She was trouble. He'd noticed that the moment she walked into the bar. Smoking hot but emanating an aura of sweet chaos.

She didn't pay him any mind. Her eyes were busy scanning the pool players, frat boys, and security.

Only after she had surveyed the entire establishment, studying the exits, marking the locations of the bathrooms and the clusters of people glued to their wall-mounted phones, did her gaze finally settle on him.

"Shit," DJ thought. This lady wasn't just trouble; she was drowning in it.

He recognized that look on her face. She needed an escape from her routine, but her instincts were blaring louder than the crappy jukebox in the corner.

When their eyes locked, he didn't flinch or react. He allowed her to assess him while he returned the favor.

She was tall, especially with those heels. Easily pushing six feet, her body was well-toned, like someone who put in the work but had curves in all the right places. She looked like she ate healthy and didn't indulge in much drinking – tonight was an exception.

Just as he thought, she was here to break the monotony.

She briefly glanced at the bar, moving towards it with measured steps, careful not to brush against anyone. She didn't make eye contact with anyone else, only settling onto a barstool. She wore tight jeans, spiked-heel boots, and an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one of her curvy shoulders. Her healthy tan suggested she enjoyed the outdoors, perhaps jogging or practicing yoga in the park.

Her hand ran down the bottle she ordered, wiping off the condensation. She used a napkin to dry it before taking a sip, all the while discreetly surveying the bar.

She was trying to relax, but those instincts of hers were still screaming. DJ grabbed his beer, took a swig, grabbed his leather jacket, and made his way over.

He had a soft spot for damsels in distress, especially when they were putting up a brave front. By doing that, she'd piqued his curiosity, and damn if he wasn't going to figure out what was bothering her.

He slid onto the stool next to her, and she stiffened. He knew that she was giving him a sidelong glance, sizing him up. Although not in the way he'd prefer.

Her body slowly relaxed. She figured he wasn't a threat, but she didn't hold her bottle like she was going to drink it. It was more like she was preparing to smash it in his face.

"If you're going to hit me, aim for the nose," he quipped.

Her head turned, her long hair sweeping over her far shoulder, her eyes scrutinizing him, trying to unravel the mystery.

He slid his glass to the bartender, pointing at the beer on tap. "Go for the nose; you might not break it, but my eyes will water, and I won't be able to see too well."

She cocked her head and asked, "Are you serious?"

He flashed that sly, Texan grin of his, letting her know he wasn't all serious.

She let go of the bottle's death grip, and he successfully erased the frown from her face.

"What do you do?" she inquired.

He smirked. "Funny you should ask."

She had a cute smile, the kind with the creases around her lips and the crinkles around her eyes that suggested she laughed a lot.

Her name was Winter, but her tone hinted at a touch of sarcasm. Oh, she enjoyed dropping that name on people, but it had become a sort of mantra for her.

"Winter," he grinned, raising his glass, "There ain't nothing cold about you."

She rewarded him with her first genuine smile as they clinked their respective bottle and glasses together and downed the last of their drinks.

He wanted to dig deeper and hear her life story because the more he looked, the more he liked what he saw.

They shifted closer together so they could converse over the thumping music.

She seemed genuinely interested in learning about his line of work. He could admit that he enjoyed telling women he was a bounty hunter.

She eyed his brown-grey hair, pulled back in a leather thong, the slight receding hairline, and the goatee surrounding his lips.

"I suppose you have a 'Dog' thing about you," she commented.

He'd be a rich man if he had a dollar for every time someone mentioned that famous bounty hunter.

"The Rolling Stones tee and battered jeans suit you better," she added, her eyes not hiding their interest as they roved over him.

He wasn't winning any fashion awards; he wore what was comfortable. Running around in leather wasn't fun, and it definitely caused some friction below. Those weren't exactly his fondest memories – applying ice packs to sore areas.

The music faded, and the familiar buzz of the packed bar enveloped them. The bartender scooped some coins from the tip jar and sauntered over to the jukebox, smoothly sliding the coins in and pushing buttons. It seemed he knew every song in there. He made his choice, returned, and gestured at their empty glasses.

"One for me," DJ said, nodding at Winter. "And whatever the lady wants."

"Your weakest beer, please," Winter replied.

She was clearly out of her element here, and DJ was itching to find out what had brought her out tonight.

The bartender acknowledged their order and went to fetch their drinks. A soft riff started playing. DJ loved this song and couldn't help but sing along.

"Yeah, something you should know, babe," he crooned. Winter's smile brightened, her eyes crinkling, her cheeks plumping. She was stunning.

He seized her hand, pulling her up from the stools, wrapping his arms around her as they danced and sang together.

Running his fingers through a lock of her hair, he caught a whiff of sunshine, apples, and her unique scent.

Stepping back, he twirled her around, her hair spinning around like a whirlwind, before drawing her back into his embrace. Her back nestled against his chest as they swayed together.

He dipped his head, his nose tracing her ear, whispering the lyrics, his breath setting her skin on fire. Unable to resist, he planted a kiss on her exposed shoulder, savoring the clean skin and a hint of citrus from her moisturizer.

His lips trailed up, meeting her cheek as she nestled into him, letting go of the fear that had weighed her down.

His hand rested on her stomach, fingers spreading out, his thumb sliding beneath her breast, following the contours of her curvaceous form—no straight lines or angles on this hot lady.

Finding her ear, he sucked on the lobe and traced his tongue over the delicate shell. "What do you say, darling? How likely are you to join me tonight?"

She shook her head slightly. "I... I can't."

"You can," he murmured, kissing her temple and using his nose to brush her hair back, inhaling her clean scent with a hint of fresh sweat as he gradually stoked the fire between them.

"I'm not... I'm not like that."

"Oh, Winter, you are," he insisted.

Her back stiffened, and she edged away from him, her attempt at distancing herself futile against his towering six-foot-six frame.

"I'm not a⁠—“

"No, you're not," he interjected, his voice a gentle caress. His other hand slid down her body, tracing the gentle curves of her hip, across her lower belly, and down her opposite thigh. He went as far as he could reach, back up to the button of her jeans, slipping a finger between denim and warm skin.

"This is you using me, darling," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "And I want you to use me so badly."

He could feel her inner struggle. "Come on, darling."

A firm shake of her head. "I can't risk it; I’m sorry."

His hands held her gently but firmly, pulling her back toward him. He wanted her to know that she could break free if she wished.

"This isn't a risk, darling," he assured her. "It's the surest bet you'll ever make."

She released herself from his grasp, and with a swift move, he spun her around, her mouth a mixture of surprise and admiration for his graceful moves.

DJ advanced, keeping her walking backward. His imposing height and muscular build could be intimidating, especially up close.

"How about this?" he proposed, making sure she focused on him as he lowered his arms. "I'll take you to my five-star hotel. We'll make love," she frowned at that, "and tomorrow, after I bring you breakfast, you can tell me what's going on."

Her face hardened, lips thinning, her hazel eyes flecked with amber ice. He gently placed a finger on her lower lip.

"And when you tell me, I'll help you sort it out. After that, you can decide what this," he gestured between them, "means."

She looked down at his boots, pondering her response to his offer. The guy was tough, no doubt. His snug Rolling Stones tee accentuated his bulging pecs, muscular arms, and flat abdomen.

Winter closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her thoughts. What would he think if she dumped her troubles on him? The offer was tempting, for sure, especially from a guy with a body fat percentage in the single digits.

She shook her head, listening to his sigh of disappointment. Inside her was a good woman who dreaded what he might think of her if he learned the truth.

"I'm sorry," she said, opening her eyes to look at him. Sky-blue met hazel, and she felt an undeniable attraction building. She couldn't help her tongue slipping out to moisten her lips.

His pupils narrowed like a hawk spotting its prey. His lips puckered, his tongue teasingly wetting them, a sight that sent shivers down her spine.

She had to distance herself; this attraction was probably just hormones and loneliness. If she hadn't left her vibrator behind, she'd be using it tonight. Instead, she'd have to make do with her fingers.

She wondered how many times she'd have to release this tension before this guy was out of her system.

But those thoughts were entirely inappropriate. Her mind was conjuring all sorts of ways to use him. If he spoke more now, she might just crumble and throw herself at him. No, giving in was not an option. He seemed friendly, not the most handsome guy she'd ever seen, but there was something about him that made her feel safe like she could trust him. But repaying him with a boatload of trouble was the last thing she wanted.

He was a bounty hunter, not some Navy SEAL crossed with Rambo and a dash of Chuck Norris. If he were, she'd be all over him right now.

But he wasn't. The bail jumpers he caught likely weren't heavily armed threats.

"You know, if you're thinking I can't handle problems, there's something you should know about me."

His face inched closer to hers; his lips were a hair's breadth away. Her focus was entirely on that tantalizing mouth.

"I can't get you involved," she moaned, tilting her head just slightly, her lower lip brushing against his.

His hand settled on her side, the other pressed to her hip. He slid in between her legs, their bodies making intimate contact. His chest muscles pressed against her breasts, her nipples aching for more.

"Darling, I was involved the moment you walked in here," he declared. His hand slithered down her thigh, fingers wrapping around her leg. He pulled her up, her leg resting against his hip, and moved sensually against her.

A shiver rippled through her body. Her stiff nipples throbbed, muscles clenching inside her, longing for something that should be there if she said yes.

"I'm thinking, whatever's haunting those beautiful eyes, you're thinking I couldn't handle it?" he questioned.

Winter struggled to keep her expression bland and divert her thoughts to mundane matters. But how could she concentrate on trivial thoughts with this rugged biker grinding himself against her, leaving the scent of sex and alpha male all over her?

"Let me tell you something, darling. I've seen all kinds of shit when I was a Marine, in special forces, and as a bounty hunter."

He thrust forcefully, lifting her onto her tiptoes. She could feel her wetness seeping out. She felt his hard length against the seam of her jeans. Damn, he did that again, and she'd come right there.

"I can handle whatever you've got trailing you. Come on, Winter; I dare you to give me a chance."

She shook her head, feeling his challenge reverberating through her core. She wanted to haul off and slap him. Her fingers twitched with the urge.

Then her body tightened.

What surprised DJ the most was that Winter didn't break every bone in her attacker's body. She stood her ground, and he moved in, pressing both arms against the wooden column above her head.

"Where?" he demanded.

Her eyes flicked toward the entrance; that was all he needed.

"Okay, here's what you're going to do," he whispered.

Winter's gaze shifted to his. "How⁠—“

"Shh, just listen. I know you're scared, but you're going to use that fear. Got it?"

She nodded, comprehension dawning.

"Fear, if used correctly, can keep you alive," he cautioned. "You already know where the exits are. I saw you scoping them out earlier."

Her fear was beginning to subside. Good, he thought.

"My bike’s parked around back, so you'll use the north exit."

She frowned, biting her lower lip. "Please don't do that," he growled at her. The last thing he needed was her stoking an erection. They likely wouldn't get out of here without a brawl, and fighting with a stiffy was no easy task.

Why did he even think that word? "Stiffy."

Her eyes scanned the bar, searching for something. "What is it?"

Winter looked up at him, panic flushing her complexion, revealing blue veins beneath her smooth skin. Her chin quivered. "I don't know where the north exit is."

Damn, he'd made a mistake. "It's the one by the payphones. Make your way there when I tell you."

He spun her around to face the column. "Act like you're watching the dance floor."

Slipping back to the bar, DJ grabbed his leather jacket and scanned the two men lingering near the entrance, eyeing the crowd. The bartender glanced his way. DJ nodded, and the bartender moved to the other end of the bar, diverting the attention of four hefty bikers.

He quickly returned to Winter, tossing the jacket over her shoulders. "Put this on," he ordered. He flipped the collar up, concealing her long hair and tempting curves.

She turned around, sliding her arms into the sleeves. He reached in to apologize with his eyes as his arm skimmed her breast. From an inner pocket, he pulled out a gun. Her eyes widened as she watched him. He checked the safety, slipped it into the front of his jeans, and tugged his tee over the bulge. He couldn't help but wonder if his other bulge would get any attention tonight.

"If we make it out of this," he said, "you're coming with me."

She stared up at him, a smirk playing on her lips. God, he wanted to kiss her right then.

"Deal," she whispered.

He kissed her, just a quick peck, barely brushing her bottom lip, tasting the remnants of Bud.

He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, in and out, before opening them again and gazing at her.

Judging by the change in her expression, she saw him as a badass former Marine on an op.

At his nod, Winter took off. He walked with her halfway and then peeled away as she reached the passageway. DJ headed straight for the main entrance. He walked past the men who had witnessed a woman disappearing down a side corridor and were attempting to navigate past four bikers.

He pitied those foolish bastards. Nobody fucked with the Road Ravens.

In the parking lot, a mix of vehicles, including motorcycles, trucks, a smattering of cars, and a sleek black SUV, idled close to the road. DJ snarled under his breath, muttering, "I wonder which damn ride is theirs," as he maneuvered past a few more bikers who had recently arrived.

Rounding a low wall that extended from the end of the bar, DJ weaved his way past more parked bikes, heading straight for his own motorcycle at the far end. Suddenly, he collided with a colossal man, even more towering than himself, who was in the midst of a fierce struggle with a woman donned in a biker jacket.

Winter!

Without missing a beat, DJ sprang into action, his instincts honed by his past life as a special forces soldier kicking in. He moved in complete silence, his booted feet making no sound, his breath shallow, and his eyes intently focused in the semi-darkness. Retrieving the Sig Sauer from its holster, he deftly disengaged the safety, the scuffle in front of him concealing the telltale click.

Drawing nearer, he couldn't help but smirk. Winter raised one of her spiked heels and forcefully drove it down, catching her attacker squarely on the shin. DJ was intimately acquainted with the searing pain of a stiletto heel, often more agonizing than a KaBar knife.

Her heel continued its descent until it wedged between a leather loafer and sock. She was handling herself admirably, causing the hulking man to hiss in agony as her heel bore into his thin flesh, likely grazing bone.

But then the bastard struck back, cuffing Winter across the head. The unmistakable sound of him chambering a round into his gun, one of fifteen bullets, froze the man mid-struggle. DJ pressed the cold metal barrel against the man's neck, prompting him to release his grip on Winter and raise his hands in surrender. She staggered forward, cradling her throbbing head for a moment before regaining her composure and turning to face her attacker.

Her eyes darted wildly before finally settling on DJ. With an air of fierce determination, she approached the man, her voice seething with anger, "You son of a bitch," she hissed and unleashed a fierce punch directly onto the man's nose.

The man howled in pain, clutching his now bleeding nose and bending over in agony. DJ swiftly retrieved his keys, grasped Winter before she could unleash another round of fury on the downed assailant, and led her toward his motorcycle.

"Glad to see you followed my lead," he remarked.

"Glad to see you were paying attention," she retorted, sporting a triumphant smirk.

He swung his leg over the bike, inserted the key into the ignition, and revved the engine to life. "Don't let that victory get to your head, Ace."

She rolled her eyes and settled in behind him. With a thunderous roar, they peeled out of the parking lot, eliciting a piercing scream from the woman clinging tightly to his back.

He zoomed out like a bat outta hell, and she woulda done a one-eighty off the back if she hadn’t grabbed his waist. Sliding close, arms around him, she rested her head on his shoulder.

Finding that unsatisfactory, she leaned back, looking down, wondering if she could hold onto the bitch bars. Asked if it was frightening and not so safe, leaning back and holding onto twin bars of metal no longer than a steak knife.

“Hold on!” her hands slipped around, meeting, hooking together. His snarl had her sitting straight, trying not to touch him without letting go.

She pressed close when the bike wobbled; he gunned the engine and swerved off the road into a near-deserted, unlit parking lot, much smaller than the one they'd left behind.

He braked hard, sliding her crotch right into his ass, the seam cutting into her clit. She swallowed, leaning her head against his back, gulping down breaths. She couldn't remember ever being this turned on.

She should apologize; she knew she should, but a part of her wanted to scratch his back, slap his face, do ... something physical to him.

Instead, she sat there, simmering with desire and rage. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“You feeling that, Ace?”

She clenched her eyes shut, gasping for air. Sweat beading on her forehead.

“I gotta tell you.” There was a healthy dose of caution and anger mixing the stern tone of his voice. “If I get off this bike. I'm going to fuck you hard on the bonnet of that car.”

Winter looked across to where he pointed. A battered car with a wide hood was navy blue; surprised she could see it in the dim light, his headlamp thrown out.

She lost focus, her mind seeing him sprawled down over it; she climbed and roughly rode him until they both came screaming.

“Ace?”

“What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“What do you want to do?”

She banged her head against his back. Her mind fed her images; he took her from behind, holding her hair like reins. She was on her knees swallowing him, he between her legs eating her.

The images get steamier, her body boiling over.

“I don't know,” she screamed; her hands reached towards his shoulders, and she snatched at his t-shirt, grinding her core against his ass.

He kicked the stand down and got off the bike with her still on it. She was impressed with that flexible move but didn't have time to show it.

“DJ!” he growled, yanking her off the bike.

“What?”

“My name,” he snapped, “So you know what to scream when I make you come.”

She hadn't realized he hadn't told her his name. He'd just always felt familiar to her since they met.

“Winter.”

He stopped, pulling her next to him. “I know you're fucking, Winter.”

She smirked, her eyes sliding to the car hood, “No, tough guy, you're fucking, Winter.”

She sobered, swallowed, “What's going on?” She grabbed the bottom of her shirt, flapping it, trying to cool her overheated body.

DJ stepped in, one hip pressing against her, trapping her shirt. “You feel that?”

She shook her head, “What am I supposed to be feeling?”