Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (13 page)

Biting her lower lip, Ash studied the napkin.

Steele waited for her to rip it up, maybe throw it in his face, but she didn’t.

“I saw a therapist.” She said it so low he had to strain to hear.

He stepped closer. “Yeah?”

Ash rubbed a thumb over her scar. “Right after I cut myself.”

“
Why
did you cut your own throat?”

She turned away from him. “I thought it’d be a fast way to go, quick and easy. But my mom found me, got me to the hospital in time. As soon as I saw her face, I regretted doing it. She’d lost one child, and I nearly caused her to lose another.” He could only see her profile. “After they patched my ass up, I got shipped upstairs to the loony bin for a month.”

Her mother was an emergency room doctor. Thank God she’d been there to save Ash.

“When?”

She walked to the mini-fridge and grabbed a couple of bottled waters. Ash tossed one to Steele and grabbed another for herself. Twisting off the cap, she took a long pull. For a moment, he didn’t know if she’d answer him.

“Our birthday. The first one without Abe.”

“And that’s the
only time?”

She nodded. “It was after I’d left the Corps, before I started working for Cole. I was at loose ends….”

“Why would you slice yourself up?”  It was the question he’d been dying to ask since he’d found out last night.

“Why do you think?”

“I know he’s your brother and your friend. You miss him, but—”

“But what? I have so much to live for? I have my whole life ahead of me? Go on, give me your platitude, I’ve heard them all.”

“I wanna hear
you
talk.”

“You don’t get it, and you never will.” She turned her back on him. “Losin’ a twin is more painful than losing a brother and best friend. He was my other half. The therapist at the hospital told me about twinless twins. There’s a support group for us, like Alcoholics Anonymous or somethin’.” She turned to face him once more.

“You ever go?”

Ash shook her head. “I read the pamphlets she gave me, but I can’t sit there and yak about my problems with a roomful of strangers.”

Steele didn’t blame her. He wouldn’t be able to open up to a bunch of people he didn’t know either.

“It’s about identity. We were a set. Abe and I shared a sense of self, and now he’s gone, I’m half a person.” Ash wrapped her arms around herself. “Somethin’ will
always
be missin’ from my life. We came into this world together, and we should’ve left it that way.”

Steele ached all over. He wanted to hold her, offer her comfort, but she’d give him a black eye. So he stood there, staring, unable to say or do anything helpful—useless as teats on a bull.

“I gotta live for the both of us, and sometimes I can’t take the pressure is all.” She lifted her chin. “This is the last time we’ll jaw about it.” Ash blew out a breath. “I want you to leave, then we’ll follow up on the lead tonight. I’ll text you the details. We’re gonna need the cover of darkness.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shaking, Steele stumbled out the door—but at least he didn’t upchuck.

Chapter Nine

Later in the morning, Steele sat by himself in Hades, picking at a Denver omelet. He’d ordered the damn thing hoping the smell would make him hungry.

It didn’t.

The front door swung open, and Steele glanced up to see his buddy, Frost, walk in. Frost had short reddish-blond hair, blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. As per usual, he was dressed in a fancy blue suit. Steele had gotten a terse text from him the night before requesting a meeting, and judging by the hard set of Frost’s jaw, he hadn’t come to breakfast to do a little chin-wagging.

Steele and Frost had served together in Afghanistan, along with Abe. After their tours ended, Frost had gotten a position in the county sheriff’s office, while Steele went the outlaw route. Unlike most of the club brothers, Steele didn’t have a record and took an occasional bounty hunting gig on the side. Frost let him know when some dickhead slipped through the legal cracks so the club could administer some vigilante justice.

After ordering coffee and a glazed donut at the counter, Frost sat down across from Steele. Voo usually sent a prospect to Devilicious every morning for a dozen or two donuts. The bakery added a red cinnamon coating, which gave the pastry a satanic luster.

Steele raised a brow. “Seriously? A donut?”

“Fuck the cliché, I got a sweet tooth to indulge.” He bit into the pastry with gusto.

“Why’d you need to meet?” Shaking his head, Steele speared a forkful of omelet and twirled it around. He let it fall back to the plate, untouched.
Nope, still no appetite.
 

“We got a report over the wire yesterday about a dangerous fugitive believed to be in the area.”

Steele glanced up. “Oh yeah?”

“You’re gonna sit there and play stupid with me?”

“Who says I’m playin’?” As a kid, Steele loved the role of class clown—still did, actually. School hadn’t been easy for him, so he’d enjoyed himself in other ways—quarterback, babe magnet, and joker extraordinaire.

“Fine.” The cop pitched his donut down with a sigh. “Let’s do this your way. The fugitive is Jonathan Royal, the former president of Kentucky’s Four Horsemen chapter. He’s a convicted murderer, not to mention the extortion, illegal arms sales, assault, and racketeering charges.”

Steele knew exactly who Frost was jawing about. Not all of the Horsemen chapters had a strictly straight-and-narrow approach to earning money. Royal had busted out of prison and had been on the run ever since—for nearly a year now.

Frost had an excellent bullshit detector, and Steele made sure to keep his face neutral. “You don’t say,” he remarked casually. “Sounds like a real menace to society.”

While he counted Frost as one of his good buddies, he never forgot they stood on opposites sides of the law in Hell. He’d served with the man and loved him like a brother, but loyalty to his club came first.

Sometimes it put Steele in a bind, like when Coyote had gone missing. He’d wanted to enlist Frost’s help finding Yo, but he couldn’t. It would’ve put the club in legal jeopardy. While Frost might give some of the rules the finger, he didn’t ignore all of them—drug-smuggling and harboring a federal fugitive would be too much for the cop to ignore.

“You’re gonna sit there pretendin’ you don’t know him even though he’s a member of your outfit?”

Before he replied, Steele took a slow sip of coffee, trying not to appear agitated. “A
Kentucky
member. I’ve never met the man.”

Royal had asked the club for help when he’d arrived in Texas a few weeks ago and was now holed up in Goat’s old hunting cabin. Axel had been bringing him supplies. Horsemen
always
helped another brother out, no matter what the cost.

Frost studied him. “Rumor is Royal’s in this neck of the woods, and I know how loyal you Horsemen are—to each other at least.”

The dig stung, but he didn’t dignify it with a response. 

“Most recently, Royal kidnapped a federal marshal—
a federal marshal
.” 

Steele knew, in Frost’s world, it was an un-fucking-forgivable sin. “Yeah, and I heard she was released alive and well.”

The cop leaned closer, setting his elbows on the table. “Where’d you hear that?”

“On the news.” Royal hadn’t harmed the woman, which was good because Horsemen didn’t tolerate shitheads who hurt the ladies, regardless of club affiliation.

Steele made a mental note to share Frost’s suspicions with Axel. The president might have to move Royal. After this meeting concluded, Axel would be getting a text from Steele.

“You didn’t get it from another source?”

“Nope, but I’ll keep an eye peeled for this fella.”

He sighed. “Steele, helpin’ you guys dole out justice when some asswipe gets away with rape or backs out on payin’ child support is one thing. Harborin’ a fugitive is serious, and I have a duty.”

“Do what you gotta do, man.” Steele meant it. He had a hell of a lot of respect for Frost, even if the street didn’t go both ways.

“I think you’re lying to me.”

“Frost—”

“Shut up. Don’t sit there with your teeth in your mouth.  I used to trust you, but since you joined the Horsemen, you’re becomin’ like the rest of them…crooked as a dog’s hind leg. You used to be my brother—we were on the same side.”

“Not anymore. I wish you’d joined the club with me, then this kind of shit wouldn’t come between us.” He scowled. “And for the record? I ain’t crooked.”

“Bullshit. If you swallowed a nail, you’d shit out a corkscrew.”

They glared at one another. Steele wanted to be pissed, but a laugh bubbled up instead. “Asshole.” The insult didn’t hold any heat.

“Dickhead.” Frost joined in the laughter. Suddenly, they were two old friends having breakfast together.

“You’ll never guess who’s in town.” Ash hadn’t served with them, but they’d all met at her parents’ place when they’d been given leave at the same time.

“Too early for guessin’ games. Who?” Frost washed down the rest of his donut with coffee.

“Ash.”

His eyes widened. “Ashton Calhoun?
That
Ash?”

“Yeah.”

Frost raised a brow. “And I’m sure you welcomed her with open…arms.”

“She’s only a friend.”

“No,
we’re
only friends.”

“What? You think I wanna fuck her? You’d be hard-pressed to find a woman I don’t wanna fuck.”

Frost snorted. “No, man. I watched you two at the party. What’s it been? Twelve years ago? If I recall right, she slapped you upside the head, but you
still
followed her ass around all night like a dog without a home.”

“Did not.” Steele pressed a hand to his face. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall what he’d said to her, but he could still feel the slap—even the memory of her touch was…electrifying.

“Don’t even try to deny it. I’m not the only one who noticed. Abe took you out on the porch and threatened to knock you into next week for daring to look at her.”

They both sobered at the mention of Abe.

“He’d be thirty-four next week.” Steele ran a palm down his face. In his mind’s eye, Abe never aged—twenty-four forever.

“I remember. I say a prayer for him every year.”

A lump formed in the back of his throat, and he struggled to swallow it. “I left him all alone.”

Frost squeezed his arm. “You didn’t know what would happen. None of us took guard duty real serious until….” He shook his head. “Guardin’ heroin poppies wasn’t what we’d signed on to do.”

The entire unit had been up in arms, but they hadn’t had much choice. They’d followed orders…except for Steele, of course. “I know, but I should’ve done my duty. You don’t get to pick and choose what orders to follow.”

“Steele, you can’t beat yourself up. You didn’t set this in motion. The Taliban needed money for their war machine, and they wanted to scare the fuck out of the farmers working with us. They murdered him to scare the locals.
You
didn’t kill him,
they
did.”

“I might as well have. They lynched him and gutted him like a fish.” Steele saw it all again—the rope around Abe’s neck, hanging at an unnatural angle. The glossy, unseeing eyes. 

Frost gripped him harder, digging his fingertips in, as if trying to physically pull Steele back into the here and now. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Can’t help it.” Seeing Ash again and Coyote’s abduction had brought it all boiling to the surface once more. He sucked in a breath. “Frost, I need you to tell me the truth.”

The cop held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded.

“You promise?”

“Yeah, of course. Anythin’.”

Steele forced himself to ask the question he’d been dreading for years, the one he desperately needed an answer to. “If I’d stayed and done my duty…would Abe be alive today?”

Frost pondered the question. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly. “If you’d remained at your post, I’d have buried two friends instead of one.”

“I should’ve died with him. My face should’ve been the last thing he saw, not his murderer’s.”

Frost didn’t reply.

There was nothing more to say.

***

Afterwards, Steele went to work and tried his level best to live his life, even though he felt like it was unraveling at the seams. He hadn’t received any more spooky phone calls from Coyote’s hacker buddies either. Daisy didn’t try to cheer him and left him be. There was a steady stream of customers to concentrate on, so the day passed quickly.

After he closed up shop, he went over to the hotel and knocked on Ash’s door. “Ash?”

Nothing.

Steele knocked again. No answer.
Damnation.
It was nearly dark, and they should be heading up to that cabin and checking it out. She’d texted everything to him earlier. He tried her cell, but it went straight to voicemail.

Had she fallen asleep?

Steele pounded on the door. Again, no response. A disturbing thought occurred to him. What if she’d tried to hurt herself again?  

Steele ran to the front desk and got a spare key. He slid it into the lock and entered the room.

Once inside, he glanced around but didn’t see her. Then he heard running water coming from the bathroom. She was taking a shower. He sighed, the tension leaving his body.

Steele checked his cell. He was running about twenty minutes earlier than he’d planned.

Steele knew he should walk on out of there. Once she got dressed, she’d give him a call. He could wait for her in the diner. But he was in her room—alone in her space—and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to poke around a bit.

Ash had never been a traditional southern belle. She’d always been less refined and a hell of a lot more ferocious. As a teenager, he’d loved to wind her up and see what she’d do next.

On the nightstand, she had a black mesh case chock-full of girly stuff he perused.  He was charmed by the bottle of perfume, TokyoMilk Dark. The bottle was black and featured the white outline of a gun, and the scent was called Bulletproof. He found a silver cross on a chain, an inky black bottle of nail polish, and some lip balm. No makeup.