The Jilted Biker Heiress's Spectacular Comeback

Sloane POV:

Fresh off winning a bloody turf war, Beau Tucker publicly announced in front of the cheering club crowd that Farrah Hicks was now his one-and-only official Old Lady.

As for me? I was to be stripped of my title and downgraded to his personal Sweetbutt-a mere plaything.

"Look at her," one of the Sweetbutts sitting in the corner booth whispered loudly to her friends, snickering behind her manicured nails. "Thought she was the untouchable biker princess. Now she's just Tucker's free maid. Pathetic."

My fingers curled so tightly around the neck of a Lone Star beer bottle that my knuckles turned bone-white. The surrounding cheers seemed to be instantly sucked away; my mind went completely blank, leaving only a deafening ringing in my ears.

I shoved past the crowd blocking my way, walking step by step to the wooden bar counter, my eyes locked dead on the man I had loved for nine years.

"Beau, what kind of joke are you playing?" I spoke, my voice trembling uncontrollably, carrying a pathetic sense of disbelief even to my own ears. "Nine years ago, you swore an oath on your Cut. You said I was your only..."

"Shut up, Sloane." Beau's triumphant smile vanished. He furrowed his brows, a flash of impatience crossing his pale blue eyes. "Don't kill the buzz in front of my brothers."

He exhaled a breath heavy with cheap whiskey, looking down at me with condescension. "I just secured the northern highway for this club. It was Farrah who fought side by side with me on the road. We have a bond that a woman like you, who only belongs in a kitchen, couldn't possibly understand. I'm allowing you to stay by my side, and you should be on your knees thanking me."

"Thanking you?" A sour, burning ache swelled in my eyes, and my heart felt like it was being brutally crushed by an invisible hand.

I fought hard against the choke in my voice, staring him down. "For spending my dead father's money to boost your ego? Or for making me work like a mule day and night to serve your sick mother, while you were out 'fighting side by side' with another woman?!"

Those words accurately pierced Beau's fragile and insecure nerves. His face flushed instantly, twisted by pure, vicious fury. He grabbed my arm and yanked me close, dropping his voice into a cruel, venomous hiss meant to tear my soul apart.

"You think you're still some high-and-mighty biker princess?" he sneered, his words dripping with poison. "Wake up, Sloane! Your father and brothers died in a highway shootout long ago. And your mother, your sister-in-law, even your ten-year-old nephew-they were butchered without mercy by the Vultures in that safe house! You're the only one left! You're a cursed orphan with a dead bloodline. Letting you stay as my plaything is the greatest mercy you'll ever get!"

The words hit me like a shotgun blast at point-blank range, right in the chest.

The memories of that blood-soaked floor, of my young nephew's blood-soaked bed, ripped through my mind in a frantic, agonizing tear. This was the deepest, most devastating wound in my soul.

And now, the man I once loved unconditionally was ruthlessly ripping it open in front of a cheering crowd, pouring coarse salt on it just to protect his pathetic ego.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted the heavy metallic tang of blood.

But in that very second, the heart-shredding agony suddenly stopped. Looking at Beau's face, which had become hideous from sheer malice, all the illusions I had of him shattered to dust in my mind.

I finally realized that the man standing before me wasn't worth a single drop of my tears. Nine years of my youth had been fed to a cold-blooded beast.

"Beau's right, honey," Farrah drawled, swaying her hips as she strolled over. She linked her arm possessively through Beau's. "He needs a real woman by his side, but I'm not a jealous bitch. I'm totally fine with you staying to warm his bed when I'm tired, as long as you recognize your place. We can coexist."

"Sloane Keller, watch your attitude!" Beau's mother, Judith Tucker, marched over, her face twisted in a severe scowl. "Farrah is a heroine. With her around, my heart condition feels so much better! You should be grateful we didn't throw you out to the wolves!"

A wave of pure, absurd mockery washed over me, burning away the last ounce of weakness in my heart.

Heroine? Heart condition? Just last month, when Judith was dying of a severe heart spasm, it was me who begged the underground doctor, paying him with my secretly saved cash just to keep her breathing.

I looked down at the unopened beer bottle in my hand. Then, I raised my arm and, with violent, resolute force, slammed the glass bottle hard onto the wooden bar counter.

The sharp, heavy thud cut through the noise like a gunshot, sending glass shards and alcohol flying everywhere, instantly plunging the room near the bar into a dead silence.

"Coexist?" I looked up, sweeping my gaze past Farrah's shocked face before landing coldly on Beau.

My voice no longer trembled; instead, it was laced with a deadly, freezing calm, stripped of all warmth. "I'd rather swallow glass."

Beau froze, seemingly completely unprepared for me to snap out of my breakdown so instantly.

"Let's get this straight. I'm done being your free maid, and I'm done letting you bleed my father's legacy dry," I said, staring straight into his eyes, enunciating every word and looking at him like a piece of trash. "Our vows are dead. We are done, Beau. Don't ever expect me to look back."

I didn't wait for their reaction. I turned on my heel, pushed the heavy timber doors open, and stormed out into the biting desert night. The night wind dried the very last tear I had shed out of pure stupidity.

Suddenly, I slammed hard into a solid wall of muscle and leather.

A pair of massive, steady hands gripped my shoulders, keeping me from falling. A sharp, overwhelming scent of dark tobacco, gun oil, and something distinctly unique washed over me.

"Watch your step," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled above my head, the vibration traveling right through my chest.

I was so drained by that absolute severing of ties that I couldn't care less. I didn't look up to see his face, nor did I look at the patch on his Cut.

I just gently pulled away from his grip, muttered a low "Thank you," and walked straight to Beau's spare Sportster.

I kicked the starter, tearing out into the black night.

Sloane POV:

The headlight of the Sportster cut a yellow cone through the darkness as I pulled into the Tucker driveway. The house was a sprawling brick compound on the edge of town, a place built on club kickbacks, but mostly kept afloat by nine years of my silent labor and my dead father's money.

I killed the engine, let the kickstand drop into the dirt.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor, walked into the bedroom I had shared with Beau, and stopped in front of the walk-in closet.

Neat rows of pastel sundresses, silk blouses, and soft cardigans hung on wooden hangers-clothes Judith had picked out to make me look like a tame, respectable housewife who knew her place.

I didn't touch a single hanger. Instead, I dropped to my knees, reached into the deepest corner under the king-sized bed, and dragged out a battered, scuffed leather trunk.

I unbuckled the brass latches. The lid creaked open, releasing the familiar scent of motor oil, copper, and aged cowhide.

My chest tightened as my fingers brushed over the top item-a faded black t-shirt bearing the original insignia of the Iron Ghosts MC, the flaming skull flanked by dual wrench-bones. Beneath it lay a bundle of hand tools wrapped in oily canvas, and a photograph in a cracked plastic frame.

I pulled the photo into the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds.

My father, Marcus Keller, sat on the frame of his custom chopper, his beard thick and graying, his arms covered in black ink. I was twelve years old in the picture, sitting on his broad shoulders with grease smeared across my forehead, grinning like I owned the entire state of Nevada. Behind him stood eight patched members of the Iron Ghosts, laughing with beers held high. They were all my brothers.

All of them were dead.

The official story fed to the county sheriffs was that the Vultures MC caught them off guard during a territorial dispute at Rattlesnake Pass and burned the lot of them alive. But the nightmare didn't end there. After slaughtering my father and brothers on the highway, the Vultures had tracked down our mother compound. I survived only because my mother, Catherine, stuffed me inside the secret cellar beneath the memorial room before the bullets started ripping through the stone walls.

I heard every gunshot. I heard the screams. They butchered my mother, my sister-in-law, and even my ten-year-old nephew. They left nothing but blood and shattered bones.

When the smoke cleared, the Tucker family stepped in. They called it charity. They claimed they were honoring my father's memory by taking in his orphaned brat.

But now I knew that they took me in to siphon off the massive life insurance payout and the hidden trust fund my father had left behind.

I set the photograph down on the mattress. The agonizing grief that used to choke me had hardened into cold, tempered steel.

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Ruby Foster's number. Ruby tended bar at a dive joint three miles outside the club's perimeter. She wasn't club property, didn't answer to any patch, and hated Beau Tucker with a passion that rivaled my own.

"Sloane?" Ruby answered on the third ring, her voice raspy and sharp. "It's past two in the morning. Did that bastard do something?"

"He patched Farrah in as his Old Lady tonight," I said, my voice flat and completely devoid of tremors. "At the clubhouse. In front of everyone."

A string of vicious curses poured through the speaker. "I'm gonna take a tire iron to his teeth. Sloane, pack your shit. I'm coming to get you right now."

"No, not right now," I cut in. "They're still riding the high from the party. I only want two things from that place: my father's tool chest and the bike under the tarp in the garage."

Ruby went quiet for a beat. "The Ghost? Beau has sworn up and down that bike belongs to him now. He's got the garage locked up tight."

"The bike belongs to Marcus Keller," I said coldly. "And the title is inside the safe in the study. I know the combination. But I need a major diversion to get them out of the house."

"Say less," Ruby said, a wicked, predatory grin evident in her tone. "When and what kind of noise do you need?"

"Tomorrow morning at seven," I replied. "I'm going to drop the house keys and the ledgers right on Judith's breakfast table. When I do, I need a noise loud enough to drag every Tucker out to the front gravel. Bring your truck."

"I've got an aluminum bat in the bed and a grudge to settle," Ruby said. "I'll be there at seven sharp."

I ended the call, and walked over to the vanity mirror. In the dim reflection, my green eyes looked sharp, a world away from the quiet girl who had poured Judith's morning tea yesterday.

They thought Marcus Keller raised a pet.

They forgot that before the Iron Ghosts burned, my father taught me how to rebuild a four-speed transmission with my bare hands, how to throw a hook that shatters a man's jaw, and how to wait in the weeds until the target steps into the clearing.

I closed the leather trunk, hauled it to the window, and set it down.

The Ghost was coming with me tomorrow. And the Tuckers were going to learn exactly how much they owed the dead.

Sloane POV:

By nearly seven in the morning, I stood leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping my own cup of black coffee, watching the second hand on the wall clock tick closer to the hour. On the oak table in front of me sat the heavy brass ring of house keys and the leather-bound ledger.

Heavy footsteps clattered down the wooden staircase. Beau's mother, Judith Tucker, walked in first, wearing her embroidered silk robe, a lit cigarette dangling between her fingers. Trailing behind her was Beau's sister, Brandi, rubbing her temples from a massive hangover.

Judith stopped in her tracks when she saw me. A smug, mocking sneer immediately crossed her face.

"Look who's still here," Judith scoffed. "After your dramatic little exit at the bar last night, I thought you'd actually packed your bags. Guess you finally realized you'd starve on the streets without my son taking care of you."

Brandi snorted. "Told you, Mom. She's all talk."

I didn't get angry. I just pushed the keys and the thick ledger toward the center of the table.

Judith frowned. "What is this?"

"That's the house," I said evenly. "Every key. Every account number. Oh, and the private funds I've been bleeding from my own inheritance to keep you people afloat. As of seven o'clock this morning, I'm cutting you off."

Brandi's mouth hung open. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

"Sloane Keller!" Judith hissed, crushing her cigarette onto a saucer. "You don't dictate terms in my house! We took you off the street! You owe us everything! Your place here was sanctioned by the club!"

"Then the club can unsanction it," I said, resting my palms flat on the oak table. "In the 1%er world, a verbal breakup means nothing. Without a formal ruling, Beau thinks he can still control me. So, I'm going to see Elias Morrow this morning. I'm going to ask for a formal release. I'm cutting all ties with the Tucker family permanently."

The mention of the National President's name dropped the temperature in the room by twenty degrees. Elias Morrow held the absolute power of life and death over every patched member.

"You wouldn't dare," Judith whispered, panic cracking her voice.

The front screen door banged open. Beau marched into the kitchen. He had clearly spent the night at Farrah's place-his Cut was rumpled, reeking of stale beer and cheap vanilla perfume.

"What the hell is all this yelling about?" Beau barked.

"Your little charity case threw the keys on the table!" Brandi yelled. "She says she's going to Elias for a formal release!"

Beau's head snapped toward me, his brows pulling into a furious deep frown. "You're doing what?"

He took a threatening step toward me, but before he could open his mouth again, a truck horn blew two short, ear-piercing blasts from the front yard.

The deafening sound of shattering ceramic echoed through the open windows.

"What the fuck was that?!" Beau roared.

"My imported garden fountain!" Judith shrieked.

"Beau Tucker! Get your cheating ass out here right now!" Ruby's furious voice bellowed from the yard.