He needed to get laid before he did something stupid, like plowing through the barriers he’d erected to ride that sweet little piece. But when it came to Tracey Kline, riding and claiming would be one and the same, and he wasn’t about to get tangled up in that barbed wire.

As if Tracey heard his thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder, and their eyes collided with the same cock-tempting heat that had been thrumming between them for far too long. He clenched his jaw against the desire working its way deep. In a few months, she’d be nothing but a memory.

She lifted her chin defiantly and strode up to Biggs Whiskey as he came through the front door, cane in hand.

A stroke had stolen Biggs’s ability to ride motorcycles years ago, rendering his left side weak, his left hand clumsy, and his speech a little hard to understand. His grandfather had founded the Dark Knights, and Biggs was a biker to the core, from his black leather vest with Dark Knights patches to his leather boots and every tattooed inch of leathery skin in between.

Diesel couldn’t hear what Tracey was saying, but Biggs stroked his scraggly white beard, his wise eyes shifting toward Diesel. Diesel lifted his chin in acknowledgment, trying to read Biggs’s expression, but he wasn’t giving anything away. Not one for picking apart situations, Diesel went back to serving customers.

A few minutes later Biggs sidled up to the bar. All the stools were taken. Diesel looked at Crow, a fellow Dark Knight sitting in front of him, and motioned for him to give his seat to Biggs. Crow climbed down and headed across the room toward the guys who were playing darts.

Diesel wiped down the bar as Biggs climbed onto the stool. “What’ll it be, old man?”

“A Guinness and some conversation.” Biggs nodded hello to Moon, where he was serving customers at the other end of the bar.

Diesel scoffed and filled a glass. Biggs knew he wasn’t a talker, but Diesel figured he was there to talk about his leaving town. He set the glass in front of him and leaned his hands on the bar, holding Biggs’s gaze.

“I caught wind of some trouble here last night,” Biggs said in his slow drawl.

“I handled it.”

He took a drink. “And you handled it well, from what I heard.”

Diesel glanced at Tracey, who was using the register by the office, wondering if she’d said something about the incident.

“She didn’t say nothin’.” Biggs took another drink, and the right side of his beard lifted with a knowing grin. “At least not about that. How’d she handle it? Was she shaken up?”

“She gave me shit for stepping in.”

Biggs chuckled. “She’s a tough little gal, and she’s come a hell of a long way. Gotta give her that.”