Queen Of The Outlaws

Widow's POV The problem with being the most wanted woman in three counties was that nobody ever wanted me for anything pleasant. Nobody wanted to buy me breakfast or offer me decent whiskey. The men who knew my name usually wanted to arrest me, threaten me, or explain why a woman shouldn't run a motorcycle club. I preferred the whiskey. At five thirty on Friday morning, I stood in my bathroom wearing black lace underwear, brushing my teeth while glaring at the hickey beneath my collarbone. Damn him. Axel had been passing through town yesterday, and one beer had turned into three, dinner had ended with me dragging the infuriatingly handsome bastard upstairs. Axel was a biker who rode wherever the road took him. He appeared every few weeks, stayed a night or two, then disappeared without either of us making a fuss. The s*x was good, the company entertaining, and he never asked stupid questions about commitment. It was a beautiful arrangement. Unfortunately, the bastard had mistaken my collarbone for a souvenir shop. I rinsed my mouth and examined the mark again. "You're lucky you're pretty." I muttered, although Axel wasn't there to hear it. After showering, I pulled on black jeans, a crimson shirt, and my black leather jacket with silver BLACKWIDOWS lettering. I braided my blonde hair, checked the knives inside my boots, and grabbed my phone. Downstairs, I discovered someone had stolen my coffee. Viper stood beside the counter, drinking from my favourite mug. "Morning, sunshine." She said. "That's my coffee." I said. "It was lonely." She said. "So you adopted it?" I asked. "Something like that." She said. "I hope you enjoy your final moments." I said and Viper grinned. She was one of the few women alive who could irritate me before sunrise and survive the experience. We'd been through fights, bad decisions, and an unfortunate incident involving a stolen truck and three men with questionable survival instincts. She was also someone I trusted to watch my back without being asked. That went for every woman wearing our colours. The Blackwidows weren't women pretending to be dangerous. We were riders, fighters, mechanics, and tacticians. Every member had earned her place, and anyone who underestimated us usually regretted it. Usually. I snatched the mug from Viper and finished her coffee. "You just drank after me." She said as she stared at me. "I've kissed men with worse hygiene." I said. "That's not comforting." She said. "It wasn't supposed to be." I said. By six fifteen, the clubhouse was awake. My luxurious two-story house sat behind secure gates, wide balconies and a high teck security system. The separate garage stood nearby, where Storm and Razor were arguing over a motorcycle. "The chain needs replacing." Storm insisted. "It needs adjusting." Razor countered. "Lovely. It's barely six thirty, and you're already heading for divorce." I said. "We're not married." Razor replied. "Thank f**k. Imagine the paperwork." I said and Storm nearly dropped her wrench laughing. I loved my women, especially when they could solve their own problems. I wasn't wasting my morning refereeing a mechanical argument when I had territory to defend. By eight, twelve Blackwidows were riding behind me along the disputed corridor connecting the industrial district to the highway. The road belonged to neither club, but the Savage Saints had decided otherwise. Their president, Crow, had been pushing into our territory for weeks. His men intimidated local businesses, stopped riders, and pressured mechanics to refuse us service. Crow had mistaken patience for weakness, and that was an expensive mistake. I led our formation through morning traffic, Storm behind me and Viper and Razor flanking us. The remaining women held their positions without needing instructions. We knew exactly where we belonged. At the highway service stop, I killed my engine. Frank, the owner, emerged from the workshop, wiping his hands on a rag. "Morning, Widow." He said. "Morning, Frank. Trouble?" I asked and he hesitated. "If you're about to tell me everything's fine when it isn't, I'll start charging you for lying." I said as I removed my helmet. "Three of Crow's men came yesterday. Told me to stop letting your girls use the place." He said as he glanced toward the road. "My girls?" I asked and Frank shrugged. I smiled, which wasn't a good sign for anyone. "What happens if you refuse?" U asked. "They said I'd regret it." He said. "Did they think that up themselves, or did Crow help?" I asked and Storm laughed behind me. "I don't want trouble." Frank admitted. "Neither do I. It's inconvenient." I said. "We'll handle it. Keep running your business." I added as I squeezed his shoulder. He nodded, relieved. Then motorcycles thundered into the forecourt. A whole pack swept into view, wearing RAVEN'S BLOOD MC colours. Of course. My morning needed another man with an inflated ego. Their riders dismounted confidently, clearly accustomed to being obeyed. I recognised Diesel, their broad-shouldered road captain, and Griffin, their observant vice president. Then there was Reaper. Rafe Callahan. Raven's Blood's president was a notorious pain in the ass who'd spent three years hunting the woman behind the Blackwidows' growing reputation. He was tall, dark-haired, and handsome enough to make women regret their decisions. I could see why. I could also see trouble. His gaze swept over my women before settling on me. "Widowmaker." He said. "Reaper. I'd call this a pleasure, but I hate starting with lies." I smiled. Diesel coughed into his fist while Griffin studied the ground. "We need to discuss this corridor." Reaper said. "Have you tried talking to it? Roads aren't great conversationalists." I said and his jaw tightened. "I'm serious." He said. "Unfortunate. I hoped you'd avoid embarrassing yourself." I said. "We've protected this route for years." He said as he stepped closer. "Protecting something doesn't make it yours." I said. "We keep it safe." He said. "So do we." I said. "You're crossing our patrol area." He said. "Your patrol area? Apparently, we've parked in somebody's imaginary kingdom." I asked as I glanced at Frank while Frank suddenly found his rag fascinating. Storm folded her arms, Viper stepped beside me, and Razor watched the Raven's Blood riders. None of my women backed down. Reaper noticed, studying how they stood behind me without hesitation. "I'm giving you a chance to avoid trouble." He said. "How considerate. Is this special treatment?" I asked. "Stop using the corridor." He said. "No." I said. Diesel stiffened, and several riders shifted uneasily. "You should think carefully before answering." Reaper warned. "I did. It didn't take long." I said. "You think this is funny?" He asked. "Not really. Your face is doing most of the entertaining." I said and Storm choked back a laugh. "You're making a mistake, Widow." Reaper said. "And you're giving unsolicited instructions at a service station. We all have our burdens." I said. He stepped closer but I stood my ground. I wasn't surrendering an inch because some man thought his height counted as a personality. "Three years. I've spent three years trying to find out who you are." He said. "Touching confession. Tried getting a hobby?" I asked. "You think you can keep pushing us?" He asked as his gaze sharpened. "Move your motorcycle before Frank charges you for parking." I said. Something flickered across his face. Interest, perhaps, which was worse than hatred. Men who found me interesting tended to become persistent, and I had no patience for persistent men. "This isn't over." He said. "Most things aren't. That's why we invented tomorrow." I said. He ordered his men to mount up, and I watched them prepare to leave, satisfied we'd defended our territory without throwing a punch. Then Griffin approached Reaper and whispered something. Reaper looked back at me, his irritation giving way to something colder. Whatever Griffin had told him, it hadn't improved his morning. And when he finally climbed onto his motorcycle, he didn't look at the road ahead. He looked directly at me. I put my helmet back on and swung onto my bike. "Problem, boss?" Viper asked through our headsets. "Not yet." I said and I started the engine. "But I have a feeling that arrogant bastard is about to become one." I added. And as Raven's Blood disappeared down the highway, I couldn't shake the certainty that our little argument had been the easiest part of the day. Because Reaper had spent three years hunting the Widowmaker. Now he'd finally found me. And judging by the look on his face, he had no intention of leaving me alone.