The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4)
Read The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) Online
Authors: Jaci J
Table of Contents
The Run (Hell's Disciples MC, #4)
12 - Knives, Guns, and Friends
The Run © 2015 Jaci J
All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design:
Margreet Asselbergs
from Rebel Edit & Design
dollarphotoclub.com
Photo of guy; #45317909
Bigstockphoto.com
Desert photo; diomedes66
#54443492
Bike photo; Bruno Zagaroli
#2212055
Dedication
This book is for Bonnie.
My music soul sister.
From the very beginning you’ve been with me reading my books, loving my guys, and supporting me.
For all the teasers, videos, pictures, and love.
Thank you doll face!
Acknowledgements
Thank You
To all of the usual cast of characters and list of suspects ...
Dana “Magical Editing Unicorn” Hook, Marki, Margreet, my family, my beta readers Chris, Sam, Lena. My author sisters, my bitches, and my readers.
Thank you from the bottom of my bad-mouthed little heart for all of your love & support.
I couldn’t do this without you.
About the book
Lennon
‘A passionate free spirited girl with a constant need to run,’ or ‘Unsettled,’ is how my mother would describe me. I call it an eternal eagerness to roam. My feet always seem to carry me along the path less traveled, sometimes leading me into trouble, and every once in a while, they lead me to something fu****g great. That something great might just be a bike riding, cut wearing hard-ass. Buck might just be worth slowing down and hanging around for.
Buck
Uninteresting―that’s what I’d say about anything outside my club. An old lady, uninterested. Bitches beyond the bedroom, uninterested. A roommate, definitely not fu*****g interested. I ran, like a bat outta hell, from one bad situation two years ago and I’m not looking to repeat the same goddamn mistake twice, but Lennon doesn’t make it easy on a man. Crazy beautiful, a wild heart, and an infectious spirit, Lennon might just be enough to pique my interest.
Play List
“Comedown” – Bush
“Magic Carpet Ride” - Steppenwolf
“L$D”– ASAP Rocky
“Let Her Cry” – Hootie & The Blowfish
“Lean On” – Major Lazor
“Crazy” - Aerosmith
“Enter Sandman” – Metallica
“Fishin’ In the Dark” – The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
“Work Song” – Hozier
“Two Princes” – Spin Doctors
“American Woman” – The Guess Who
“Somebody to Die For” – Hurts
“My Hero” - Foo Fighters
“Tuesday’s Gone” – Lynyrd Skynyrd
“Breakfast in America” – Supertramp
Sometimes things start out here, right here in the middle, and they’re just mediocre. Life is okay, going pretty good, and then one thing changes it all. That one thing brings it all the fucking way up here, right here to the top, and that one thing is always fucking beautiful, yet it always fucking hurts. But you wouldn’t change it because you’ve finally got it all.
Prologue
Buck
Standing on my deck, I stretch my sore arms above my head. It’s fucking good to be home and off the road for a bit. I need a goddamn vacation after that ride, going from one border to another. That shit was a trek.
Sitting back down, I shift in my chair, trying to get comfortable before grabbing a cold beer out of the cooler. My little slice of quiet heaven is up here in the middle of fucking nowhere. It might not be nice, fancy, or pretty, but it’s mine, and it’s exactly how I like it. It’s the one place that makes me truly happy.
In the last three months, I’ve been up and down the West Coast, from Mexico to Canada. I headed to Montana for a rally a couple weeks back and did everything in between, but now I’m ready for a fucking break.
Reclining back and kicking my feet up, the heel of my boot catches and chips a piece of cedar off the railing that I’m using as a footrest.
“Jesus Christ.” If it isn’t one thing it’s another. I really need to work on fixing up this rickety old motherfucker. The chipping, sun-faded, moss-covered deck has seen some good times and better days, but it’ll have to wait for now.
I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh mountain air. The smell of pine, wet grass, and dirt, hit my nostrils and I fucking smile. There’s something to be said about living this isolated country life, and all this fresh, clean air is why I stay here. It’s a fragrance I could market for those preppy city boys to make ‘em manlier.
A snapping twig jars me from my entrepreneurial thoughts to the potentially dead asshole sneaking up on me. You gotta be out of your fucking mind to be sneaking around up here. Everyone around these parts owns at least one gun and ain’t afraid to shoot and ask questions later.
Lifting my head from the back of the chair, I watch as a nice six point wanders through the brush, right into my yard. I can already see the soon-to-be dead deer hanging from the rafters in my shop.
I make a grab for the shotgun leaning against my side. A nice buckshot right between the eyes will do nicely. There’s a reason they call me Buck; my passion for guns, knives, and all things hunting have earned me my name.
Closing an eye and squinting the other, I aim my gun right at my fury little friend as my finger flexes on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, I hold it in, aim, and shoot.
“The fuck you doin’ out here all by your lonesome?” Fuck! I miss the shot by a mile when the deer leaps and bolts in the opposite direction of my bullet. Groaning, I tip my head back to look at the asshole standing in my doorway with a grin on his ugly mug.
“What the fuck does it look like I’m doin’, Rock?” He has shit timing.
Slumping into the chair next to me, he shrugs and grunts, “I dunno, and I don’t care.” Tagging a beer from the little ice chest at my feet, he pops the top and empties it by half.
“Well, for your uncaring ass, I was about to put a bullet between the eyes of a pretty little six point.”
“Cool, I guess. You ready to go? Dan’s come a callin’,” he answers while drinking the rest of his beer. I’m home for five fucking minutes and it’s time to roll out again. When does it stop?
“You’re a fuckin’ asshole,” I tell him. Getting up I drain the rest of my beer. “Lets go.”
Tearing back down the two-lane mountain road, the glow of the club lights cut into the darkness of the desolate highway. This place has been here for as long as I’ve been walking this planet. It’s old; beat to shit and falling down, but it’s a little piece of home. It’s our little piece of home, known affectionately as “The Y.”
Pulling into the gravel lot, I swing around back, parking my bike between the club and the old, busted down motel. Shoved somewhere between the top of the mountain and isolated highway at the bottom, the club is like a small biker retreat in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Poncho, leaning on his bike, is already waiting for us. Shutting my bike off, I flip the kickstand down and hop off.
“Let’s go in,” Poncho says, jerking his head towards the door.
“Think I’m just gonna sit out here all night?” I mutter, walking right past him. It’s hot as fuck out here, not that the club is much cooler, but I’m not gonna hang out here and twiddle my goddamn thumbs when I could be inside, drinking cold beer.
“Fuck you, man,” he grumbles, sounding all hurt and shit. He’s a sensitive motherfucker.
“Yeah, I’m gonna take a pass on the fucking part, brother.”
Walking up the gravel path to the back door, I listen to the rushing water from the river off in the distance, along with the light buzz of the woods and the hum of the generator out back. Yeah, I’m home.
Bumping the door with my shoulder, I pop it open and the damn thing whines with the strain ‘cause the hinges are rusted and old as hell.
“That needs fixin’,” Poncho says, pointing down at the spot where a doorknob is supposed to be. Ain’t he observant today.
“Ya think?” I’m not sure whether to laugh at the shit that comes out of his mouth or cringe. Poncho, God love him, is annoying as shit, even on a good day.
The inside is loud with voices and music, making it hard to hear Poncho’s response, which is a blessing. I don’t wanna hear whatever stupid shit he’s saying anyways.
The bar is dark and dusty and in need of a serious cleaning. The only light in the place comes from bulbs hanging over the pool table and the bar.
“Fuck, I’m hungry,” I say to no one, but hope someone hears me and brings my ass something to eat.
“Jess is gonna start bitchin’ if you go orderin’ shit now,” Rock says, following behind me. Does he honestly think I give a flying fuck what Jess wants or doesn’t want? It isn’t her job to tell me no. After what that stupid bitch put me through, unlimited meals cooked when and how I want them should be just the start of the long list of shit she owes me.
“Fuck that annoying bitch.” I wave him off. She can bitch, but it still won’t change the fact that she’ll do whatever the fuck I tell her to, whenever I say.
“She’d like ya to.” Poncho ribs me. Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. I’m not that hard up. I might stick my dick in some questionable places from time to time, but even I have my limits, and Jess is a hard limit.
“Why, so it can end up rotting off my body? I’m kind of attached to my dick, thank you very much.” Literally. I’d rather die than fuck that woman again. I learned my lesson the first time around.
