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She’d found her hormones had other ideas, but she told herself she could
    control them. Darnell would get back on his feet and want to resume his position at the
    bar, and it would be time for her to move on.
    The place was hidden behind the small woods she remembered so well while she
    had stalked the place to find vulnerable spots. It was a huge old winery that had been
    closed for ten years now, so the township was probably glad to have it occupied, even
    by a group known to frighten-the-daylights-out-of-John-Q-Public. The taxes would be
    minimal because of the building being obsolete, and would cost a small fortune to have
    demolished, so everyone won in the deal when the Breed bought the place for pennies
    on the dollar.
    The group had been pretty quiet since the fire, and she wondered if things had
    changed so drastically, or if they were just waiting to see if further attacks would begin
    once they’d settled into a new spot. As far as she was concerned, her enemy was
    dead, and according to Maisey, the people who killed Tuck had been killed in the
    explosion. Wolfman had enjoyed a lingering pain-filled death, and her only regret was
    that she hadn’t stuck her knife in his guts to deliver him into hel . The funerals were
    held at one time, and she didn’t bother to attend. Knowing she would have been smiling
    and clapping her hands while his brothers grieved, kept her at the bar that day. Over
    the weeks, she had heard all about the funeral, and the vows of revenge from men who
    paid lip service to loyalty to the scum of the earth.
    She’d become a sick bitch one night, she took a drive and saw the markers forming
    crosses, and several tributes in the small patch of ground the ashes of the dead had
    been buried under several tons of fil dirt and grass seed. She’d stopped the truck and
    gotten out to walk around the spot. The brilliant idea popped into her head, and she
    grinned as she pulled her jeans down and pissed in the middle of the square plot. That
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    Starting Over by Ryder Dane
    had been the last time she’d gone near the place, and thinking about how satisfied she
    felt after pissing on Wolfman’s grave stil made her smile.
    As far as she was concerned, it was over, and in a few months she would leave this
    place and not look back. Her revenge was complete.
    She was still smiling in remembrance of that night as she pulled the van into the
    parking lot of the new clubhouse. The Prospects that looked inside the rear of the van
    had obviously called ahead, because there were three young men waiting for her and
    they began unloading her cargo as soon as she cut the engine.
    The lot was filled with bikes and muscle cars. A dozen pick-ups were lining the
    back row, and she ended up parking next to a deep sapphire blue dual cab that had a
    lift kit under the body that was so tall, someone her size would need a ladder to get into
    the cab. She couldn’t imagine any man tal enough to open the door and step into even
    with the silver running boards that covered the rocker panels.
    She walked through the lot and admired the bikes, wishing she could bring her old
    scoot from Kansas to enjoy while she was here. She had the Norton, Indian, and the
    Harley with the suicide shift in storage back home. They had belonged to Dallas
    McCormick, and now they belonged to her. Her Sportster was in storage with them. It
    wasn’t fancy, and it wasn’t the top of the line, but Tuck had given it to her to learn to ride
    on, and she wouldn’t give it up.
    The front doors were wide open and she walked into the building, immediately
    feeling the cooler temperature, and shivered. There were people everywhere, and her
    height was hindering her progress, but eventually she found herself at the bar in what
    used to be the Wine Tasting room, and climbed up on a stool to see the crowd of people
    at the gathering. Big men. Big hairy men, short men with chains hanging from their
    pockets to their belt loops, club