Born Wild by Julie Ann Walker

reporter. “Thanks, Jeremy,” she muttered. “I’ll let you know how things shake out.”
    â€œTake care, Cuz,” he said before cutting the connection.
    â€œSo?” Billy asked, turning to her briefly, a question in his lovely brown eyes.
    â€œSamantha Tate,” she supplied. “She’s a—”
    â€œI know exactly who she is,” he cut in, frowning. “And what she is.”
    â€œYou mean besides a serious pain the ass?” Eve submitted and felt a warm rush of pleasure flood her chest when his crack of surprised laughter echoed against the roof of the Hummer.
    â€œThat too,” he said, lips twitching. “And since she already knows who we both are, I see no reason to try to lose her. We’ll just let her follow us out to Goose Island.”
    â€œShe’s been leaving messages for me for two days,” Eve groused, glancing into the side view mirror and discovering that, sure enough, inside that black Chevy Tahoe was the vague outline of a woman with puffy hair. “I haven’t called her back because…well, for one thing I hate talking to the press. And for another thing, I’m sure she wants to sensationalize everything that’s been happening to me so she can snag herself another front-page byline. I’m sorry she’s sticking her big nose in the middle of this. I know how much you super-secret spy guys despise journalists.”
    â€œWe don’t despise journalists,” Billy clarified with a half shrug. “It’s just that their job is usually directly opposed to our job. But don’t worry. You won’t have to talk to her. She’ll never get past BKI’s front gates.”
    And, just like that, Eve was reminded she’d be spending an indeterminate amount of time under one roof with Billy “Wild Bill” Reichert and all his brooding looks, sharp words, and menacing, smoldering sex appeal…
    Triple gulp.

Chapter Four
    Black Knights Inc. Headquarters, Front Gate
    7:15 p.m.
    â€œI demand to see my daughter! I know she’s here!”
    Mac glared at the salt-and-pepper-haired man raving on the other side of BKI’s tall, wrought-iron gate and wondered if he’d ever despised anyone on first sight as much as he despised Eve’s father.
    Patrick Edens was wearing a cream-colored linen suit like he was freakin’ Colonel Sanders or something. Though Mac would lay two-to-one odds that Edens had never set foot inside a Kentucky Fried Chicken in his entire pampered life. A long black limousine was parked at the curb, and a gold Rolex glinted on Edens’s wrist when he lifted a hand to point a manicured finger at Mac. “You filthy, lecherous bikers can’t hold her prisoner here! I’ll—”
    â€œSir,” Mac cut in, and it was only his gentlemanly Southern upbringing that allowed him to address the raving ass-hat in such a polite fashion, “I can assure you we’re not holdin’ your daughter prisoner here. She—”
    â€œDad?”
    Mac lifted his eyes toward the sunset sky with its streaks of pink and orange and sent up a small prayer of gratitude. Too much more of that and he’d be tempted to shove a fist straight into Edens’s mouth, ruining the man’s expensively capped teeth. And since Edens had the look of a guy who wouldn’t take a punch—a punch he damn well deserved because, seriously? Filthy, lecherous bikers?—without raising a big ol’ stink and getting a bunch of stuffy lawyers involved, that would be very, very bad.
    Lord knows a lawsuit is the dead last thing any of us need right now…
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” Eve asked, still towel-drying her hair.
    She’d been in the shower when Toran buzzed from the front gate to say her father had arrived on the scene. And Bill and Ace had been in the middle of coordinating an emergency exfiltration for Ozzie and Steady who, like always, had