Chapter One

THE MURMURS OF the crowd at Whiskey Bro’s competed with the sounds of billiards and the cold thunder of Desmond “Diesel” Black’s mounting anger as he poured a round of shots for a customer, eyes locked on Tracey Kline. The hot little waitress was getting eye-fucked by a denim-jacket-wearing, spike-haired punk who had just strolled into the bar with two other guys. Tracey, being the sweet thing she was, batted her big hazel eyes, and with a flick of her pointy chin, sent her shoulder-length silky dark hair out of her face as she motioned toward a table. Her hair tumbled back down over one eye, which only made her sexier. The denim-jacket-wearing asshole must have seen it as an invitation, because while his buddies headed for the table, he headed for Tracey. Diesel gritted his teeth.

“Watch it, dude,” Jed Moon, the other bartender, warned.

Diesel snapped around, glowering at him.

Amused, Moon nodded to the tequila Diesel was still pouring, which was flowing like a river off the edge of the bar, puddling by his black leather boots.

“Did you just growl at me? You’re losing it, man.” He tossed Diesel a towel.

“Fuck.” Diesel’s eyes shot back to the asshole talking with Tracey as he mopped up the bar.

Tracey looked over, catching Diesel watching them. Her eyes narrowed, and the dickbag’s gaze followed hers to Diesel.

Diesel rolled his shoulders back, breathing fire.

The asshole’s face blanched, but as if he’d caught himself, an arrogant grin appeared, and he said something else to Tracey, then sauntered over to his friends. Tracey glared at Diesel, spun on her heels, and stormed over to another customer.

Moon sidled up to him. “I’m beginning to think you’ve either been here too long or you need to make that girl yours.”