The leisurely licks and
explorations forced a groan, a whimper, some damn strange noise to vibrate in Tate’s
throat.

The guy rocked his body so hard into Tate that he thought they were going to

tumble backward, but Zane kept them balanced as his tongue slipped free. He could no
longer smell the scent of garlic bread or stroganoff. All Tate could inhale was the thick,
masculine scent of Zane.

Tate didn’t protest when Zane pulled him from the chair and laid him out on the

floor. He tried to reach up, but Zane once again pinned his wrists, placing them above
Tate’s head and rendering him immobile.

He bucked, trying to roll them both so he could take over, but Zane wasn’t having

it. He gave Tate a look that said don’t even try. Tate’s breath hitched when a feral, dark,
and forbidding look flared in Zane’s amber eyes. The guy gave a low chuckle as he settled
between Tate’s legs.

“Don’t worry, cop”—Zane leaned forward and Tate found himself rearing his legs

back to wrap around the man’s thick waist—“I’ll go as slow as you need me to.” Zane
nipped Tate’s earlobe and the man’s warm breath tickled his skin. “I’ll be gentle with you.”
Zane’s jean-clad cock rubbed roughly over Tate’s denim-covered ass. “I’ll please every
damn inch of your body.”

Tate was on the verge of begging the man to fuck him when his cell phone vibrated

on the counter. Tate ignored it. He was too busy fighting an insane desire to turn over onto
his hands and knees and offer himself to the Dark Rider.

He didn’t understand where that need was coming from, but it damn near made Tate

do just that. He ground his teeth, refusing to be that fucking submissive.

A top was all he’d ever been.

So why in the hell are you eager to get this man’s dick into your ass?

The answer eluded him because his brain was too damn scrambled to think clearly

right now.

Why aren’t we naked? he wondered, as he pressed his ass firmly into Zane’s groin.

He could not only see but feel how hard Zane truly was.

Zane leaned down and bit Tate’s nipple through his shirt, teasing the sensitive flesh.

Tate found himself squeezing his legs tighter as his cell phone began to ring again. He tried
to pull his hands free, but Zane’s hold was like steel bands, pressing Tate’s wrists into the
hardwood floor.

Damn it! Tate wanted to unravel Zane’s hair and watch as it flowed over the man’s

shoulders as it had done in his dreams.

Zane growled when Tate’s phone rang for a third time. His eyes turned molten as he

gazed up at Tate. “If that’s your date telling you that he’s at the front door…” Zane trailed
off as he closed his eyes. “Tell that sorry sack of shit to get takeout.”

Tate got the warning loud and clear and nearly chuckled at the man’s indignation.

The guy breathed heavily, as if he were trying to bring himself back under control.

When his eyes opened, Tate could see the hard lines around the man’s mouth.

“If you allow anyone into your bed,” he said, his voice filled with venom, “I’ll kill

the unlucky bastard, buttercup.”

When Zane got up, Tate was stunned at the feeling of loss that enveloped him. He

closed his eyes, taking in slow, deep breaths. He opened his eyes and looked above him to
see Zane snatch the phone from the counter and glare at the caller ID. The guy grunted and
then handed the phone over to Tate.

It was Ames.

Taking a second to press his hand into his forehead and steady his breathing, he

said, “Tate here.”

“We got another body.”

That helped to cool Tate’s raging hormones. “On my way.”

He didn’t bother to ask where. He’d call Ames back once he was in his car. Tate

allowed the phone to slip from his hand. It clattered to the floor as he let out one final, long
breath.

A noise from behind him caught Tate’s attention. He looked at Zane again to find

the man with a wooden spoon in his hand, digging into the stroganoff. He shrugged
unapologetically. “I told you I was starving.”

Tate chuckled as he twisted to his side and then stood. “I gotta go.”

Zane nodded. “I heard.” He rummaged through Tate’s cupboards until he found a

Tupperware bowl and then slopped a large portion into the plastic container before sealing
the lid.

Gotta love a man with an appetite.

Tate turned to leave the kitchen when Zane grabbed him by his arm, pulled Tate in

front of him, and pinned him to the counter. Zane’s mouth crashed against his. It wasn’t the
same sort of slow, controlled, take-your-time kissing as it had been in the chair. This was
driven by emotion, raw and needy. Tate wasn’t complaining. He kissed Zane just as hard,
just as brutally. The guy’s hand palmed Tate’s erection and gave a squeeze. “Remember
what I said, cop.”

When Zane released him, Tate felt a bit light-headed.

Zane winked at him before he grabbed the bowl and left the kitchen, mumbling

something about my dinner under his breath. Tate grinned as he followed Zane and then
leaned into the kitchen archway, hating that their night had been interrupted. Zane grabbed
his leather and headed out the door without a backward glance.

* * * *

Ames waited for Tate one block south of Second Street. The crime scene had

already been taped off and the cops were redirecting traffic. Jagged lightning cut across the
dark sky a few miles away as a breeze began to pick up and shuffle weightless trash into
corners.

A brown Crown Vic pulled in behind the patrol car and Tate got out. The hair

around Tate’s jaw had grown out a little more. After working with the man for so many
years, Ames knew the signs. Tate was distracted.

“What do we have?” Tate slipped a light jacket on as he approached. A uniform

tried to stop Tate until the detective showed his badge. Ames couldn’t stop thinking about
earlier, when he’d spotted a blacked-out Ducati sitting in Tate’s driveway. He curled his
fingers in to stifle the angry growl he wanted to let loose.

Ames went over the crime scene with Tate, wondering why Tate was allowing that

piece-of-shit Dark Rider around him. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe Ames was looking at
this all wrong. Maybe Zane really was an informant. But cops didn’t meet their informants
at their houses.

The what-ifs and the not knowing were making Ames’s back teeth grind together.

After the crime scene unit did their thing and the body was hauled away, Tate slipped back
into his car and left.

Ames was standing on the street, gazing at the taillights when he felt someone

behind him. He turned and immediately recognized the guy. It was the brother of the victim
in the case Ames and Tate were supposed to be working, but weren’t. It seemed Ames’s
partner didn’t have time for him any longer. “Striker Hullender.”

Another one of Paradise City’s resident scum.

The guy was wearing an expensive suit and a charming smile. He held his hand out

and Ames ignored it. “Detective Ames.”

“What can I do for you?” There was something about Mr. Hullender, something

off-putting. There was no denying he was a handsome man, in an executive sort of way.
But his eyes. The smile didn’t reach them, and Ames felt as if he were staring at the devil.
Ames also knew this guy was on the ATF’s watch list.

There were no more pleasantries after the failed handshake. The guy got down to

the meat and bones of things. “I know your secret.”

Ames felt his guard slam into place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He

started for his car, but Mr. Hullender stepped in front of Ames, offering that false, friendly
smile again. “I’d like to make a deal with you.”

“I don’t make deals with criminals.” Ames tried to move around Mr. Hullender

once again, and once again the guy blocked him.

“I noticed your partner is becoming increasingly involved with Zane Mancinni. As

much as you may want to turn a blind eye to that fact, you know as well as I that things are
about to get ugly.”

The guy had hit a nerve. Ames narrowed his eyes. “Get to your point.”

The skies opened up and rain began to fall. Ames’s instinct was to run and get out

of it, but he stayed rooted to the spot as the smell of hot asphalt being cooled off filled the
night air.

“You want Zane out of Tate’s life and I want the file on me to disappear.”

Ames wiped the water off of his face. “You know I can’t do that. It’s out of my

jurisdiction.”

“Make it happen and I’ll make sure Zane never bothers Tate again.” His smile

widened. “I’ll make sure Zane never bothers anyone again.”

Ames glanced toward his car, hesitating before he turned back around and nodded.

“Deal, but Tate stays out of this. You don’t fucking hurt him.”

Mr. Hullender jerked his head in a nod. “Deal.”

Chapter Seven

Falcon relaxed, tossing his arm over the back of the booth as his brother strolled

into the Big Egg. Zane skirted an exiting customer and glanced around until he spotted
Falcon sitting three booths down from the door. Their meeting wasn’t going to be long. The
day was gloomy even though the forecast had said the lingering rain clouds from last night
were on their way out. From the way the clouds were moving overhead, they weren’t
finished soaking this city just yet.

He’d ridden in on his bike and needed to get home to exchange two wheels for four.

“Gonna make it?” Falcon grabbed his cup of coffee and took a sip as he watched

Zane closely. He knew Zane inside and out, and Falcon was positive the man was getting in
over his head with the detective. Zane was wading in dangerous waters and was about to
blindly drown.

Falcon’s fingers gripped the mug harder at the thought of anything bad happening to

his twin.

Zane gave Falcon that familiar, boyish grin. “I’ll live.”

The waitress came over and Zane placed his order before pinning Falcon with his

dark eyes. “Found out some fucked-up shit yesterday.”

There was something off about Zane. Falcon curled his lip back. “You banged that

cop.”

Mirth entered Zane’s eyes. “Nope, not yet.”

Falcon placed his arm on the table and leaned in. “What are you waiting for? The

longer you leave the mark, the stronger the bond will get. Stop playing suicidal games and
get it over with.”

Zane worked his jaw to the side as his eyes strayed toward the floor. “Look, I came

here to tell you that the ATF is watching Striker.” Zane rapped his knuckles on the Formica
tabletop. “Have everyone pull back.”

His brother got up and walked out, leaving Falcon sitting there cursing under his

breath. He hated to see Zane like this. The guy was going through something and Falcon
had only managed to push his twin further away.

After draining his coffee, he tossed a few bucks on the table and told the waitress to

cancel Zane’s order before leaving the diner. He spotted Zane sitting on his motorcycle,
pensively staring down the street.

“Look, I’m—” Falcon rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

“I’m a big boy. I know where my loyalties lie.”

Falcon shoved his thumbs into his front pockets and shrugged. “I know. I just worry

about you.” It seemed he was saying that a lot lately. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or have
your back, but everything in me is screaming for you to stay away from Tate.”

Some of the hard lines on Zane’s face smoothed. He pulled his riding gloves from

inside his leather and slid them on before starting his bike. “Your confidence in me is
appreciated, bro. But the next time you ask me whose side I’m on, remember who’s been
with you from day one.”

Zane pulled away, merging into traffic as Falcon stood there and watched. He felt

the first drop of the returning rain before he got on his own bike and headed home.

* * * *

“I know something’s wrong.” Lonnie cornered Zane, narrowing his eyes as he

shoved a finger up at the guy. “You haven’t been acting like yourself lately.”

Zane made a playful swipe at Lonnie’s finger, caught it, and bit the tip. Lonnie

yanked his finger back and smacked Zane on the chest.

“I’m fine,” Zane said. “You worry too much.”

Lonnie tossed his dreads over his shoulder and stared critically at Zane. He wasn’t

stupid. Not by a long shot. He knew Zane was coming around Andromeda less and less,
and when he was here, the guy’s mind was someplace else. Rett had told him that Zane was
dating Detective Jackass. Lonnie didn’t want to believe it.

Who dated a cop?

“Leave him be,” Jake said from behind the counter. “A guy has a right to have his

secrets. What are you, his mom?”

Lonnie stomped over to the glass display case and slammed his palm down. “He’s

my friend. If someone is fucking with him or he needs to talk, I’m here. I’ll beat the
person’s ass or I’ll give Zane a shoulder to cry on!”

“Whoa,” Zane said as he lifted a hand. A you-got-me-fucked-up look came over his

face. “Who said I needed to cry? What the hell is going on in that squirrely little brain of
yours?”

Lonnie stomped his heeled foot, feeling the frustration mounting. He didn’t like

change—although there had been a lot of change going on lately. But Lonnie really liked
Zane. The guy was charismatic, funny, and Zane had one of those personalities that just
seemed to draw people to the man. He didn’t want Zane dating a cop. What if Zane fell in
love and blabbed everything? Lonnie highly doubted the guy would do that, but love had a
way of twisting your head.

“Don’t get pissy with me,” Lonnie said to Zane as he turned around. “It could

happen.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Zane said while taking a seat on the couch. “Sorry, not ready

to hand over my manhood card just yet.”

“Are you harassing Zane?” Rett asked as he walked down the hall, his customer

following. Lonnie eyed Zane as Jake rang the customer up and took care of the bill.

“I’m just trying to let him know that he has friends,” Lonnie said to his best friend.

“Hey, don’t I owe you a night out?” Zane asked. Lonnie could see what the guy was

doing. But as hard as he tried to stay mad, he grinned and nodded.

“Ruby Red!”

* * * *

Ruby Red was a goth club that was housed in a two-story brick building on the

Lower East Side. It was one of the better places to go in Paradise City. There were
bouncers posted at the door and a few who roamed the place, ready to put anyone who
started any kind of trouble on his ass.

Although Darlings loved any place where drunken humans were gathered, they

tended to stick to places like Pandora’s Box—an underground cave were humans were into

role-playing, acting out their vampire fantasies.

Which wasn’t to say Darlings weren’t known to scope out the people at Ruby Red.

They just used more discretion when coming here.

The place was packed tonight as synthesized trance and techno music rang in the

rafters, blasting out of enormous speakers that framed the elevated stage where live bands
sometimes played. Strobe lights flashed in the high windows. The pulsing beams cut
through the club, pounding to the chaotic beat of a seemingly endless song.

All four Dark Riders, Lonnie, Garrett, and Jake had come to party.

Zane watched as Emilio pushed through the crowd as soon as they walked through

the door. Santos grabbed Lonnie and pulled him toward the wall of people dancing, getting
lost in their midst.

Falcon moved to the bar, Garrett and Jake close behind him. Zane could feel the

vibe in the club, an almost living entity that swam over the place. His eyes scanned the club
for anyone who interested him, but his wolf turned its nose up and was ready to leave.

Zane ignored the dumb beast. It wasn’t like he was here to get laid. He was just

looking to…Zane had no clue what he was looking to get into. Tate wasn’t his lover and
they weren’t an item. He was just trying to fuck the guy to remove the mark.

Keep telling yourself that lie.

He spotted Emilio over by the crescent-shaped booths, talking with some guy. They

looked pretty cozy. He headed over that way and took a seat, checking the club out.

“Cool place,” Jake said as he took a seat next to Zane and raised his glass to his

mouth. There was clear liquid in the glass and plenty of bubbles. Falcon came over and
handed Zane a glass of Grey Goose before taking a seat.

“Never been here before?” Zane asked Jake.

Jake shook his head as his eyes strayed over toward Emilio before snapping toward

the crowd. Understanding dawned on Zane. He glanced from Emilio to Jake and then back
to Emilio, who was whispering something into the stranger’s ear.

Jake wanted Emilio.

Did Emilio know?

Zane was pretty sure the guy didn’t. He didn’t want to believe that Emilio would be

acting this way if he knew the slim goth man was interested in him. When Zane looked
back at Jake, the man had a forlorn expression on his face.

There was no way Zane was getting in the middle of that. He had his own hands full

right now.

Jake set his glass on the table and patted Zane’s arm. “Come on, let’s dance.”

He wasn’t sure if he agreed because he was ready to cut loose and party or because

he knew Jake was safe—someone he wasn’t sexually interested in. Zane didn’t want to
examine the whys of his commitment to Tate too closely.

The entire time they were walled in with the dancers, Jake kept looking back in

Emilio’s direction.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Zane shouted in Jake’s ear. Damn, he was going to drop

himself in the middle of the shit anyway.

“Tell who what?” Jake asked.

Zane could have played just as coy, backing out and leaving things alone. He

should’ve. When was he ever going to learn? “Tell Emilio how you feel about him?”

Jake stopped dancing, his amber eyes dropping to the floor as he shuffled his feet.

Zane wished he hadn’t said anything. The guy looked as if someone had kicked his puppy.

He patted Jake on his arm and winked. “We’re here to have fun.”

That didn’t seem to help. Jake turned once more and looked in Emilio’s direction.

The guy shouldn’t have. When Zane glanced over at the booths, he saw Emilio and the
stranger going at it hot and heavy.

Before Zane knew what was happening, Jake took off through the crowd. Shit. Zane

rushed after Jake, feeling bad for the guy. Jake had grown on him since Zane had started
hanging around Andromeda. The guy dressed pure goth and pretty much kept to himself,
but Zane had a feeling that Jake was hiding behind the heavy makeup, dark clothes, and
tattoos.

Zane spotted Jake heading out the back door. That wasn’t a smart move. The human

didn’t need to be in that back alley by himself. Things lurked in the night—things that
would take pleasure in torturing Jake before killing him.

Pushing past the endless crowd of people, Zane slammed his hand into the door and

rushed out into the hot summer night. He didn’t see Jake anywhere.

“Fuck.” Zane placed his hands on his hips, wondering if he should go after Jake or

leave things be. Not every human who walked the streets of Paradise City was attacked.
Jake had managed to get by so far without being mugged or bitten.

Zane decided to leave things alone for now. But he was going to tip Emilio’s ear to

what was going on. Even if Emilio felt nothing for the goth, at least his friend would have
all the facts. It was pretty fucked up that Jake was mooning over Emilio, and Emilio was in
the club freaking on some stranger.

Just as he reached for the handle, the door opened. Zane didn’t pay much attention

to the guys exiting until he caught the noxious odor. He glanced up to see five guys glaring
at him.

“Looky here,” the man in the front said. “We got us a Dark Rider all alone in the

alley. What say we have some fun?”

Zane reached for the knives that were tucked away in his leather. He pulled both

blades free, one in each hand, twirling them with expertise. “Bring it.”

And they did.

The five men rushed him at once and Zane fought with everything he had in him.

He swung his right arm up, stabbing one of the Darlings in the chest as he cut another with
the knife in his left hand. He punched, kicked, swiveled around, and stabbed, all the while
trying to dodge sharp fangs.

But tonight, under a cloudless sky and a full moon, Zane came to the realization that

these Darlings were determined to take him out. Somehow he knew that they weren’t here
just to bite, to drink his blood, or to have some fun with him.

They were here to kill him.

He inhaled sharply when something hard plunged into his side. Zane let out a howl

and shifted. The knives clattered to the ground as his wolf emerged.

“Get him!”

Zane snarled and lunged for the closest Darling. He felt fangs sink into his

hindquarter, pain exploding inside. He was fighting to get the son of a bitch off of him
when another set of fangs sank deep. This couldn’t be happening. Zane had become the
Darlings’ chew toy and he couldn’t drown out the pain long enough to get free.

He latched onto his connection with Tate, taking one last glimpse into the man’s

mind before he felt the edges of his vision begin to dim.

A howl rent the air. Zane tried to focus, tried to hang on to consciousness. He could

see his twin and Santos fighting the Darlings, killing them as Emilio dropped down next to
Zane, cradling his head. “Hang in there. We’ll get you home.”

Zane shifted back to his human form, shivering as he grabbed Emilio’s arm.

“Go…go find Jake.”

Emilio furrowed his dark brows. “Don’t worry about Jake. I’ll find him. You just

hang in there. Do you hear me?”

Zane nodded as darkness pulled him under.

Chapter Eight

Emilio combed the streets, hunting down Jake. He felt like shit for leaving Zane, but

he felt even worse for what had happened inside the club. He hadn’t thought…No, that was
the problem. He hadn’t given one damn thought to Jake being there.

He should have, though.

Emilio knew he was fighting against the attraction. Jake may look hardcore, but he

wasn’t. They guy was shy, naïve, and Emilio was afraid of someone like that. He’d never
been in a real relationship in his life, and the thought of pursuing Jake made his heart beat a
thousand times faster.

You’re a dumbass for macking on someone in front of Jake.

Emilio chewed on his thoughts as he slowly rolled down Fourth Street. Jake

couldn’t have gotten far. He wasn’t sure where the guy lived, but—Emilio spotted a group
of guys in front of a closed-down beauty-supply store. What caught his attention was the
guy in the middle with his arms shielding his head.

A growl erupted from Emilio’s chest when he recognized Jake. What the fuck was

going on? Emilio shot forward on his bike when one of the men slammed his fist into
Jake’s stomach.

Emilio hopped the curb with his bike, sending the men scattering like roaches. They

took off in all directions before he could get off of his motorcycle. But they would have to
wait. Jake slid down to his knees and began to vomit.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Dismounting, Emilio knelt next to Jake, rubbing his back. “How badly are you

hurt?” He could feel the man shaking as he wiped at his mouth.

“I’m fine.” Jake tried to shrug Emilio’s hand off. “I don’t need any help.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Emilio helped Jake to his feet only to have the guy shove at

him.

“Piss off!” Jake staggered past Emilio and headed away. But he didn’t get far before

he bent over and began to vomit again. Emilio cursed and went after the human.

“You’re in no condition to walk. Let me give you a ride home.” Emilio hoped the

guy didn’t need a hospital. He was clueless when it came to that sort of thing. He hadn’t
been human in over three hundred years.

“I don’t need your help.” Jake spit on the ground, but hadn’t straightened yet. He

was still bent over, holding his gut. His complexion had paled and he looked as if he were
about to pass out.

“Will you stop being so damn stubborn.” Before Jake could try to get away, Emilio

picked the guy up and carried him to his motorcycle, Jake struggling to get free all the
while. “Hush.” Emilio softened his voice, but refused to let the guy go.

Jake grew quiet, but Emilio could see defiance in the guy’s amber eyes. He

understood that Jake was upset about earlier. And the guy was more than likely pissed
about being jumped. But there was a vibe around Jake that went much deeper than mere
anger.

He set the guy on his feet and then mounted his bike. “Get on.”

Jake didn’t argue. He slipped behind Emilio and held on as Emilio drove off the

sidewalk and onto the street. “You’ll have to tell me where you live.”

“On Hower.”

Emilio knew where that was. It surprised him that Jake lived that far away. He knew

the guy didn’t own a car. It had to take forever on the bus to get to Andromeda every day.

He decided to take the freeway to cut time. All the while, he fought to ignore how

good it felt to have the guy’s arms wrapped around him.

* * * *

Tate hadn’t seen Zane in three days. The man wasn’t answering his phone and his

bike hadn’t been outside Andromeda either. Something was wrong. Tate caught snatches of
the man while he slept, but it wasn’t anything he could hold on to. He had seen Zane lying
on his side, crying out in pain.

But that didn’t make any sense.

Tate pulled up to the curb two blocks from the Dirty Hole and parked. The

neighborhood seemed to be busy as hell today. Normally he didn’t have to park so far
away. He sat there for a moment, wondering if he should even waste his time.

He knew no one in Andromeda would help him, but he was hoping Zane would be

inside and his worried mind would be set at ease.

Taking in a deep breath, Tate got out and waited as a car with music loud enough

for the entire block to hear drove past, before he crossed the street and started walking
toward the tattoo shop. Santos’s and Emilio’s bikes were parked along the curb, but he
didn’t see Falcon’s or Zane’s.

Doubt started to creep into his mind. The co-owners of Andromeda weren’t going to

be forthcoming with any information, and Jake was too damn scared of Tate to open his
damn mouth. Bandit had been fired, so he was of no use.

He highly doubted Santos or Emilio would tell him what was going on, but he was

going to get someone to talking or…at this point, Tate didn’t know what he was going to
do. He couldn’t stop thinking about Zane, craving the guy, missing him. There was no logic
to the strange and strong bond he felt toward Zane.

Tate climbed the twenty or so steps and then pulled the chrome-and-glass door open

to the suicide-inducing sounds blaring inside the shop. These guys needed to expand their
taste in music and try some country once in a damn while. An instant throb began to beat at
the back of his skull. No matter how many times Tate visited this place, he would never get
used to the Marilyn Manson décor.

Lonnie came down the hallway, black nitrile gloves on his hands. The short shit

narrowed his pale-green eyes at Tate. “Oh no you don’t. We ain’t got time for your
thousand questions today.”

Not two seconds after Lonnie appeared, Santos was standing cross-armed behind

the guy, like a demonic bodyguard ready to slay any enemies that dare rise up against the
quirky tattoo artist.

The door chimed and Emilio walked in with a brown paper bag in his hand, glaring

at Tate as if Tate were the antichrist. He just stood there in the doorway, his large, muscular
figure eating up the doorframe.

“I’m here to see Zane.”

It was as if Zane’s name was taboo or something. Lonnie’s eyes widened as Santos

let go of a low growl. The brown bag in Emilio’s hand crinkled as he gripped it tighter.

“Here to arrest him for some bogus-ass charge?” Emilio asked.

“Why would I do that?” Tate wasn’t sure what Zane had told these men—if he had

told them anything at all about their meetings—but from their death looks, it wasn’t good.

“Tell me why cops do half the shit they do.” Emilio walked further inside, setting

the bag on the coffee table before turning, taking up the same stance as his cousin—arms
crossed, gaze demonic.

Tate knew he could use his authority to threaten these men into telling him where

Zane was, but he had a feeling they wouldn’t care.

Appealing to them wouldn’t help either since they hated him. He had wasted his

time coming here. He could see that. But he had to try. He glanced at Lonnie, trying to
imagine the guy as a wolf, but couldn’t. That tape kept playing over and over in his mind
and he knew there were darker things in Paradise City—things that shouldn’t exist. But as
he gazed at all three men, all he saw were humans.

“Tell him I’m looking for him.” Tate started for the door.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Lonnie said. “On second thought, hold it until you pass

out.”

Tate gritted his teeth, telling himself not to strangle the little shit as he slammed his

hand into the door and walked out.

* * * *

Zane sat on the side of his bed, his body aching like he’d been hit by a truck and

then run over by a few RVs. He’d been out of it for three days, drifting in and out of
consciousness, his wolf fighting the poison the Darlings had injected into him. Even his
damn bones hurt. He remembered his twin being at his bedside, chanting continuously for
Zane to fight the poison, to come back to him.

But Zane needed to get out of the cabin. He needed to find Tate. The guy still wore

Zane’s mark and that made him a target. Zane dressed, feeling his hands shake. He wasn’t
back to his old self just yet. His fingers moved slowly, but he managed to get his clothes
and boots on.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Falcon set the tray aside and crossed the

room, trying to persuade Zane to lie back down.

“Got shit to do.” Zane pushed Falcon’s hands away, unwilling to be talked out of

checking on Tate.

“The cop can wait.”

Zane grabbed his leather from the chair in his room. “You know as well as I do that

he can’t. He’s still wearing my mark, which makes him cannon fodder for the Darlings.” If
anything had happened to Tate, Zane would never forgive himself. It had been stupid to
mark the guy in the first place. It had been an asinine, irresponsible move on his part.

“He’s fine.”

Zane pulled his leather on, determined to get to Tate. “And how would you know?”

“Because I’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Falcon said. The confession stunned

Zane. He knew that Falcon hated Tate. So did Santos and Emilio. No one at Andromeda
liked the detective and Zane didn’t blame them. But he was finding that Tate had many
different layers, and Zane had discovered sides of the guy that no one else knew of. Tate
came off as a hard-nosed prick, but there were other aspects to the man. He knew that Tate

cared about his work and was an honorable man. He could still see Tate lying on his dining
room floor, fighting to take control, yet the vulnerability in the cop’s eyes had said he
wanted Zane to be in charge, craved for Zane to show him how good it could be between
them.

“Why?” Zane asked. “You hate him. Why would you make sure he’s safe?”

“Because you’re the one who marked him,” Falcon replied. “And I know you. If

something happened to your cop, you’d lose it.”

Your cop. Had his brother hit his head? “So,” Zane hedged. “You cool with me

dating the detective?”

Falcon looked less than pleased. “No, but do I have a choice? Regardless of what I

say, you’re going to do what you want. So instead of fighting against your insanity, I’d
rather be around to keep an eye on you.”

Not exactly an endorsement, but appreciated nonetheless. “I’m heading over there

now. I’ll call you and let you know what’s going on.”

“Just be careful,” Falcon said. “Things are getting hot as fuck around the Lower

East Side and I don’t want you caught up in anything.”

Zane chuckled, though he still felt like roadkill. “Aw, you really do care about me.”

His twin shook his head as if Zane were hopeless, but he could see the love shining

in the man’s dark eyes. Falcon wasn’t one to show his softer side, but he let it slip out once
in a while. Zane gave his twin a quick hug before he headed toward the door.

“I’ll ride into the city with you,” Falcon said. “I want to make sure you don’t lay

down your bike.” He glanced at Zane. “You still look like death warmed over.”

“Feel that way, too.” Zane left the cabin and mounted his bike, hoping he didn’t get

dizzy while driving. But nothing was going to stop him from finding his cop.

Zane normally loved the adrenaline rush of speed, but he kept his velocity to the

legal limit as he rode to Tate’s. Falcon stayed with him the entire time and even paused on
Tate’s street until Zane had his bike parked before taking off.

Tate’s car was in the drive.

Zane felt like he was about to pass out by the time he mounted the steps and

knocked on Tate’s door. He needed to lie down. Things were getting a bit fuzzy.

Tate swung the door open and there was no missing the relief in the man’s eyes

before he quickly masked it. “Where in the hell have you been?”

Without answering, Zane moved past Tate and pulled his leather off before

climbing onto the man’s couch. “We’ll talk later. Right now I need to sleep.”

The guy didn’t protest. He closed the front door and then grabbed the blanket on the

back of the couch, draping the soft material over Zane. As he drifted off to sleep, Zane felt
Tate removing his boots.

“You need anything?” Tate’s voice was low.

“Just you,” Zane said as he slipped into sleep.

* * * *

Garrett eyed the man who had walked into Andromeda and instantly pegged him for

a cop. He highly doubted the guy was here for a tat. Although Garrett had to begrudgingly
admit the man was quite handsome, he looked too straightlaced. “Can I help you?”

The stranger pulled out his badge. “Detective Ames.”

Yep, Garrett still knew how to spot five-o.

Santos—who had been half dozing on the couch—sat up, stretching his large

muscles as his eyes pinned the cop. Emilio came from down the hallway to lean against the
wall. Garrett wished Falcon was here. Although he understood why his lover was still at
home, he could really use the man’s support right now.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” Garrett was glad Lonnie was with a customer.

If he knew his best friend—and he did—Lonnie would be mouthing off right now.
Normally, Garrett got a kick out of seeing Lonnie confuse cops, but there was something
about Detective Ames that set off all of Garrett’s alarms.

Dirty cop? Maybe. The man’s blue eyes were too assessing, too sharp. He wouldn’t

be as easily dissuaded as Tate was. This one was crafty. The guy tilted his head before
turning to look at Santos, and then Emilio. “Is Zane Mancinni around?”

That was two cops in one day looking for Zane. As far as Garrett knew, Zane hadn’t

gotten into any trouble. For three days now Zane had been suffering through multiple
Darling bites. And for three days, everyone else had been moping around here, worried.
Finally, an hour ago, Falcon had called and said Zane was awake and doing fine.

“He’s not here,” Emilio said from the couch before glancing back down at a

magazine Garrett knew the man wasn’t reading. He couldn’t have been. The damn thing
was upside down.

“Huh,” Ames said, the noise sounding like a question. “Odd. Tate didn’t tell me he

was meeting with his informant today.” Ames shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry to have
bothered you.”

Garrett watched the guy walk out of the shop before he exploded. “That fucking

bastard! There is no way Zane is Tate’s rat. No fucking way!”

“Calm down,” Santos said. “It’s obvious what the guy’s doing. He just wants to tear

us apart, make us start questioning our loyalty to one another. Even though it’s obvious that
Zane is digging on that cop, I know he wouldn’t rat us out.”

“I know he wouldn’t either. Who is Ames anyway, Tate’s partner?” Garrett asked.

“Why would he come in here and pull a stunt like that? Did Tate send him in?”

“I doubt it,” Santos said. “I’ve always gotten the impression that Tate doesn’t play

mind games. Not like that. The guy might have hauled me in for questioning,
but…something just doesn’t seem right.”

Garrett noticed that Emilio wasn’t saying anything.

Rider raced down the hall, jumping up onto the couch where Emilio was sitting.

Emilio tossed his magazine aside and began to pet the boxer, but he still didn’t say a word.
He had a pensive expression on his face as Lonnie appeared.

“What’d I miss?” His customer came out, paid, and left. Lonnie pocketed his tip

before resting his arm over Garrett’s shoulder. “Spill.”

“Some detective came in here—Tate’s partner, I think. He called Zane an

informant.”

Lonnie began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he staggered against Garrett. “Good

one, Rett.”

“I’m not kiddin’, Lonnie.”

Lonnie waved a dismissive hand. “I know you weren’t. But Zane is no more an

informant than I’m the president of the Dark Riders. He isn’t a snitch,” Lonnie said with
confidence. “Unless the cop is dicking him down really good, then maybe we shouldn’t
leave a forwarding address. You know, jail-worthy secrets and all.”

Garrett scowled at his best friend. “Zane would not spill the beans over some dick.”

Lonnie shrugged. “I sing like a canary when Santos fucks me.”

Santos coughed and then laughed.

But Emilio didn’t.

“Have you heard from Jake?” Garrett asked Emilio, ignoring Lonnie’s weird

revelation.

Jake had been a familiar presence since Garrett and Lonnie first opened the shop.

The guy hardly ever missed a day. But he’d called in three days in a row now, saying he
had to take care of family business. That wasn’t like him and Garrett was worried about the
guy. What kind of family business took a guy away from work for three days?

Emilio’s pensive face darkened. “No.”

“He’ll be back,” Lonnie said. “It isn’t like Jake to stay away.”

Garrett hoped Lonnie was right. Still. “Can you swing by his place and check on

him?” Garrett asked Emilio.

The man looked relieved to get out of there. He nodded and got up, not bothering to

ask for Jake’s address as he left the shop. Garrett glanced over at Santos. “Do you think
Emilio believes that Zane is a turncoat?”

Santos shrugged. “I don’t think he wants to believe it, but you have to admit, things

are getting sketchy around here.”

That was the understatement of the year.

Chapter Nine

Zane had slept for a good twelve hours now. Tate was worried, but the guy didn’t

have a fever and he was still breathing. In that twelve hours, Tate had gone to the station
and put in a for a week’s vacation. Since he hadn’t taken one in forever, Captain Savage
gave him the days. Not sure what was wrong with Zane, Tate had stopped by the local
grocery store and picked up some soup and ginger ale. He’d never taken care of anyone
who was sick and was pretty clueless about what to do. He’d also picked up some Halls,
cough syrup, some Vicks, nasal decongestant, and a whole shopping list of other items for
someone who might have anything from the common cold to the black plague.

He felt foolish for buying all those unnecessary things, but it eased his worries and

gave him something to do. After a nice, hot shower, Tate had taken a seat in his La-Z-Boy,
wearing nothing but a pair of comfortable lounging pants, flipping through endless
channels of absolutely nothing. His mind wasn’t on the television, but on the guy who was
sleeping soundly on his couch.

Tate turned the television off when Zane began to move around and then slowly

open his eyes. A weight that had been sitting on Tate’s chest lifted, his muscles draining of
long-held tension. “Hey.” Tate spoke as if in a library. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” Zane said as he stretched, his body popping in certain places as the man’s

tendons strained. Tate blinked rapidly and then openly stared at the hard lines and heavy
swell of muscles. “Could use a shower.”

“Down the hall to the left.” Tate got up, glad to have something to do besides watch

the guy sleep. “I’ll get you a towel.”

Zane sat up, resting his feet on the floor as he dangled his hands between his thighs.

He seemed a bit out of sorts and then nodded, as if deciding he could stand without falling
over.

Tate left the living room, left the temptation. All he had thought about since Zane’s

arrival was the guy getting better. But now that Zane was back among the living, he
couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel to have Zane pressing him into the mattress.

Tate grabbed a towel and washcloth from the hallway linen closet as Zane passed

him and headed into the bathroom. The guy didn’t bother to close the door. He heard the
man taking a piss and then the toilet flushing. When the water in the sink turned on, Tate
came into the bathroom and set the items on the counter. “Let me know if you need
anything else.”

Zane nodded. “Thanks.”

Tate left the man in the bathroom, going into his bedroom and pacing as he listened

to the steady rhythm of the shower. He imaged Zane under the hot spray, completely naked,
and was jealous of the water gliding over all those wonderful muscles.

Why are you torturing yourself like this, shitwit?

Tate headed into the kitchen to put on some tea. He had to keep busy or he just

might join the guy.

By the time he’d made something to eat for the two of them and set things on the

table, the room began to fill with a cloud of steam and the scent of clean soap and spiciness.
Zane walked into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The guy’s
body was so close to naked, and the perfect sweet muskiness of his skin was everywhere.

Tate lost brain cells before he realized he was staring and looked away. “Hungry?”

“Famished,” Zane admitted as he took a seat. The towel parted to show a brawny

left thigh. Tate could even see the outline of the man’s cock before his eyes traveled up the
man’s golden body until they settled on Zane’s strong and beautifully sculpted chest.

He was expecting the guy to tease him for ogling, but Zane didn’t say a word as he

dug into the soup and sandwiches Tate had made. Tate cleared his throat, his mind, and
took a seat. He wasn’t really hungry—not for food.

Zane didn’t speak until his bowl was empty and nothing but crumbs remained on

his plate. He drank his tea down and then let go of a satisfied sigh. “That hit the spot.
Thanks.”

Tate’s sandwich was missing just two bites and his soup hadn’t been touched. He

stood, glancing around the room. “I’ll go put your things in the wash.”

Zane’s clothes were folded and sitting on the closed toilet lid. Tate cleaned the

pockets out, leaving their contents on the counter before taking Zane’s clothes to the small
laundry room off of the attached garage. He glanced over at Zane’s bike. He’d stored it in
the garage after Zane had passed out on the couch.

Will you stop acting like you have a teenage crush?

Tate chuckled at how nervous he was before closing the lid on the washer and going

back to the kitchen to clean things up. He didn’t see Zane. Once the kitchen was back in
order, he sought the man out. Zane was stretched out on Tate’s bed, his long, wet hair lying
to one side of the pillow.

“Are you feeling sick again?” Tate moved closer and wished he hadn’t. The towel

was hiked up to reveal the man’s balls and the lower half of his ass. Tate bit his lower lip.

Zane turned over and the towel slipped free. The man watched him, his obsidian

eyes filled with want, need, and lust. Tate’s breath came out in pants, slow and unsteady as
he gazed at Zane’s long, thick shaft. The man was a work of art.

“Come here.” Zane tucked his hands behind his head, his eyes trailing every move

Tate made.

Tate moved to the other side of the bed, taking a seat. He yelped when Zane shot up

and pulled him down next to the man. His face flushed with embarrassment over the
unmanly noise he had made. Zane chuckled as he pulled Tate’s back to his chest. “I
remember the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Tate remembered that as well. “You reminded me of a thug with hippie hair.”

“Hippie hair?” Zane sounded offended as he laid a hot kiss on the nape of Tate’s

neck. “Really?”

Tate also remembered how he’d thought Zane was a wet dream on two legs, but he

didn’t reveal that tidbit of information. “I thought you were looking at me, sizing me up so
you could off me.”

“Nah,” Zane said. Tate tucked his head forward, wanting more of those sensual

kisses. “I was wondering what you would look like naked, lying under me as I made you
scream my name.”

“Never would’ve guessed,” Tate mumbled as Zane began to slowly turn him,

placing Tate on his stomach. Tate inhaled sharply when Zane began to kiss him on the top
of his spine.

“Well, you should’ve…Detective,” Zane taunted.

Tate tried to think of a witty comeback, but it was hard to think when Zane’s hand

began to explore, brushing over Tate’s waist as his fingers traced his skin and Tate’s

pajama bottoms began to slowly lower. He swallowed hard, unsure if he was ready for this.

“Relax, Jack. I know you’ve never bottomed before.”

Tate shook his head. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” Zane asked as his fingers glided just under the waistband of Tate’s pants.

Tate shivered when the guy lingered at his tailbone and then slid lower.

“My fucked-up ex used to call me that.”

Zane breathed a laugh against Tate’s skin. “Wouldn’t want you to have flashbacks.”

Tate felt the saliva pooling in his mouth. He swallowed. And swallowed again and

thought, I’m fucking drooling over what Zane is doing to me.

Zane sucked languidly on Tate’s back as his fingers teased below the waistband.

Tate jerked when Zane touched his hole. A thousand sparks shot through him, his cock
growing ramrod straight even though his nerves felt like they were being exposed to an
electrical storm.

“Relax, cop,” Zane whispered. “I’m just touching, nothing more…for now.”

Tate shifted underneath Zane as the guy kissed him along his spine. His toes began

to curl when Zane reached the top of his ass. This is so much better than the dream, so
much better than the dining room.

His pants were lowered until they were pulled free. Tate could feel the solid warmth

of Zane’s shoulders settle before his hands separated Tate’s cheeks. A warm puff of air
glided over his hole, sending tingles up Tate’s spine. Tate crushed his face into the pillow,
breathing out slowly as Zane’s tongue began to lick. The stark intimacy of the skin-to-skin
contact had Tate moaning.

“You like that, cop?” Zane lapped at Tate’s hole. Zane’s warm fingers dug into his

skin as the guy thrust his tongue into Tate’s entrance.

“Fuck!” Tate gripped the sheets, forcing his body not to jump. He rotated his hips in

a slow circle, trying to impale his ass deeper onto the man’s tongue. Goose bumps rose
when Zane’s long, wet hair brushed over Tate’s thighs. He wanted to run his fingers
through the dark veil and feel the strands tickling his back as Zane fucked him.

Tate was stunned at just how much he wanted Zane to top. He clenched his ass,

feeling his heart racing, nearly exploding. Zane moved up Tate’s body, sliding his arms
under Tate, holding him tightly, chest to back. “This is more than sex for me.” Zane’s lips
pressed into Tate’s ear. “I want this, you, us, permanently.” Zane nuzzled Tate’s neck. “I’ve
never wanted anyone, anything as much as I want you, Tate. I want to be the one. The guy
you dream about, the man you crave with your fucking soul. I’m not pulling your chain or
blowing smoke up your ass.” Zane hesitated before he said, “I’m ready to walk away from
the Dark Riders just to be with you.”

Tate’s eyes widened. He was speechless. He could hear the sincerity in Zane’s

voice.

“You’re mine, Tate.” Zane chuckled and then cursed. “You have my head so

twisted that I think I would go insane if you walked away.”

Tate touched his forehead to the pillow, closing his eyes. “I would never walk away,

Zane—even if being with you cost me everything.”

The certainty of how he felt toward Zane had finally come to light. Tate hadn’t even

known he was feeling that way until the words escaped his lips. But they were the god’s
honest truth. “You are the one.”

“Then let me love you,” Zane whispered, pleaded, and Tate knew the man didn’t

beg anyone for anything. “Let me have you—all of you.”

Tate’s head bobbed up and down as he released a shaky breath. He knew he would

give this man anything he asked for and that made him feel as if he were hanging out there,
exposed. He had never given anyone this much trust, not even his ex.

Zane pulled his arms from under Tate and turned him over. His gorgeous, playful

smile made Tate’s heart clench as his throat caught. If Zane hurt him, he knew he would
never recover. The man owned every beat of Tate’s heart.

Zane lowered his head, kissing Tate just above his heart and then inhaled Tate’s

scent. “Perfect,” Zane said before he moved lower, his tongue tracing intricate lines over
Tate’s chest, abdomen, and stomach, his long hair cascading over Tate.

“God,” Tate whispered, gathering the silky hair in his hands, playing with it,

tugging as Zane swallowed his cock. Tate arched his back, spreading his legs further apart.
Zane moved not only his head up and down, but his entire upper body. It was as if he were
doing push-ups as his lips and tongue made Tate feel as if he were free falling.

Tate felt his cock hit the back of the man’s throat and noticed Zane moving around

before sliding a wet finger into Tate’s ass. He hissed, pulling on the fisted hair in his hands,
rocking his body, his hips, swaying them as Zane played his body like a finely tuned
instrument. Tate began to murmur, “Please, please, please.”

Zane’s tongue twirled around Tate’s cock as he inserted two more fingers. Tate’s

lips parted, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Zane…I…I’m…” A fire rocket went off in his head as he came down Zane’s

throat. Tate tensed, groaning, his body jerking as Zane let the cock slip from his mouth. But
his fingers stayed buried, fucking Tate as Tate’s orgasm rang out through his entire body.

His lover kissed his stomach, teasing his navel, working his fingers deeper into

Tate’s ass. “Lube?”

Tate tossed an arm toward his nightstand, too wrung out to formulate words. Zane

chuckled, bending forward as he placed a whispered kiss on Tate’s lips. “You look so
fucking delicious.”

“You should know,” Tate said with barely a breath. “You just ate me.”

Zane’s deep laughter had Tate grinning like an idiot. His lover moved over him,

reaching into the nightstand and coming back with a well-used bottle. Zane’s fingers pulled
free, before he coated them and began to play at Tate’s hole. Tate moaned, his hips once
again swiveling as he ground his ass on Zane’s hand.

Tossing the bottle aside, Zane stretched out next to Tate, nipping and licking along

his neck. Even though Tate had just come, his cock was growing hard again.

When Zane moved over Tate, he didn’t tense, didn’t question if he was ready for

this. It felt so damn natural. Still, his pulse quickened when Zane knelt between his legs,
slathering his thick shaft with lube.

Zane tossed the bottle aside and wiped his wet hand on the sheet before he pressed

his left hand by Tate’s head, using his right to guide his cock to Tate’s hole. “Pull your legs
back, love.”

Tate hooked his knees, pulling his legs back as he bit his lower lip, wondering how

painful this was going to be.

“As slow as you need me to go,” Zane said as the head of his cock began to stretch

Tate’s muscles.

The burn nearly made Tate beg his lover to stop. But he bit back the words as he

gripped his legs until his fingernails were digging into flesh. “Slow, slow, slow,” he began
to chant.

“Okay, slow,” Zane said as he nodded. His eyes were intense, penetrating, as if he

were trying really hard not to hurt Tate. Tate was mesmerized by the pure pleasure
encompassing Zane’s features. Keeping his legs pulled back, he reached up, pulling Zane’s
head down and crushing their lips together, their tongues tangling as Zane’s cock inched
inside of him.

Tate inhaled Zane’s breath, inhaled everything about this man. He had fallen hard

for Zane, fallen in love with the man. He wasn’t sure when or how it’d happened, but there
was no denying the truth.

Zane pulled his head back, their gazes locking as his lover’s cock bottomed out.

Zane didn’t move.

Tate didn’t breathe.

He could see the torture in the corded muscles on Zane’s neck as the man fought not

to thrust. Tate drew his legs up and wrapped them around Zane’s waist, nudging the man
closer. “Move.”

And Zane did. He slipped almost all the way out before he thrust forward. Tate let

go of a pleasurable curse as Zane powered in and out of him, slowed, teased, and then
pistoned again.

“Fast or slow?” Zane asked, his words barely audible.

Tate strangled the pillows under his head to the point that if they had been living

beings, they’d be dead right now. “Fast.”

Zane’s nostrils flared as he reared back, grabbed Tate’s sides in a death hold, and

gave Tate exactly what he had asked for. His lover’s muscled body flexed repeatedly as
sweat began to build on Zane’s skin. His hair matted against him, his gaze never leaving
Tate’s as his balls slapped against Tate’s ass. The man drove harder, deeper, as Tate’s voice
strained, shouting out as the pleasure threatened to shatter him. His gland was being struck
on every thrust and Tate feared he would pass out as he twisted and bucked, flames licking
their way up his spine.

Tate couldn’t breathe, couldn’t pull enough oxygen into his lungs. Zane was

consuming him.

He grabbed his bobbing cock and it only took three stokes before the room spun,

sending Tate tumbling forward, his orgasm tearing through him. Zane gripped him tighter,
his hips moving faster. The sound of their skin colliding filled the room, the scent of sex
flooding the air as Zane threw his head back and cried out Tate’s name.

They rocked slowly together. Tate lowered his eyelids, waiting for his body to float

back down to earth.

“Goddamn,” Zane cursed, breathing raggedly. He pulled free and collapsed next to

Tate. He slung an arm over Tate and yanked him close, burying his nose in Tate’s neck.
“Just…damn.”

Tate chuckled, feeling boneless. “I agree.”

Chapter Ten

The following day, Zane was walking out of the Dirty Hole, heading over to

Andromeda when he was thrown against a car, his hands yanked behind his back. “Zane
Mancinni, you’re under arrest.”

Zane had no clue who this cop was. “On what charges?” he asked as the steel cuffs

snapped over his wrists.

“For being a fucking menace,” the guy said. “I’ll figure out something more specific

on the way to the station.” Zane had to fight not to break the cuffs and beat the shit out of
this man.

“Who the hell are you?” Zane ground his teeth when the cop yanked his braid, hard.

“Your worst nightmare,” the detective answered before he opened the back of his

car and shoved Zane inside. Falcon came out of Andromeda, locking gazes with Zane
before the detective got into the driver’s seat. His twin pulled his cell phone out as the car
pulled away.

Zane knew this was bullshit. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not that the detective

could prove, anyway.

“You know Tate is only using you,” the guy said. “He’s slept with other men before

just so he could get the information he needed. Did he tell you that he would give up his
career for you? Did he lead you to believe that he had never bottomed before?”

Zane felt like he was spiraling out of control. How could this guy know what Zane

and Tate had talked about in bed? How could he know the vows Zane and Tate had shared?
Was Tate spinning him? He couldn’t breathe at the thought that Tate was using him.

They rode in silence the rest of the way until they pulled into Paradise City Police

Third Precinct.

“Have you thought up your bogus charges?” Zane asked through clenched teeth as

the cop cut the motor. He was going to find out who this clown was and make him wish
he’d never fucked with him.

“You look like the perp wanted for questioning in Lander Fawcett’s death.”

“Who?” Zane had never heard of that person before.

“A guy who ran with the Blood Hearts.” The cop got out and slammed his door,

standing there with his hands on his hips. He had a bad feeling about this detective. Zane
had been alive long enough to know the signs of someone slipping off the deep end. He just
couldn’t understand why the cop had targeted him.

The back door opened and rough hands yanked him out. Zane complied—although

he could have gotten out of this at any time. But he wasn’t one to run and he knew he could
beat the charge.

He was pulled into the station and put in an interrogation room where he sat by

himself for the next two hours, trying to convince himself that Tate hadn’t used him, hadn’t
lied to him just to sink the Dark Riders.

Just when he thought he was going to go insane, the door opened. Zane wasn’t sure

if he should feel relief when he saw Tate or anger. Was his cop in on this? He didn’t think
so, but nothing made sense to him.

Tate stood there gazing at Zane for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m

sorry you were dragged down here.”

“What the hell is going on, Tate?” Zane’s arms hurt from being behind his back for

so long. His eyelids slid down halfway as he watched Tate approach him.

“A mix-up.” Tate moved behind Zane and unlocked the cuffs. Zane rubbed his

wrists, still unsure what to do, what to think.

“Who was that cop?”

Tate sighed. “My partner, Detective Ames.”

Zane didn’t want to believe that Tate’s partner had come after him like that. If it had

been some random detective, he might have taken the news a lot better. It started to make
sense how Ames knew what Tate would say between the sheets. “You send him after me?”

Tate’s eyes widened before a veil fell over them. “If I wanted to arrest you, I would

have come after you myself.”

A fault line cracked between them—a fissure so wide that Zane felt like he was

falling headfirst into an endless abyss.

“Am I free to go?” Zane headed toward the door, not waiting for Tate to answer

him.

“Yeah.”

He walked out into the hallway and spotted Ames leaning against the wall, his face

hard as he glared at Zane.

Fucking bastard.

Zane walked outside, ready to get as far away from the station and Tate as possible.

He wasn’t sure what to think and he needed some head time. Tate came after him. “Zane,
wait.”

Falcon pulled up on his motorcycle. Zane cursed. Could his day get any shittier?

His twin dismounted, but instead of approaching Zane, he got in Tate’s face.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, but if I see you around my brother again,

I’m going to forget you have a badge,” Falcon said, his tone menacing.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Tate said, his tone just as lethal. “I got a

call from a buddy of mine telling me that Zane had been hauled in—”

“I don’t give a shit,” Falcon said, cutting Tate off. Zane’s twin towered over Tate

and Zane wasn’t sure if he should step between the two. Tate wasn’t backing down and
neither was Falcon. “You’ve been trying to sink the Dark Riders for some time now. For all
I know, you’re fucking with my brother’s head to see what dirt you can dig up. You like
spinning him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never spun him!”

Just then Santos pulled up in the truck. Zane glanced at Tate to see the detective

watching him. Had Tate spun him? Was it all a lie? Zane felt as if his heart was breaking.
He’d trusted Tate, had given the man a piece of him that he’d never given to anyone else.
He wouldn’t have given Falcon’s accusations a second thought if Ames hadn’t told him
things that he shouldn’t have known. The doubt that was creeping over him was hard to let
go.

“You’ve had your fun with my brother.” Falcon spat the words. Zane had never

seen Falcon this pissed before. “It’s over, Tate. Go fuck with someone else’s head and
leave Zane out of whatever screwed-up game you’re playing.”

Zane walked in a fog toward the truck, barely able to breathe as he climbed into the

backseat. He just wanted to curl up on the leather and forget Tate ever existed. How could
he have been so damn foolish? He had been ready to forsake everything for that cop.

“Things get better,” Santos said in a quiet whisper as he pulled away.

Zane doubted it. Not when it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

* * * *

Tate sat in a booth at Bloody Mary’s bar, trying to get as drunk as he possibly

could. He couldn’t ever remember feeling as if a big black hole had opened up in his chest.
He couldn’t ever remember feeling the need to cry like a little bitch either. Zane had stood
there saying absolutely nothing while Falcon handed Tate his ass. Falcon had been wrong,
though. It wasn’t Tate who had spun Zane, but the other way around.

How could Tate have been stupid enough to think a thug like Zane could be

anything other than a callous prick who spoke pretty words to get what he wanted? Fuck,
Tate was an idiot.

He grabbed the bottle of Everclear—one of the most potent alcohols to line the

shelves—and took a long swallow. Yep, Tate planned on getting smashed. He didn’t give a
fuck that he was in a seedy part of town. He didn’t even care that he’d left his gun and
badge at home. All he cared about was forgetting Zane Mancinni.

He blinked, gazing around the half-filled bar, listening to the television blare an old

episode of Friends. There was laughter, swearing, and cheers, a game of pool ensuing in
the back.

Tate downed some more of the liquor. If he could make out what was going on

around him, he wasn’t drunk enough. He turned his head as his body swayed, gazing once
more at the television to see a commercial for motorcycles.

Was he ever going to be able to escape the memory of Zane? Tate knocked the

bottle over, watching as the clear liquid began to drain over the table.

Fuck Zane.

Fuck this bar.

And fuck the television for reminding him that he’d had his heart ripped out. Tate

pushed from the booth he and Zane had occupied last week and stumbled toward the door.
He needed to get out of here. Tate needed to…He felt tears begin to fall and didn’t care
who noticed. He didn’t know anyone here and didn’t plan on getting to know them. A
violent pulse throbbed in his temples as he staggered outside.

The hot night air hit Tate and he had to fight the rise of bile in the back of his throat.

“Zane, Zane, Zane,” Tate sang. “How you’ve driven me insane.”

Tate chuckled and then pressed his back into the brick wall, steadying himself as he

patted his jacket over and over again, wishing his hands would stop long enough to extract
his phone. But they kept dancing over his body, making him laugh harder until he felt the
bulge where his phone was. Tate pulled it free and dialed Zane’s phone number.

The call went straight to voice mail. “Yousorrysackofshit,” he said, his words

tumbling from his mouth as he turned, pressing his forehead into the wall. “I trusted you
and yous fuckkkked me.” Tate began to cry. “Howcouldyoudothattome?”

Tate dropped the phone, pressing his fists into his temples. He had to run, to escape.

It hurt so badly that he wanted to fall into a hole and disappear. He pushed from the wall,
weaving his way toward his car. The logical part of his brain knew he couldn’t drive like
this, but there was nothing wrong with him passing out in his backseat.

At least he would stop thinking of Zane then.

He pressed his hand against the back door of his car before he dropped to his knees

and began to empty his guts. The hot tears continued to fall as his stomach twisted into a
tight knot. He was never going to trust anyone with his heart again. It actually felt like he
was dying.

Tate was trying to get up when he felt something slam into the back of his head, and

then it was lights out.

* * * *

Zane’s fingers brushed over his phone, staring at the icon for his voice mail. He had

turned the device back on five minutes ago, just in case his brother tried to reach him. The
temptation to listen to the message had his finger hovering over the button. But Zane
wasn’t ready to take the chance that it might have been Tate who’d left the message.

The pain was still too raw.

He tucked the phone into his leather and sat back, watching the men in the Dirty

Hole play a round of pool. The music was loud and angry, exactly what Zane wanted to
hear. The laughter and clamorous voices of the patrons filled the place up, yet the noise
wasn’t loud enough to stop Zane from hearing his thoughts, which kept going right back to
the fucking cop.

Zane swiped the bottle of vodka from the table and then slammed it down hard. It

pissed him off to no end that wolf shifters couldn’t get drunk. How in the hell was a guy
supposed to drown his sorrows when his body burned the alcohol up as soon as it hit his
system?

“I told you he would get his,” a man with a swarthy face and large gut said to

another as he took a seat in the booth behind Zane. “That fuckin’ detective needs to learn to
keep his nose outta places it don’t belong.”

“Too bad he survived,” the other man said, snickering. “I would’ve paid a pretty

penny to see him go down.”

Zane was only half listening as he stared off into space, hating himself for

wondering what Tate was doing right now, despising himself for remembering just how
good the man had felt in his arms. God, Zane needed to be shot so he could be put out of
his misery.

“No worries,” the first man said. “Striker is sending someone to the hospital to

finish the job. Detective Jack Tate won’t live out the night.”

Everything inside of Zane locked down. Had he heard them correctly? Did the two

men just say Tate was about to be killed? Hospital? What in the fuck was Tate doing in a
hospital?

After all the effort Zane had put into removing the mark, he wished like hell that he

still had a link to the guy. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and played the message in
his voice mail. Zane’s pulse sped up when he heard Tate’s drunken voice. He had to replay
the message three times in order to understand what the cop was saying.

I trusted you and you fucked me.

Zane’s chest tightened when he heard the tears in Tate’s voice. The man wasn’t just

crying. He was sobbing. The man was outright bawling. If Tate hadn’t used him, then how
did Ames know what Zane and Tate had talked about in bed? It didn’t make any sense. He
played the message one more time, closing his eyes at the anguish in Tate’s tone.

There was no way the guy was faking it.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Zane pushed from his booth and headed for

the door. Tate’s life was in danger. Zane couldn’t just sit on his ass and do nothing. He
would work out the other shit later. Falcon was going to kill Zane for this.

Zane mounted his bike and took off toward Paradise City Memorial Hospital. The

place was located on the Upper West Side. It would take anyone else a good thirty minutes
to get there.

Not Zane.

He pushed his bike to the limit, barely zipping past stoplights that teetered on

yellow, racing past cars and missing them by a hair’s breadth. Zane hoped no
black-and-whites spotted him because he wasn’t slowing down until he reached Tate.

The question that kept chasing through his mind was how had Tate ended up in the

hospital? The guy at the bar said Tate had survived. Survived what? The worry began to
mount as the hospital, a large building that took up the entire block, came into view. Zane
found an empty space to park by the emergency room. He gave little time to cutting the
motor and pocketing the keys before he rushed inside.

The sliding glass doors whooshed open as Zane stepped inside, glancing around.

There were two windows ahead of him. One was empty, the lights low. The one on his left
had a guy in scrubs sitting in a chair, typing. The man looked overworked and agitated, and
Zane hoped Mr. Scrubs wouldn’t give him any shit.

He walked up to the safety glass and spoke into the metal speaker. “I’m here to see

Jack Tate.” He purposely left Tate’s title off.

The guy held up his index finger and then continued to type for a moment longer.

Zane was ready to slam his fists into the thick piece of safety glass. He didn’t have time to
wait while the guy finished up. But he kept his cool. The last thing Zane wanted was to get
kicked out.

Finally, the man looked up. “You are?”

“His brother,” Zane said without missing a beat. “I was told he was brought in.”

The nurse, receptionist, whoever the hell he was hesitated and Zane thought the guy

was about to ask for some ID when the emergency room doors opened and at least a dozen
people rushed in. Zane turned to see that a guy was being carried in, blood down his face, a
large gash across one cheek.

Mr. Scrubs pressed a button, opening the door that led to the back, before he jumped

up and raced into the waiting area. Zane slipped into the back. There were three tape lines
on the floor—one black, one red, and one yellow. They were leading in three different
directions. He had no clue where he was going, so he chose to follow the yellow.

Zane rounded a corner and found himself at a large nurse’s station. He didn’t bother

anyone. It took him all of two seconds to look at the large dry-erase board and see that
Tate’s name wasn’t up there. He almost felt relief, wondering if maybe he’d heard wrong
when the guys at the Dirty Hole were talking. But he spotted a John Doe on the board. He
was in room sixteen.

Acting casual, as if he was supposed to be back here, Zane walked down the hall

until he spotted the number sixteen lit up over a tan door. Zane had to find out if Mr. Doe
was Tate. He glanced over his shoulder and saw no one looking his way. Zane pushed the
door open and slipped inside.

The lights were bright. There was a single gurney-type bed in the cubicle-size room.

Though the guy laying there had his head wrapped in white gauze, his face a pulverized
piece of meat with one eye swollen shut, Zane would know him anywhere. The sight of

Tate beaten all to hell made something inside Zane snap. He wanted to know who had done
this, who had dared beat up Zane’s cop.

But Tate wasn’t awake to ask.

Chapter Eleven

“I’m on it.” Emilio slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and grabbed the

handlebars on his motorcycle, waiting for the light to turn green. Falcon had just called,
telling Emilio that he couldn’t get ahold of Zane and asking Emilio to help find the guy.

“What’s up?” Santos asked, sitting on his Ducati next to Emilio.

“Zane’s MIA and his twin wants us to help look for him.”

Santos shook his head. “I hope he’s not with that detective.”

Emilio heard the confusion in his cousin’s voice and knew how the guy felt. Neither

of them wanted to believe that Zane had turned traitor. None of the Dark Riders or the
squirrely men who owned and hung out at Andromeda wanted to face the possibility that
Zane was sleeping with the enemy.

Emilio reached over and tapped Santos’s arm, jutting his chin toward the car turning

the corner. “Ames.”

“Since we don’t know where Zane is, what do you say we play a little follow the

leader?” Santos asked before he leaned forward and took off through the intersection.
Emilio was right behind him. They hung back a few cars, making sure Ames didn’t see
them.

A growl rumbled in Emilio’s chest when he saw Ames pull in front of Velvet

Rose—a lounge where the Durangos hung out. Both Emilio and Santos pulled over and
watched as Ames got out of his car and walked to a black sedan. The back door opened and
the detective climbed in.

“Unbelievable,” Santos muttered. “That’s Striker’s car.”

Emilio rested his arms on his bike. “How much do you want to bet those two have

some sort of arrangement?” The wheels started turning in Emilio’s head, and before long,
his stomach was sinking. Ames had purposely made it seem like Zane was a traitor. If the
guy could get the Dark Riders to fight amongst themselves, then either Ames would move
in and try to get one of them to rat the others out, or the Dark Riders would go their
separate ways over the fallout.

But that was just guessing. There was no telling what was going on in the

detective’s head.

When Striker’s car pulled away, Emilio and Santos followed.

* * * *

Zane paced the small room he was in. If Striker was sending someone after Tate,

then he and the cop needed to get ghost. Zane didn’t like sitting around and waiting for
trouble.

“Zane?”

A hard lump formed in his throat when he glanced at the bed to see Tate peering at

him through his one good eye. Zane’s legs felt like lead as he approached, unsure what to
say. How you feeling? didn’t seem right. It was apparent from Tate’s wounds that he felt
like shit. So he settled for “Hey.”

The machine monitoring Tate’s heart began to beep faster. Zane grabbed Tate’s

hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Calm down.”

Tate turned his head away from Zane. “What are you doing here?” The venom in

the guy’s voice was unmistakable. If Tate had been using Zane, wouldn’t it be remorse…or
guilt? Zane was still confused as to how Ames had known the things he’d told Zane, but
there was no denying that Zane felt something settle inside of him when he touched his cop.
It was like he was home again.

“I was going to ask the same thing.” Zane wanted to check the rest of Tate but knew

the guy would more than likely try to knock Zane on his ass. “What happened to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tate tried to sit up and winced, letting go of a painful cry before

he dropped back down onto the plastic pillow. “Fuck.”

“Take it easy,” Zane said, all the while keeping an eye on the door. He was thankful

as hell that he’d made it here before Striker’s men. But Tate was in no condition to leave
the hospital. He doubted Striker would send more than two men. The Durango alpha
wouldn’t want to raise suspicion. The nice humans would call the cops if they knew hit
men were heading into one of the rooms.

“You should just go.”

“We need to talk,” Zane said.

Tate grunted. “The last time you said that…”

Zane remembered. He had been standing in an alley, watching Tate at a crime

scene. Things had gotten hot and heavy since then. But now it was as cold as ice between
them. “Your partner told me things he shouldn’t have known—things that made me think
you were using me.”

This got Tate’s attention. He turned back over, confusion in that one dark-grey eye.

“What are you talkin’ about…Ames?”

Zane stood there and told Tate how his arrest had gone down and what Ames had

said to him. The more Zane thought about it, the more he realized that he should have
questioned Ames’s motives. Even if Tate’s thing was sleeping with guys to get what he
wanted, how would Ames know whether Tate bottomed?

He couldn’t know that. Even though Tate and Ames were partners, Zane highly

doubted that Tate told the guy the intimate details of his sex life.

“He told you this?” Tate asked. “He told you I never…” Tate trailed off and closed

his eye, the heart rate monitor returning to normal. “I don’t understand why he would do
something like that.”

“Just get some rest.” Zane released Tate’s hand. “I’m going to talk with a nurse.”

He wasn’t. Zane was going to check the hallway for any suspicious characters.

“Zane.”

Zane turned at the door, his hand gripping the handle. A tick worked in his jaw as

he gazed at Tate lying there with an IV in his arm and battered all to hell. “Yeah?”

“I never used you.” Tate’s fingers curled in and the numbers on the machine began

to climb once more. He took in a deep breath before saying, “I don’t use people and
especially not anyone I’ve fallen in love with.”

Zane rocked back on his feet at the statement. Truth and courage. Tate was at his

lowest right now and had just laid himself bare for Zane.

“I take that step. You take that step.” The scary step of trust and commitment.

“I’ve taken the step,” Tate replied. “Now I’m waiting on you to meet me halfway.”

Zane let go of the handle and moved back over to the bed. Aside from his twin,

Zane had never allowed anyone in. Not like this. Not this deep. He became fully aware of

his own racing heartbeat and was thankful he wasn’t hooked up to any monitors. His body
flooded with warmth as he leaned over the bed—careful not to hurt Tate—and brushed his
lips over his cop’s. “I’ve already met you halfway. You had me the night I made love to
you.”

Despite his injuries, a slow smile began to blossom on Tate’s face. It was crooked,

but made Zane’s stomach feel as if a thousand butterflies were taking flight. “So cheesy.”

This made Zane chuckle. “But true.”

Zane needed to call the Dark Riders. He needed Tate protected. There was no way

he was leaving his cop, not even to make a phone call. Instead, he grabbed the phone sitting
next to Tate’s bed and dialed his brother.

Tate settled back and closed his eye. Zane reached over and gently gripped Tate’s

hand.

“Where the hell are you?” Falcon asked.

“Long story.”

“With the cop?” His brother didn’t sound pleased. Zane couldn’t rightfully get mad

at Falcon. The guy was just trying to look out for him.

“Need backup,” Zane said. “Things going south real soon and don’t know if I can

protect.” He was trying to talk in code so he wouldn’t worry Tate, but as Zane glanced
down, he saw that Tate was asleep, the monitor attesting to the slow rhythm of the man’s
breathing. “Tate was beaten. He’s at the hospital and I heard on the street that Striker is
sending some men to finish the job.”

“I thought I told you to stay away from the guy?” Falcon barked the words.

“I’m in love with him, Falcon.” Zane closed his eyes at the truth. There was no use

fighting it any longer and Zane didn’t want to. “Whether you help me or not, I’m going to
make sure he stays safe. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

The phone was silent until Falcon released a long sigh. “Is this for real? I mean the

real-deal shit?”

“Me in love or men coming here to kill Tate?”

“Love.”

“Yeah, it is.” Zane brushed the pad of his thumb over Tate’s hand. “And it is only

getting stronger.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll have Emilio and Santos meet me there.”

“What about Garrett and Lonnie?”

Falcon gave a deep and humorless laugh. “I’ll have to bring them.”

That showed Zane how much his twin truly loved him. The guy was bringing the

man who meant the world to him into a dangerous situation. “Have them cool their heels in
the emergency room waiting area.” Zane wanted Garrett and Lonnie as far away from the
action as possible. He didn’t want Tate involved either—although Tate was already
involved. Zane didn’t like the fact that his lover was the target. He just hoped the Dark
Riders got here before Tate even knew hit men were coming for him.

* * * *

Falcon waited out in the parking lot, staying between two cars as he watched the

main entrance. Emilio was on the south side of the building—the employee entrance—and
Santos was on the west. He wasn’t sure who they were looking for, but Falcon had a feeling

he’d know when he spotted whoever Striker had sent.

Call it a hunch, gut instinct, or intuition. Whatever. He’d been on the streets long

enough to spot what was out of place. This was like a Where’s Waldo? puzzle and Falcon
planned on spotting the red-and-white hat. Zane was depending on it.

A fucking cop. Couldn’t his brother have fallen for a doctor or even the devil

himself—a lawyer. Why a damn detective? A detective who wanted to sink the Dark
Riders, no less. He always knew Zane lived on the edge, but damn. He had a feeling that he
could threaten to remove Tate’s organs and that wouldn’t stop Zane from seeing the guy.

“I got two guys getting out of a dark SUV,” Santos radioed to Falcon.

“How do you know it’s them?”

Santos snorted into the radio. “One of ’em is a Blood Heart. I recognize him from

Ruby Red.”

It seemed going to the club had other benefits aside from partying with Garrett and

Lonnie. Falcon pocketed the small radio and moved quickly to the west side of the
building. Emilio was there as well. He spotted the men Santos was talking about.

The last thing Falcon wanted to do was make a scene. It was late at night and the

hospital grounds weren’t that crowded, but even one witness was too many.

God, how did he keep getting into shit like this? Santos’s dark eyes drilled into

Falcon as he approached, as if asking what Falcon wanted to do next. Falcon followed the
two hit men inside, Santos and Emilio behind him.

He made sure he stayed a good distance behind them. These two were Hearts. There

was no telling if they would take someone hostage to get away. The Hearts were known for
many treacherous deeds, and Falcon wouldn’t put it past them to pull a ballsy stunt.

Zane had told him that Tate was in room sixteen. As they rounded a corner, Falcon

spotted the two men standing outside Tate’s door. Santos moved around the corner until he
was on the other side of the hallway. The Dark Riders had them blocked in. Falcon spotted
a utility closet across the hall and knew what he had to do. He nodded to Santos and then
gave a quick glance at the closet before the three of them rushed the Hearts, slapping a hand
over their mouths before Emilio opened the closet door and Falcon—along with Santos and
Emilio—sealed everyone in.

“Come to finish the job?” Falcon asked as he fought to keep the guy in his grasp

from getting free.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit,” the man Falcon was holding spat.

“Oh, I can guarantee I’ll have you singing.” Falcon gave a humorless chuckle

before he started his in-depth interrogation.

Chapter Twelve

Damn it was good to be home. Tate had never been happier than when he walked

through his front door. It had been four days since his attack and he was more than ready to
get out of the hospital. Their food sucked.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Zane asked for the millionth time as he walked in

behind Tate and closed the front door. Tate was going to strangle the guy if he didn’t stop
asking. How many times was he going to have to say he was fine before Zane believed
him?

Tate sat on the couch and removed his shoes and socks, wiggling his toes before he

got up and headed toward the kitchen, Zane on his heels.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Tate walked to the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea.

Although he was a bit stiff from lying in bed for four days, he felt a hell of a lot better. He
still wasn’t sure who had attacked him, though. The person had snuck up on him and Tate
hadn’t seen the guy’s face. He wasn’t even sure why he had been attacked.

He furrowed his brows when he saw Zane checking the locks on the windows.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Zane answered too quickly as he turned, giving Tate a wide,

fake-as-fuck smile. The guy wasn’t any good at getting caught and having to come up with
an on-the-spot answer.

Tate studied Zane for a moment longer before shaking his head and going back to

what he was doing. When Zane started down the hallway, Tate reached out and grabbed
him. “Knock it off. I don’t need you checking the place.”

“Someone attacked you,” Zane said as he pulled his arm free, determination in his

eyes. “Until we know who it was, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“We have more pressing issues to deal with right now.” Tate walked to the stove

and turned the burner off, the whistle from the kettle dying.

Zane leaned his arm on the archway that separated the living room from the kitchen.

“And what pressing issues do we have?”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Tate said as he slipped his arms around Zane’s waist.

“But I think you’ll only need one. I could be wrong though.” When Zane tried to pull back,
Tate tightened his grip.

“You just got out of the hospital.”

“I’m fine, Zane.” While Tate appreciated the concern, his horniness overrode

everything else. He wasn’t letting Zane get away from him.

Zane’s eyes crinkled in amusement, confused, but with a small smirk pulling at his

mouth. “You got something on your mind, cop?”

Tate placed a hand over the hard muscles of Zane’s chest. He smoothed his fingers

down the cut planes of Zane’s pecs and over the flat ripples of his abs. Zane’s large hands
moved to rest on Tate’s waist.

“Maybe we should take this to my bedroom.” Tate didn’t wait for an answer. He

pushed Zane down the hallway, the guy walking backward, studying Tate’s face the entire
time. There was no mistaking the heat in Zane’s eyes, and Tate knew he had the same
expression in his.

“Seducing me, cop?” His voice came out low and strained. The heated power of

Zane’s presence made it difficult to think, to form words, but Tate pressed past his lust to
answer the man.

“Damn right. Is it working?” Tate pulled away from Zane when they entered his

bedroom and yanked his shirt over his head. He didn’t wait on his lover. Tate yanked his
pants and boxers off, palming his cock.

His cock was rock hard, his balls drawn tight. And he had learned in the past week

that jacking off only made it worse. There would be no satisfaction until he found his
release when Zane buried his cock deep inside Tate’s body.

Zane’s eyes became heavy lidded as he pressed his palm into the front of his jeans,

showing Tate an impressive outline. “What do you think?”

A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparked in Zane’s eyes as Tate stood there holding

his erection. As soon as Zane finished undressing, he was on Tate.

Tate wanted to see Zane fall apart. He wanted this tenebrous man to shatter from his

touch. But most of all, Tate wanted to reconnect with the man he’d fallen in love with.

He pressed an openmouthed kiss into the dip of his lover’s collarbone, sucking at

the skin before moving down his lover’s sternum. Zane didn’t move. Instead he grew
passive, evidently content to let Tate do whatever he had planned. And why was that
turning him on even more?

Tate sucked and kissed and bit at the skin, moving about his body, doing as he

wished, craving more and feeling overwhelmed by that need. Kissing as he moved down
Zane’s body, he gripped Zane’s sides as he lowered himself. He glanced up to look at his
lover as he moved. The dark eyes were burning, mouth open, knuckles white as his fingers
curled in. The sight sent a surge through Tate’s blood.

“Do you know what you look like right now?” he asked into Zane’s skin as he made

his way down, his breath brushing the cut of Zane’s hip, his knees moving to the ground.
Tate was shaking, sweating. God, he’d never before perspired like this in the height of sex,
let alone foreplay.

Zane just kept watching him without speaking. Tate felt a darkly sexual craving in

his gut at the way Zane was staring at him. Tate’s muscles tightened, pleasure coursing
through his bloodstream. His cock was hard, heavy, and needy.

“Like fucking heaven.” He knew his breath was now blowing right across Zane’s

cock, which was hard and full, twitching with interest, the muscles in his thigh tensing with
restraint. Tate licked just the head, a small swipe along the underside. Zane swayed a little,
a sharp intake of breath, long fingers now clutching the air hard.

The voice came out low and strained. “Tate.” It was the expression on Zane’s face

that was killing Tate. Absorbed, intent, so filled with pleasure it amazed him. Zane’s face
was flushed, his eyes glittering, almost as if a fire were inside the dark orbs.

Tate resisted a smile at the thought of having someone like Zane vulnerable, taking

his lover into his mouth instead. When he tried taking him in deeper, Zane’s hand came up
in a jerk. Tate let his eyes do the talking and Zane reluctantly let his hand drop back down
in response.

“Fuck,” Zane growled beneath his breath.

Tate knew exactly what he meant, never mind the fact that he got off on making

Zane feel the same amazing frustration that he’d felt since they had last been together.

Tate shifted on his knees, shuffling forward, sliding his hands along the backs of

Zane’s thighs, solid and smooth, tensing beneath his fingers. He stroked the muscle,
moving up to massage his lover’s ass. Soft skin over hard muscle just demanded to be

touched. Zane’s body called to Tate with a seductive whisper.

Slowing his movements, Tate pulled back to suck at the tip of Zane’s cock,

knowing full well that it’d be torture. He wanted to torture Zane. Tate wanted the man
teetering on the edge, ready to lose his mind. He’d nearly lost the man over bullshit. That
thought had fucked with Tate’s mind. He still didn’t know why Ames had done what he
had, but those questions were for later.

There was a slight thrust as Zane moved his hips, seeking more than he was

currently getting, before he stopped himself. Tate moved to grip Zane at the base while he
ran a tongue around the top, a precursor to sucking him down with increased vigor.

He took one hand and pinned Zane’s hip against the sink, using the other to guide

him into his mouth. Thinking he could take more of Zane in, he let Zane hit the back of his
throat before easing him out, repeating the movement. Tate moaned as the thick length of
Zane’s cock reentered his mouth, stretching it, sliding in deep.

Zane’s hands moved quickly, sliding to the back of Tate’s neck. Tate gripped them

and pushed them back as he sucked Zane deeper. Then Zane growled, actually fucking
growled, as his hands regained their position. Zane wasn’t a man who was easily swayed
and Tate doubted he had ever relinquished control like this before.

Zane’s hips started moving occasionally, thrusting into Tate’s throat. His lover’s

movements became erratic, his head tossed back toward the ceiling before he leaned
forward to stare down at him. Tate could tell he was being watched, and the whole fucking
concept of Zane taking it as Tate pulled him apart, the thought of Zane watching him do
so…

“Tate.” Zane let out a moan, clutching at Tate’s head as he came, hot pulses of cum

filling Tate’s mouth.

Before Tate was able to lick the last of Zane’s seed, his lover had him on the bed,

their mouths crashing together.

God but the man had a golden tongue. He wanted to feel that magical tongue on

other parts of his body. Pressing his hands into Zane’s shoulders, Tate let out a long moan.
He spread his legs wider, accommodating Zane’s large frame. Tate could feel the man’s
erection pressing into his leg.

“Why can’t I get enough of you?” Zane bit down on Tate’s nipple, making him cry

out. It hadn’t been a hard bite, but the sensation had caught him off guard. His hips bucked
as he shuddered. Zane moved to his other nipple, and Tate was finding it hard to breathe.

His body was heating up and Tate was so close to coming. His cock was growing

thicker and thicker by the second. In a moment, he would embarrass himself. He didn’t
want Zane to think he had such an easy trigger.

When Zane hooked his arm under Tate’s knee and pulled his leg back, he wasn’t

sure what the man was about to do. Zane’s tongue began to explore from Tate’s hip to his
knee, blowing Tate away. No one had ever used him like a snack before. It was as if Zane
was drugged by his skin. The man couldn’t stop tasting him.

Not that Tate was complaining.

Tate’s head fell back and he gritted his teeth as a wet finger began to enter him. His

mouth dropped open as he expelled a breath of air. What Zane was doing to him…

An unmanly sound fell from his lips when Zane looked up at him through the long

fall of his dark hair. Sexy didn’t even come close to describing what the man looked like.
The word god came to mind. Tate was drowning in lust, suffocating under the man’s
masterful lips and hands. Zane bit Tate’s inner thigh and Tate cried out as he came. Another

finger drove into his ass, and then a third. The sensation only escalated the orgasm that tore
through Tate.

“Amazing,” Zane breathed.

Tate’s face exploded with heat. “Ah, god. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Zane asked. “Don’t apologize for looking so damn good that I want to

eat you up.”

Tate laughed nervously as he panted. It was sweet of the guy to play down the fact

that Tate’s endurance was nonexistent. Zane crawled back up Tate’s body, his hunger
tangible. Tate was pretty sure that if he reached out, he would be able to touch the man’s
arousal with his hands.

And he wasn’t talking about the man’s cock. There was an aura permeating the air

around Zane—a spiciness that made Tate want more of what Zane had to offer.

Zane dipped his head and nipped at Tate’s earlobe. “I’m going to fuck you, baby.

Your body is driving me insane.”

Even though he had just climaxed, Tate could feel his cock growing hard once more

at those dirty, illicit words. Not only that, the predatory look that Zane was giving him was
downright exciting, making Tate’s blood race through his veins.

Tate hissed as Zane began to work his thick erection into Tate’s body. His lover

leaned down, brushing kisses across Tate’s lips as his cock stretched Tate wide.

His fingers dug into the man’s biceps, as he breathed through the burn. Zane

slowed, as if he could feel the discomfort radiating from Tate.

“Incredible.” Zane hissed into Tate’s ear. His body pulsed with the invasion as Zane

finally bottomed out. “So fucking incredible.”

Tate slipped down the slope of pleasure when Zane started moving, setting his body

on fire. Pain soon turned to pleasure and Tate was crying out as Zane thrust repeatedly.
Zane braced a hand on either side of Tate’s head, gazing down at him. His eyes were liquid
pools of heat, making Zane seem unreal, ethereal.

Zane moved his right hand down to Tate’s hip, gripping him with an

almost-bruising force. Tate threw his legs around Zane’s waist, pulling the man closer,
bringing his cock in deeper. He wanted to come again. Tate wanted to feel himself falling
apart in the man’s arms while Zane was buried deep inside of him.

With a few more hard thrusts and a hard growl, Zane was coming. His jaw clenched

to the point that Tate thought the man’s teeth would shatter. His nostrils flared and his
eyelids lowered to slits.

Tate grabbed his own cock, stroking the flesh fiercely, wanting to explode once

more. He arched his back and cried out as he came for the second time tonight. Zane didn’t
stop thrusting his hips until the last of Tate’s seed was in his hand.

“Nice performance.”

Chapter Thirteen

Zane pulled from Tate and spun so quickly that he almost lost his balance. Standing

there in the doorway of Tate’s bedroom was Ames. Anger flooded him as he grabbed the
blanket at the foot of the bed and tossed it over Tate’s body.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tate nearly shouted at Ames. “Why the hell do

you think you can just barge into my house like that?”

Zane slowly crawled across the bed, a bad feeling rippling through him. It was the

guy’s eyes. They weren’t…sane. That was the only word Zane could think of to describe
the madness filling them. This guy was a ticking time bomb that was about to go off. With
measured moves, Zane slid from the side of the bed and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on.

“You just couldn’t resist, could you?” Ames asked, shaking his head slowly before

making a tsking sound. “But I won’t hold it against you, Jack. Though the guy is a piece of
shit, admittedly, he’s good looking.”

Tate’s eyes filled with confusion as he stared from Ames to Zane and then back at

Ames. “What…hold what against me?”

Before Zane could get back on the bed, Ames pulled a gun out of his pocket, aiming

it at Tate. “Don’t even think about moving.”

Zane froze. His wolf fought to get free, to protect his lover, but Zane beat the beast

back. He hadn’t told Tate what he was yet and he didn’t need Ames finding out.

“Have you lost your mind?” Tate shouted as he tossed the covers back.

“I said don’t move!” Ames raised his gun higher, his hand shaking slightly. “We’ve

been partners for seven fucking years, Tate. Seven fucking years. How dare you cheat on
me!”

Zane snapped his head back. What the hell? He hadn’t seen that coming.

Apparently Tate hadn’t either. “What on earth are you talking about, Ames?” Tate

asked with a mix of disgust and confusion. “We were never lovers.”

Ames licked his lips, his eyes jerking between Tate and Zane. “We had such a great

partnership. We were a team. It was you and me against this fucked-up city. I…I love you.”

Zane gave a low growl. The son of a bitch was insane. He had an imaginary

romance with Tate. It was all in the guy’s head. Judging by Tate’s repulsed expression, the
feelings were one-sided.

“I never gave you the impression that I liked you like that,” Tate said. “For fuck’s

sake, you’re married!”

“She kicked me out,” Ames confessed before he gave Zane a withering glare. “She

found out that I was in love with you, Jack.”

“Stop calling me that!” Tate looked like he was on the verge of murder. “Did you

have me jumped, Ames? Did you have someone handle me because I’m seeing Zane?”

“No!” Ames lifted the hand that wasn’t holding the gun, balled it into a fist, and

began to tap it against his temple. “You weren’t supposed to be hurt. That was the deal.
You were supposed to be left out of this.”

“Out of what?” Tate asked.

“You!” Ames pointed the gun at Zane. “This is all your fault. If you had left Jack

alone, then none of this would have happened.”

“You need help,” Tate said, his voice soft. “We can get you help, Ames.”

“I don’t need any help!” Ames shouted. “I need you to stop fucking this piece of

shit!”

Zane watched the hand with the gun. He knew not to say anything. No matter what

he said, Ames would take it the wrong way. The guy was off his damn rocker and ready to
hurt someone. Zane could see the rage in the guy’s eyes. He was ready to inflict a
tremendous amount of pain.

“Just relax,” Tate said. “Nobody has to get hurt. We can work this out.”

Ames shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “No, Jack. Somebody is going to

be hurt. I’m sorry, but if I can’t have you, then no one can.”

Zane leapt toward Tate when Ames raised the gun and fired. But he was too late.

Blood began to pour from Tate’s chest. Zane’s head snapped around to stare menacingly at
Ames before he bared his canines.

Ames’s eyes went wide. “What the fuck are you?”

“Your executioner.” Zane jumped from the bed and tackled Ames, fighting for the

gun. Ames let out a screech as he tried to punch Zane in the face. Zane ducked, grappling
for the gun. They fought and the gun went off.

Ames cried out in pain. “You bastard! You made me kill the only man I ever

loved.”

Zane actually laughed, dark and menacingly. “I hope you burn in hell.” He pushed

from the floor, kicking the gun far away as the light slowly faded in Ames’s eyes. He
turned, feeling his heart plummet as he took in Tate’s pale complexion. Zane crawled onto
the bed and cradled Tate in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Zane.” Tate closed his eyes and then popped them back open. “We

would have been great together.”

Zane felt his throat grow thick. “We still can. I can save you, Tate. I can make sure

you live a very long and interesting life.”

Tate’s brows furrowed before he coughed. He wheezed and then asked, “How?”

Zane showed Tate his claws. “I’m a wolf shifter. I can save you. I can make you one

of us.” Tears threatened to spill as he watched the blood continue to escape Tate’s chest.
“Please, let me save you.”

A crooked smile appeared on Tate’s handsome face. “I always knew there was

something strange about you Dark Riders.”

“Please,” Zane begged, knowing Tate was running out of time. Dead was dead and

not even Zane would be able to bring Tate back from that. “Please.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“Yes.” Zane told the truth. “But once it’s over, you’ll live for a very, very long

time.”

Tate squinted his eyes at Zane. “How old are you?”

“Seven hundred and eighteen.”

Tate laughed and then coughed. “Fuck me, man. That’s old.”

“Will you let me?”

Tate appeared hesitant and then nodded. “But when I’m better, you have some

’splaining to do, Lucy.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Zane smiled. “We’ll definitely talk.” Before

Tate could change his mind, Zane leaned down and bit his cop, sinking his teeth deep. Tate
cried out and then fell silent. Zane withdrew his canines, gazing at the small hole just above
Tate’s heart. He waited to see the blood slow, and hopefully stop. So far it hadn’t. Was he

too late? If Zane lost Tate…

Relief washed over him when the bleeding turned into a trickle and then completely

stopped, the hole slowly closing. Zane sat back, holding Tate in his lap as he leaned his
head into the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “Life with you isn’t going to be a cakewalk.”
But Zane wouldn’t trade anything he had with his cop for the world.

He glanced over at Ames and wondered what he should do. If he called the cops,

there would be too many questions and he couldn’t risk Tate being taken to the hospital
now that his body was going to start changing.

Setting Tate down gently, Zane scooted from the bed and grabbed his cell phone

from his leather in the living room. He dialed his twin.

“How’s your cop?” Falcon asked.

“He’s been shot.” The words were choked as the impact of what could have

happened hit home. Zane had gone through the fires of hell with the Dark Riders over Tate.
He had even been willing to leave it all behind. And to think that Ames had almost made
Zane’s battle a futile point.

He wanted to bring the man back to life so he could shoot him again.

“He what?” Falcon’s tone had lowered. “Talk to me, Zane.”

He stood there in Tate’s living room and told Falcon what had just taken place.

“What do I do about Ames?”

“Lonnie is going to flip when he finds out that Tate is now one of us,” Falcon said

and Zane heard the slight humor in his twin’s tone. Twisted fucker. “I’m on my way. Don’t
let anyone in.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Zane hung up and waited for the Dark Riders to come

and help him clean up this fucking mess.

* * * *

Lonnie was ready to hit someone. He couldn’t believe Zane had converted the

detective. Converted him! The guy had finally lost his ever-loving mind.

“Will you stop pacing?” Rett asked. He was sitting on the couch, flipping through a

magazine, calm as hell. How could he be so calm?

“Uh, hello. If you didn’t hear Falcon, Zane converted Tate. A cop!” It had been

three days and Lonnie knew that Tate would be coming around soon. Too bad he wasn’t
there to shove a pillow over the man’s face. “He’s a wolf with a badge. This is bad.”

“You’re overreacting,” Santos said. “He wouldn’t do anything to sink us now.”

Lonnie whirled around, shoving a finger into Santos’s face. “Don’t you go making

friends with him! He’s the enemy.” Lonnie said the last word in a chilling voice. He rubbed
his hands together as he eyed Rett. “Can we bury his body next to Ames’s?”

“Knock it off,” Emilio said. “I don’t like it either, but he’s Zane’s. Respect that

fact.”

“Respect this.” Lonnie flipped Emilio off. He still couldn’t believe everything that

had gone down and was paranoid that the whole police force was going to come charging in
here and arrest everyone. As far as the cops knew, Ames had just disappeared. They were
going to search. Lonnie just prayed they didn’t search his apartment. He had dirty
magazines hidden in his drawer and a dildo stuffed in between his socks.

Oh god. He was going to spend the rest of his life behind bars. How could everyone

be so damn calm?

“You look constipated,” Rett said as he tossed the magazine aside. “Stop

panicking.”

“Zane killed a cop. We buried the body. Detective Ames had hidden video recorders

around Tate’s apartment. Ames made a deal with Striker. Falcon, Santos, and Emilio killed
those two Blood Hearts that came after Tate in the hospital. Gee, I wonder why I shouldn’t
panic?”

“You need a stress reliever,” Santos said as he grabbed Lonnie and pulled him down

the hallway toward his room. “And I got just the cure.”

“The cops are going to give us the chair and you want to have sex?” Lonnie asked

incredulously. “Okay, but make it quick so I can go back to freaking out.”

Santos chuckled as he pulled Lonnie into his room and closed the door.

* * * *

Tate glanced at the small ramshackle house on the outskirts of town. He couldn’t

believe that Ames had been living here for months and Tate hadn’t known about it.

“You okay?” Zane asked as he cut the motor to the truck. “We can do this another

time.”

“Psychotics exhibit very bizarre behavior,” Tate said as he pressed his hands into

his lap. “I just can’t understand how I missed it with Ames.” He’d also missed the fact that
the Dark Riders were wolves. He’d heard the tape with Lonnie’s confession, but Tate
hadn’t been willing to believe it. He had no choice now, since he had become one of them.
What really blew his mind was when Zane explained to him exactly what a Darling was
and that Striker was the alpha of a pack of wolf shifters.

How had this secret world thrived right under his nose? The conversion had hurt

like a son of a bitch, but the sex afterward had been mind blowing.

Still.

“He was good at hiding it,” Zane said as he opened the car door. “Let’s go see what

we can find.”

Tate had learned about this place from Ames’s wife. She was the only one who

knew that her husband had moved out, and she was the only person privy to this location.

The department didn’t even know about this dilapidated home. Tate met Zane on

the porch, taking in a deep breath before they entered. Ames definitely hadn’t splurged on
furnishings. The living room consisted of a worn-out couch and a threadbare carpet. There
was a small television sitting to one side on a beat-to-hell coffee table.

He walked into the kitchen to see it that it was bare. There wasn’t even a kitchen

table. How had Ames lived like this? It still baffled Tate that Ames had been in love with
him, had conjured up a relationship between the two.

“Oh, shit.”

Tate turned at Zane’s voice and moved down the hallway. He entered the bedroom

where Zane was standing and felt like he was going to be sick. He covered his mouth with
his hand, his eyes wide as he stared at a wall filled with photographs of him. There were
pictures of him standing by his car. There were also pictures of him coming out of Mr.
McAlester’s, and some of him at crime scenes. Hell, some dated back several years.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling to know the man had been obsessed with him. The

thought made Tate’s stomach turn. On the wall to the left, a knife was stabbed through a
picture of Zane’s face. Tate’s eyes dropped to the bed and he knew he was going to be sick.

There, on the mattress, were pictures of Tate. But that wasn’t the sick part. There

were also sex toys next to the pictures. The man had gotten off while…Tate turned and
hurried from the room, covering his mouth as he ran outside.

Zane grabbed him as soon as Tate stopped by the car. His lover held him tight as

Tate tried to find his bearings. God, how had he missed all of this? There had to have been
signs.

“You have to let it go,” Zane said. “There are some things in life that we can’t

explain. Ames was obsessed with you. We know that. But it’s over.”

What had happened in his home and what he had seen here were going to haunt

Tate for a very long time. “Get rid of it,” Tate said. “I don’t want anyone knowing just how
fucked in the head he truly was. I don’t want anyone seeing my pictures…” Tate fought
back the bile.

“It’ll be taken care of,” Zane assured him. He gripped Tate’s face in the palms of his

hands. “You know I love you, right?”

Tate nodded, ready to get the hell out of there. “I love you, too.” He rested his head

on Zane’s shoulder for a moment before he added, “Can we get out of here now?”

“Anything you want.” Zane opened the car door and Tate slid in. He looked at the

house one last time and shivered. Zane went back inside as Tate waited, thinking about his
future, Zane, his job, and everything that had gone down over the past few weeks. His
future was uncertain. A life as a wolf shifter was going to take some getting used to. Zane
had taught him how to shift and it had been the most insane thing.

But Tate had liked it.

Zane walked out and headed toward the car. Tate could see a soft amber glow

coming from the living room window and knew the house would be gone in a matter of
minutes. The fire would consume everything. Fire had a funny way of doing that. But it
also had a way of cleansing things. A fresh start.

“Ready?” Zane asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

Tate smiled as Zane pulled away and they headed into a future that he prayed held

promise, laughter, and a man who Tate couldn’t imagine living without.

“I’m ready, buttercup.”

THE END

WWW.LYNNHAGEN.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lynn Hagen loves writing about the somewhat flawed, but lovable. She also loves a

hero who can see past all the rough edges to find the shining diamond of a beautiful heart.

You can find her on any given day curled up with her laptop and a cup of hot java,

letting the next set of characters tell their story.

For all titles by Lynn Hagen, please visit

www.bookstrand.com/lynn-hagen

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com