Wicked Whiskey Love

By: Melissa Foster


Before she could apologize to Bones, Quincy, Truman’s younger brother, hollered “Scott” from across the street. He was with Isabel and Jed, Crystal’s brother. “Dude, want to hang with us?”

Scott glanced at Sarah. “You okay? I’ll stay if you want me to.”

“I’m fine. Go have fun. We’ll catch up later.”

As Sarah watched Scott cross the street, she noticed his limp was a little more pronounced and was glad he had his cane in the car in case he needed it. He had a permanent plate and pins in one leg. He’d been fortunate in his healing, and his doctors no longer anticipated future surgeries. He still had days when he couldn’t do as much as he would like, but at least he was out of the woods.

“Sarah, I’m really sorry,” Bones said, pulling her back to the moment.

When he looked at her as he was now, gazing deeply into her eyes like he meant every word, it was hard to concentrate. She liked to look at him too much, and she found herself trying to put the pieces of his life into some semblance that she could understand. He didn’t look like a biker, and yet the club was a huge part of his life. He was tall and clean-cut, and he didn’t have any tattoos like most of the other bikers did. At least none that she’d seen. Then again, Bones didn’t need ink to underscore his badassery. He had a commanding presence made even more powerful by the angular cut of his jaw and his piercing dark eyes. He was the kind of man women lusted after and men looked up to.

She shifted her gaze back to her son and said, “I know. It’s okay. I’m just overprotective.”

“As you should be. When I saw the fear in your eyes, I felt horrible.”

The emotion in his voice drew her gaze back to his. She had no business noticing anything about him, much less letting her overactive imagination run wild. Bones could have any woman he wanted. She wasn’t fooling herself into thinking he’d be crazy enough to want a pregnant woman with two children. Besides, she’d made the mistake of trusting kind words and sexy eyes before. She couldn’t afford to fall into that dark place again.

“How about a smile from this pretty little lady’s beautiful mommy?” He tickled Lila’s chin, earning sweet baby giggles.

Her insides melted when he did things like that. It was no wonder she was a mess of confusion around him. She desired him so much she ached with it, but her mind continually threw out warnings and barricades in the form of painful memories.

She flashed a quick smile and then headed for Bradley before her hormones had a chance to overreact again. When Bones’s hand landed on her lower back, she forced herself to focus on Red, who was tickling Bradley’s cheek with a blade of grass, instead of the delicious warmth his touch created inside her. It wasn’t an easy task, distracting herself from such an enticing creature, but she was determined. She studied the three women, who acted like sisters although they looked as different as could be. There was one thing about their appearance they had in common, though: They emanated strength and resilience like Sarah had never before seen. Maybe it was because they were bikers’ wives, or maybe they were born that way.

Sometimes Sarah felt strong, but at other times she felt like she had a magnet on her back, drawing bad shit from every direction and it was all she could do to duck and cover.



“THERE’S MAMA AND Sissy,” Babs said to Bradley as they approached. Bones had known Babs his whole life. Her long blond hair always looked windswept, and her clothes were constantly disheveled, but she was as warm as she was tough.

Red smiled up at them and said, “Escorted by my big, brave boy.” With her fair skin and short hair, it was hard to believe she had birthed three dark boys. But like them, she was a biker through and through, and she almost always dressed in black, from her T-shirt and jeans right down to her chunky leather boots.

Bones ruffled Bradley’s hair, and Bradley flashed a sugary-blue toothy grin.

“Hey, Red. Ladies.” Bones leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Will I ever graduate to being called a man instead of a boy?”

“That’s what other women see you as,” Chicki said, her legs tucked beside her. She was the most fashionable of her friends, exotic almost, with olive skin, dark hair she often pulled back in a severe bun, and a penchant for colorful blouses and zipping around on sky-high heels. “No matter how big and bad you are, to us you’ll always be the boy who toddled around naked in the backyard, saying, ‘Check this out!’ and then doing a hip swivel to make your willy swing around.”

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