Brawler's Fight

He put a man through her window for touching a customer. She split his knuckles open patching his hands. Now the only thing more dangerous than the war outside is what's burning between them.

Raylene Pritchard built The Copper Still from a failing dive into the best honky-tonk in working-class Memphis with twelve years of sweat and a Louisville Slugger behind the bar. When a Russian chop-shop boss wants her block, she tells his muscle to leave in bags.

Bad move.

When the bullets come through her windows, the man who covers her isn't a stranger. He's Brawler, vice president of the Memphis Marauders MC, and he's been watching her from the last stool for three weeks. Not because she asked. Because a woman who takes a fist to the face and keeps swinging is something he can't walk away from.

Brawler doesn't do feelings. Hasn't let anyone close since his mother died and he filled the hollow with fists and club discipline. But Raylene fights like she's got nothing left to lose, and that's the one thing his walls weren't built to stop.

In Memphis, the river runs red and the Marauders don't share.

Some men fight for territory. Some fight for the woman who made them remember why they're breathing.