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it was unlikely that they’d be dumb enough to come after Sophie again, either.
    He, meanwhile, had the sinking feeling he was exactly that dumb, no matter the ghost he was sure he could see glowering at him from across the bar, reminding him whose daughter he’d just been
that close
to doing. Right here.
    You’re a piece of shit,
he told himself, but it was tough to take that to heart when his dick was still hard and he had the taste of her in his mouth.
    He shifted that same hard look to Tulane, who actually squeaked when their eyes met and staggered back a few steps like he might vault over the bar and come for her perky ass next.
    “Relax,” he growled at her. “I don’t do mice.”
    She made another squeaky noise, and did not look at all comforted by that information. Ajax wanted to smile, but didn’t. Of course he didn’t. That would be too easy. And despite the reason for his return and the fact Priest would likely rise from his grave to rip his balls off if the old man knew the direction of Ajax’s thoughts, he was having too much fun.
    He practically whistled a happy tune as he stalked through the door and followed Sophie outside, taking the metal stairs attached to the back of the bar up toward the rambling old apartment that took over the top two floors of the building.
    It had been ten long, lonely, jacked-up years. But Ajax was finally home.

Chapter 3
    Sophie cried in the shower.
    And hated herself for it with every great, wracking, gasping sob that made her clutch at the slick walls to keep from crumpling into a ball of pure misery near the drain.
    But hating herself for being a weak little girl didn’t seem to help anything. It only made her feel worse, like that much more of a weak little girl.
    So she turned up the water temperature until it was nearly painful and she cried a little more and she told herself that it was the grief and the shock working themselves out, that was all. And that Ajax was, too. It even made a kind of psychological sense, if she remembered her college classes right.
    Her father was dead. That still didn’t make any sense. Maybe it never would. He’d left on one of his rides as usual yesterday with his normal, gruff
see you when I see you
as he’d powered up that window-shattering engine in the courtyard. He’d roared out onto Bourbon Street the way he always did. And then there were cops at the door and Sophie was expected to believe he was simply…gone
.
    How could she possibly have processed it overnight? She hadn’t. She couldn’t have. She kept expecting him to walk back in the door. For all this to be a mistake.
    But then Ajax had appeared, like a ghost in this city that was messy with them, and brighter somehow than all the rest.
    And she’d known that he wouldn’t show up unless Priest really was dead.
    Ajax had been her father’s favorite surrogate son before he’d disappeared ten years ago, and now he was so much hotter and wilder and more dangerous than he’d been when she was eighteen. And this time, he’d looked at her the way he’d look at any woman. No longer like she was the Catholic schoolgirl, Priest’s untouchable daughter, but like she was exactly the sort of woman an outlaw biker like Ajax threw up against walls.
    She’d always wanted to be that kind of woman—or she had when she was eighteen.
    This was what people did with grief, she told herself fiercely. They acted out. They did stupid things. She braced her hands against the warm wall of the shower stall and let the water run all over her and told herself it was only to be expected.
    She’d almost convinced herself of it when she walked out of her bedroom a little while later and stopped dead.
    Because Ajax was sitting in the kitchen like he belonged there, drenched in afternoon sunlight and even better looking than he’d been in the more dimly lit bar downstairs. Sophie caught her breath. His legs were stretched out before him as he sprawled in one of the chairs at the table, his