Biker (Bad Boys in Big Trouble #1) - Fiona Roarke


Zak Langston pulled the single sheet of paper from the envelope and read out loud, “Assignment: Biker.” There were more words below that, but the single-word title occupation made him stop reading.

“Biker? Really?” he asked his handler, Miles Turner. “You want me to join a gang or something this time?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what we want you to do. We even have an initial contact to help you out. He’s a mechanic at a garage in the small town where the bad guys are headquartered, and you’re about to get a job there.”

“He’s an informant, then?”

“Not exactly.”


“Your assignment is to infiltrate the gang with the help of a civilian we’ll arrange for you to meet. Get in with them, set up a deal to stop the bad guy leader, and then come back for your next mission. Simple.”

“It’s never that simple.”

“Of course not. So you’ll adapt and overcome. That’s your job.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right. So where am I going?”


“Awesome.” His tone was anything but excited about his new assignment. “It’s super-hot there.”

Miles grinned. “But it’s a dry heat.”

“You’re not helpful.”

“It’s not my job to be. Helpful is for Boy Scouts and brown-nosers.” That was his handler’s favorite phrase to quote, second only to his very favorite regarding promises.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“We found a place for you to live, but you’ll have to sign a six-month lease.”

“Six months! It won’t take that long, will it?”

“Of course not, but the rent is so reasonable it’s worth it. Plus, you’ll be centrally located in town.”

“Good enough. I’ll be on my way then.”

“Great.” Turner’s voice turned serious. “And Zak, take these guys seriously. They’re more dangerous than they seem at first glance.”

“No problem. I always take these guys seriously. Crazy not to.”

“And stay in touch.”

“I’ll think about it.” Zak typically maintained the absolute minimum amount of contact when he was undercover. The last thing he needed was to be caught with a bug in his ear or talking on the phone and having to pretend a meaningless conversation when someone walked in unexpectedly. “You’ll hear from me when I have something relevant to report.”

Chapter One

The old saying about stopping to smell the roses was in Kaitlin Price’s case better revised to halting everything to stare at her new neighbor’s well-sculpted butt. She did this every single day when he returned home from work. He never disappointed.

Kaitlin was on a mission, and it most certainly involved Zak. As a bonus, he looked very much like a bad boy. Bad boys and the way they operated was perhaps a stereotype, but hopefully an accurate one. She didn’t even know Zak’s last name. Not yet. But she would. Soon. Or not. Didn’t matter. She didn’t need his last name for him to fulfill her most ardent wish.

She just hoped he’d be willing to cooperate with her seductive proposal. Stereotype or not, he would fit the bill perfectly where her needs were concerned. Plus, she really loved the view.

Like all known procrastinators, she’d waited until the last possible second to enact her “seduce the neighbor” plan, so basically it had come down to a now-or-never situation.

Her strategy had to be enacted tonight.

Tomorrow would be too late.

A familiar throaty roar echoed down the street, interrupting her mental schemes and sending her scurrying down the stairs to the side window in her living room, which had the very best view.

With a glance at the hall clock along the way across the room, Kaitlin pulled the curtain aside and peeked out as the sound of a loud motorcycle approached her home. The object of her desire came into view as his Harley turned into their shared driveway. He veered off the single rectangle of pavement slightly and onto the short sidewalk in front of his porch.


The new bad-boy neighbor who’d moved in next door a couple of weeks ago.

Her landlady, Mrs. Waverly, owned not only Kaitlin’s home, but also the house next door. Zak’s house. When he’d signed the lease agreement last month, Mrs. Waverly had come straight over under the pretense of “informing” Kaitlin to expect a new tenant. She’d then proceeded to tell Kaitlin everything she knew about the mystery renter.

He already claimed the top three attributes in the small-town matchmaker’s handbook. Single. Tall. And, most importantly, employed. But also apparently he was handsome in a rough around the edges way, Mrs. Waverly had whispered. “He just needs a woman’s touch, I think.”

Kaitlin had stifled a smile when her seventy-eight-year-old landlady had then winked.

Because Kaitlin was single, could