Newly-minted physician assistant Abby Stone is in Dead Horse, Arizona, to grab her younger brother from the clutches of what she's termed an evil motorcycle gang. She has history with these gangs—bad history—and she won't let her brother make the same mistakes her mother did. He listened to Abby when she helped raise him, and by God he'd listen to her again! Ryder Knight won't let that happen. The Midnight Riders need the prospect's mad hacking skills. They're desperate for a new on-call doc. And yeah, he thinks this uptight know-it-all might be old lady material. He just needs to convince her, and it won’t be easy! They both have secrets, big ones. When they are exposed, there's more at stake than reputations and pride. More like their very lives. www.MurphyChase.com This story includes spicy sexual content, adult language, and action-driven violence typical of outlaw biker life. Reader discretion advised. 18+. "Close your eyes, hands in the air. Now stand up and turn around." Good, the bitch continued to follow directions. I nodded at the chair, which Pinto grabbed while Yoda dumped the contents of her purse on a mattress. "No piece, brother. Just a lot of woman shit. Wallet, phone, hairbrush, car keys, with a little thing of pepper spray on the keychain." "Cute. Check the ID. Who we dealing with here?" I recognized her from the diner last night. Coincidence? No such thing. "You’re making a mistake," she said, far bolder than she had any right to be. I nodded to Pinto, who stepped next to me and trained his old school Colt 45 at her head. I tucked my own piece into the back of my jeans and set my hands at her waist. "Want some help with that, brother?" Yoda called out behind me. "Think I've got it covered." Bastards never let me have any fun. “Keep your eyes closed.” I ran my hands over her sides, back and waist, and pulled off her fleece sweater, revealing a white tank top. "If you'd only let me explain." And now her voice was shaky. Good. She should be scared. I stepped closer. I’d been fooled once by a gangbanger who'd hidden a derringer in her bra, and that was not happening again. "In a minute." Why I didn't end it with bitch, I couldn't say. Something in her tone, the way she was dressed—pink fleece, chinos and little brown shoes—it didn't scream Professional.