A saucy waitress with a large rack wandered over to us. She never took her eyes off me as she took our drink orders. Both beers. Usually I was the predator, but in here I was definitely feeling like the prey for both women who wanted to take me out back and fuck me and the men who wanted to take me out back and beat me into oblivion with a tire iron.

“Your dad hangs out in places like this?” I spoke without any censure or judgment. I wanted to get to know her. If this was part of her life, I wanted to know about it. She intrigued me, and this new layer wasn’t any deterrent.

“Yes, and so do I. Or I did. My dad repairs Harleys, mostly for an outlaw biker gang. So, while he isn’t one of them, he’s accepted by them. I grew up around guys like this.”

“I see. I’ve never had much exposure to the biker culture. I mean, I watched a few documentaries on TV, but that’s it.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her luscious mouth. I was about to say something wildly suggestive and inappropriate when a shadow crossed near us. I looked up to see a guy who made Ethan Parker’s hulking bodyguards look like pansies. He had long gray hair, a gray beard, more tattoos than visible skin, and wore a black leather vest and worn black jeans. The tats were fascinating, but I knew better than to stare for too long. The canvas on his arms, shoulders, and chest appeared to be a biker’s version of hell with multiple nasty-looking snakes wrapped around his biceps and neck.

He grabbed a chair from a nearby table, flipped it around, and sat down backward in it. “Geneva, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She winked at him. “Good to see you, Ham.”

“Just hanging with some brothers before I head back to Canuck land.” His penetrating gaze swung to me.

“This is a friend of mine and my brother’s. We were just out for a late-afternoon ride. Axel. Ham.”

I stuck out my hand, knowing I had a hard, firm handshake, which would hopefully win me a few points with this guy. He took and shook my hand so hard it was like we were in a wrestling match.

My hand was numb by the time I extracted it. I opened and closed my hand several times to get the feeling back.

He watched me, his grin feral. “You might want to go back to the city, pretty boy. We eat dudes like you for a predinner snack.”

“I can handle my own.” I narrowed my gaze and met his arrogant stare straight on. I was a hockey player. I understood the game of one-upmanship. I understood the clashing of macho egos. And I understood I was out of my league, but I’d give it a shot.

“Later, Geneva.” With a grunt, and not sparing me another glance, he heaved himself to his feet and hobbled over to a table of rowdy men. The guy was beat-up, not sure why and wasn’t going to ask.