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The biker, the good girl and the bank robber. That’s how our story begins…
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This is one of those mornings that makes me miss living in the Men of Valor clubhouse. After two long, grueling deployments, I decided I’d had my fill of the military. I returned home to Valor, Colorado, and my motorcycle club. I used the savings I’d built up while serving my country to buy the local welding shop when Old Man Douglas retired and moved to Florida. For the first year or so, living in the clubhouse with my brothers suited me, but I soon discovered I needed my own space. Two years ago, I spent thirteen months building my dream home on my little strip of paradise. Still on the compound but not close to anyone else.
It’s been a shit morning, and I rush out the door a half-hour late. This past week has been hell. We’re trying to finish a last-minute order, and everyone in the shop is busting ass. Except for my useless cousin Evan. Between keeping up with my tasks and redoing his sloppy work, I’m about to drop from exhaustion. Before bed, I forgot to plug in my cellphone, so it died sometime in the middle of the night, leaving me without an alarm. As I roar through town on my bike, I remember I planned to stop by the bank on my way to the shop. Shit. I turn around in the Midnight Oil parking lot and head back toward Main Street.
I’m standing in front of the building, stewing. After punching my pin number in for the third time, I realize something is wrong with the damn ATM. It finally spits my card out as the screen blinks rapidly then turns black. Fuck. I slam my fist on the brick surface and swear a blue streak. I don’t have time to deal with this shit, but I need cash for the rest of the week. Rubbing the bridge of my nose to hold back the headache drilling its way through my temple, I pull the glass door open and thunder into the bank. Bells ring above my head as the fucker swings back and forth. The sound sends my brain pain into overdrive. It’s been years since I actually stepped foot in this building. I usually use the night drop-off and the ATM for cash. What fucking bank in this century has bells on the door? I rub the back of my neck to ease the ache and look around. They haven’t updated this place in all the years I was away. Damn. Can you say nineteen-seventies? There’s still a picture of Jimmy Carter on the wall.
”May I help you?” My heart stops for a second then begins pounding away in my chest. What the hell? Glancing at her, I take a hammer blow right between the eyes.
The sight of this girl rocks me to my core and my mind goes blank. My focus centers on her as I forget about everything else around us. She’s fucking tiny. Barely a few inches over five feet, but her curves go on for days. Striking auburn curls fan around her shoulders and fall down to drape over her luscious breasts. My eyes are drawn to her little buds peeking through the thin, light pink sweater stretched across her bountiful chest. Shaking my head, I drag my eyes up her slim throat and over her perfect heart-shaped face. The tiny freckles scattered along her cheeks call to me, and my tongue tingles to taste the little dots. My pants become painfully tight as one thought runs through my mind on a constant loop—this stunning creature was meant for me. My stubbornness kicks in, and I attempt to assure myself the pounding in my chest is nothing to worry about. The beautiful angel stares at me with a raised eyebrow as I experience my mini-meltdown.
Get the hell out of here before this girl changes your life runs through my thoughts, and I realize I might be losing it.