Chapter One

New Orleans, Louisiana

Hugo Boudreaux spied his quarry, the Banderos Motorcycle Club president known as Glass, the moment he strode into their club bar on a seamy side street of New Orleans. Even the moon glow couldn’t drive the gloom away. From the surveillance photos, Hugo expected to see the tough, scar-ridden biker president, but not the disarmingly sweet young blonde in nurse’s scrubs sitting on the bar stool beside him.

Hugo’s mission was to infiltrate the Banderos, get information on their next weapon’s drop, and get out. What the fuck? Troy DeLance, the hard-assed biker and military man Hugo owed his life to, hadn’t mentioned a nurse.

A fucking nurse. A young, pretty one, to boot, in an unconventional way.

She met Hugo’s gaze and smiled, and he had a head spin. What the hell was this sweetie pie with her hair neatly contained in a bun, her big blue eyes, and a nose that was a little too big for a face softened by those sensual lips, doing hanging out with these drug-pushing pricks?

She was beautifully made—some might say slightly overweight, but not Hugo, he enjoyed curves. She was tidy in an understated, ladylike way. There was not one blond hair out of place, not a smear on her subtle makeup. Even her uniform was well pressed. Unfortunately, the only seat open at the bar was the one next to her.

Every hackle on his battle-toughened hide rose as he took a seat at the bar next to sweetie pie and ordered a beer. He’d have to take it easy. A woman this neat and tidy would be wary of a rugged six-foot-five ex-soldier. He was too big, too battle hardened, too addicted to rough sex for a woman like her. Not to mention he was on the wrong side of this biker war.

Get your fucking head into gear, Hugo. He was here on a mission. Not a date.

Once completed, he’d be free. Not that he would ever really be free. He’d had enough of the army, though he’d been committed to his job. Despite resigning from the military, he could never settle down back home, not while anger still curled around him like a snake. He had to learn to overcome it, or he’d never be able to start his own commercial explosives business.

He pulled himself back to the present and scoped out the bikers in the room.

Several Banderos members were playing pool on one of the tables nearby. Hugo counted his enemy. Five. He could deal with them if things went bad. His fists clenched, itching for action. Almost tasting the raw iron scent of blood, feel of flesh meeting flesh. Yeah, that was the whole problem. He enjoyed fighting. Too much.

His gaze swept over the nurse sitting next to him. What if sweetie pie got hurt? He hadn’t signed up for that. Fuck. He didn’t need this complication.

Glass caught him looking at the nurse and slapped his beer down on the wooden bar so that the froth fluffed over. He leaned forward and glared at Hugo. “This is Banderos territory. We don’t like strangers here.”

“Daddy, no. This is a public bar, and you’re not being welcoming. The man’s entitled to drink his beer in peace.” She patted the president’s big hairy hand, and Hugo stared, astounded at the calming effect she had on Glass.

Hugo raised his mug to her and nodded. He hadn’t expected anyone with composure and a pleasant manner like her. Not in a dump like this.

The nurse smiled again, and it was like daylight lit up his consciousness. “I’m sorry, mister. Daddy and I have had bad news today. Please forgive our lack of manners.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Glass slid his black-eyed stare back to Hugo, and despite the nurse’s kindness he recognized a challenge, and his killer training kicked in. He took note of the nasty scar running down the biker president’s cheek and the semi-automatic at his hip.

Hugo had one, too. He was always armed.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the nurse asked. Her voice was soft and low with a charming Louisiana lilt to it.

“No, Ma’am.” Most men would have left their beer on the counter and sidled back out the door after the president’s murderous stare. Not him. Hugo took a long, slow drink, clearing the memory of the parched dry desert of the Middle East from his throat. “I’m just passing through. Looking for work.”

“You military?” Glass asked.

“Ex-military.”

“Knew it. You walk like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

“Daddy, no! Now I’m deeply ashamed of you. You make me want to cry, the way you speak.” She slapped Glass’s hand. “That was just downright mean.”

Hugo raised one eyebrow, bemused. Normally a man foolish enough to offend him would be eating his fist, but he didn’t want to upset Nursey here, and even her daddy appeared shamefaced. She had a way about her that made Hugo want to behave, which confused the hell out of him.

“Nothing’s going up my ass,” he said calmly. “I’m a Ford, and my trunk’s shut tight.”

Glass’s aggressive expression relaxed, and he chuckled.

“Look, the man made you laugh, and I haven’t seen that in months.”

Hugo rubbed his chin, looking from one to the other, unable to believe that this dangerous piece of shit was Nursey’s father.

Glass turned to his daughter, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek, grunting something in reply. She squeezed his hand and patted it.

She turned her pretty sea-blue gaze back on Hugo. Her eyes were rimmed with thick brown lashes…and were tinged with tears. Her lips were the pouty type, a bit trembly. She wiped away a tear before she spoke. “My momma’s been hit by a car. We’re both as jumpy as crickets. We’re both real worried.”

“No problem. I’m sorry to hear about your momma.”

Hugo returned to his beer, disturbed. Why the fuck did she have to be in the bar? This was going to complicate things. Shit was about to go down.

Nursey could get hurt.