Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (14 page)

On the bed, she’d set out her clothes–a black T-shirt which read
Pistol Packin’ Mama,
boot-cut jeans, a pair of white cotton boy shorts with a matching sports bra—the kind women ran in, both sprinkled with cherries. She loved the Rockabilly style, the kind of clothing a 1950s pinup girl would wear. 

He fingered the cotton, imagining her in them. Fuck, he’d love to see her model those. He found it sexier than the more obvious lingerie. Or maybe because he’d pictured
her
wearing it. The door behind him banged open and there stood Ash, nearly naked and wet in a towel.

Steele stood still like he hadn’t just been touching her underthings. Most women would’ve bawled him out and pushed him out the front door. Or screamed and shut the bathroom door, but modesty had been drilled out of both of them in the military.

Ash raised a brow. “Pervert.”

“Exhibitionist,” he tossed back. Dear sweet baby Jesus. She was wet and covered by a bit of terry cloth. Damn. He wished the towel would slip down an inch or two.

She didn’t appear to be affected by sexual tension. At one time, she’d thought Steele was the hottest thing on two legs. “Didn’t know I had an audience. Shoulda figured you’d have a key.” She lifted a hand and made a twirling motion with one finger.

Oh, fuck.
She wasn’t gonna march his ass outta there. He turned around, and she stepped up behind him to get her clothing.

Steele shivered. He could feel the warmth of her skin, still hot from the shower she’d taken, radiating around him. He breathed in her scent. She smelled like cinnamon with a hint of vanilla.

“Ain’t familiar with the area. How far away is the campground?”

Right. They should talk business and not about how he’d love to lay her down on the bed and lick her
. He swallowed. “About an hour.” His voice hadn’t even shook.
Nailed it.

“When’s Justice meeting us?”

He hesitated. “Um, soon.”

“Yeah, but when?” She tossed the towel back into the bathroom. He heard it flop wetly onto the floor.

Dear God, she was naked behind him. All he had to do was turn around to get a full frontal glimpse of the goods. She might shoot his ass, but he knew it’d be worth it.

He heard a shuffling noise behind him as she pulled on what he assumed were her underthings. Damn. He needed to talk her into taking his Harley. Then she’d have to surrender those drawers as a toll for the ride, and he’d get to…admire them later. His cock thickened, leaping in his pants as he imagined her shimmying out of them, and he was suddenly grateful he faced away from her. She’d be pissed as all get-out to see the tent pole he had stuffed down his pants.

Ash cleared her throat. “Well?”

Fuck, she’d asked him a question, but he couldn’t remember it. “What?”

“When’s Justice comin’?” She said the words slowly, like he was the idiot everyone thought he was.

Try never. I somehow forgot to mention this trip to him.
“Not sure.” He tried to play it casual, hoping they’d get a chance to talk if they were alone. “Say, why don’t we take my bike since I know the route?”

“Because I’d rather walk there barefoot over hot stones.”

“It’d be easier. You don’t know your way around these parts.”

He could hear the rustle of clothing as Ash continued dressing. “See, I got a newfangled thing called a GPS. It’s ah-mazing. Like magic, it can direct you anywhere you wanna go.”

Steele ignored the sarcasm. “My ride would be a lot more fun.”

“No, the weather is funky this week. A cold front is moving through, and they forecasted a bit of snow.”

“Fuck.” Hell didn’t freeze over very often, and when it did, Texans lost their damn minds. The last time they’d gotten half an inch, schools had been closed, businesses had shut down, and the stores had a run on basic supplies. “We’ll bundle up. It’ll be fine on the bike.”

Ash jumped into her jeans and then grabbed the shirt from the bed. “Hell no. I’m not freezin’ to death on the back of your Harley so you can play big, bad biker man. I’m decent. You can turn around.” She grabbed a brush from the nightstand and ran it through her wet strands. “Besides, I’m gonna use the car’s heater to dry my hair.”

Dammit, this round goes to you.
He’d get her on the back of his bike before this mission was complete.  She grabbed a gunmetal gray hoodie from her bag and her cell. “You comin’ or what?”

Hunched over to hide his erection, Steele shuffled to the bathroom. “Yeah, in a sec. Gotta…uh, take a piss.”

“Fine, meet you in the car, but make it snappy.”

No time to rub a quick one out
.

Fuck, he’d have to drown his cock with water and hope he didn’t splash any on his jeans—she’d think he pissed himself.

This was shaping up to be one shitty road trip.

***

Ash stopped short in the parking lot as Steele’s gleaming motorcycle came into view. It was black and chrome, very sleek. God, the thing damn near sparkled. How many coats of wax did he use on it? Then she got a mental image of Steele shirtless, rubbing the bike with a rag, and her knees felt a little weak.

Steele walked out of the hotel room.  

“Do you see Justice anywhere?” She glanced left and then right as if she’d somehow misplaced a six-foot-tall man. Ash was desperate to have a buffer along. They had a talk coming, and she wasn’t ready to use a can opener on those particular worms.

He palmed his phone. “I, uh, got a text from him. Justice ain’t comin’ with us. He’s busy.”

Steele had on a tight pair of jeans that outlined his muscled thighs to perfection. No way was she going to wrap herself around his body when he looked so damn good.

She hated to admit it, but he filled out the denim better than Ace. Ace! Crap. She’d forgotten all about her faux date with him. Ash made a mental note to text him later and apologize.

Then she remembered Steele’s words. “Doing what? He’s too busy to run down a lead in his friend’s kidnappin’?”

“Fuck if I know. This is a scout mission. Between the two of us, I’m sure we can handle it.” Steele straddled the Harley and started the engine. It became a loud, rumbling beast beneath him. “Now get on the damn bike.”

“I said no, remember? We’re takin’ my SUV.” She tromped over to the Forrester.

He stood. “Why do I have to go three rounds with you every damn time?”

“Because that’s who I am, and I ain’t gonna change,” she called over the roaring engine.

He shut off the bike with a smirk. “Yeah, I know who you are, Dusty,” he said, using the pet name to bait her. “You love takin’ risks and livin’ dangerously.”

“My mother said those things are death traps.” Leslie Calhoun had come home from the hospital full of stories about bikers being wheeled straight into the morgue after splattering their asses all over the highway. She’d called bikers organ donors on two wheels.

“You’re scared?”

Actually, Ash was intrigued. It was a sexy-looking machine with an even sexier rider.  But taking them both out for a spin would lead to more tears.

“Hell no.” If she was risk-averse, she’d be in another profession.

Ash didn’t fear riding on the bike, but she
was
scared of getting close to Steele. She was both terrified and titillated by the very idea of holding onto his big, warm body, her arms and legs wrapped around him as they raced down the asphalt together. Giving in to her insane desire to touch him would lead to other poor decisions. 

She remembered very well how good it’d felt. Sometimes she wished she’d never laid eyes on him.

“Get in the damn car. We’re done talkin’ about this.” Ash started up the Forrester.

Scowling, Steele got off the bike and swaggered over to her. He slid in the seat and started fiddling with the radio.

She slapped his hand away. “My car, my radio, my rules.”

“You gotta have everythin’ your way, dontcha?”

“Pretty much. Meanin’, if I wanna, we’ll listen to Backstreet Boys for the next hour.”

Steele gaped at her. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. You know why?”

“Because you’re evil?”

“No, because I want it that way,” she quipped, riffing on one of the band’s song titles. “Actually, I got somethin’ better.” She slid a mix CD into the console. “New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys toured together a few years ago. I’m in the mood for a mashup.”

Steele groaned. “My ears are gonna bleed.”

The boys started singing, and she turned it up to cement her bitch status. Then Ash started singing along. Loudly.

He shot her a sideways glance. “Laugh it up, but mark my words…before you leave town, you’re gonna take a ride with me.”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over.”

And
that’s
when the fucking snow flurries chose to fall.

Chapter Ten

“You, me, and a park, huh? Just like old times.”

Ash stared straight ahead as if she hadn’t heard him. Steele had made several attempts at conversation, but she kept her answers short and not sweet at all, hoping he’d give up. He hadn’t.  

One long car ride later, they rolled into Pine State Park. They passed the guard station, which was closed up for the night. Tourism in Texas didn’t really gear up until March when spring breakers came flooding down the coast.

The park had a fishing lake, a campground, and some cabins. It looked like the very last place a biker gang would hide out—probably the very reason they chose it. The Raptors could flash fake IDs to the rangers and keep out of trouble. No one would think twice about it.

“Ash?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot about the park.”

Oh, how she wished she could. “No, I haven’t forgotten.” She shook her head. “We’ve got bad park karma, and this won’t end well.”

The week after the sixteenth birthday kiss, Steele had driven her home after the football game, and they’d stopped in the park down the street from her house.

“I thought it almost ended well last time.”

“Except for the part where the park ranger found us in the backseat of your old beater.”

It’d taken Steele a year to build his very own car from junked auto parts. All he’d had to pay for was the engine. He’d been so damned proud. Her father had bought her a brand new Ford Aspire as a sixteenth birthday present, and she hadn’t taken nearly as much delight as Steele had in his junker.

“Don’t,” she gritted out.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. I’m not in the mood for memory lane.”

“So we aren’t gonna talk about a damn thing?”

She turned in the seat, eyes fierce. “You wanna talk it all out? We can, but I don’t think you’re gonna like it. And no, I don’t mean all the teenage lust parts.”

They had a big conversation coming, one that’d waited ten years—about her brother’s death and Steele’s role in it. There were things she needed to say to him, but she worried she’d pull herself apart in the process. It’d taken her years to piece herself together.

“No, it’s fine. We can be all business tonight if you want.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

They both shut the hell up, and Ash did a slow drive through the park, scoping out all the camping spaces. Steele took the right-hand side of the road, while she took left. The Raptors were a pretty large group, and they’d need several spaces to spread out on.

Unfortunately, the park was a ghost town.

“See anything?”

“Nah, some old folks—winter Texans, most likely.” A lot of retired people came down to the Lone Star state to escape harsh northern winters. The residents had dubbed them
winter
Texans, because they weren’t lucky enough to live there all four seasons.

“The stripper mentioned a cabin, though. Number twelve. We should check it, just in case.”

“You think some of ‘em might be there?”

She shrugged. “Or maybe they left somethin’ behind. I don’t imagine they’ve had a lot of turnover.”

“It’s a long shot, but worth a look.”

Ash pulled into the lot behind the row of cabins. There weren’t any other cars, but there was a big honking floodlight over the area.

Steele pulled out his gun and screwed a five-inch silencer into the barrel. He shot out the light. It made a small cracking sound, but it wouldn’t be detectable as a gunshot.

In shadow, they approached the cabins and located number twelve. She slipped around back and peered in the window. No signs of life. Steele glanced in another window, and they both shook their heads.

Steele tried the door handle, but it didn’t budge. “You any good at pickin’ locks?”

“Nah, I like to break when I enter.” She pulled a thick black pen from her pocket.

“You gonna write them a nasty note?”

“I talk with my hands.” The aluminum pen was heftier than a garden variety BIC, and it packed a punch. Ash slid a leather glove on then turned her head to the side as she aimed for the corner of the window pane. It shattered on impact.

“Holy shit,” Steele breathed. “Gotta get me one of those.”

“The other side is a weapon. It has perforated teeth, so you can take ‘bites’ out of your attacker.”

“Glad you didn’t use it to chomp on my ass.”

Ash flashed back to rolling around on the ground with him. His large, muscled body on top of her, pinning her down. Pushing aside the traitorous thought, she reached in the window and grasped the door knob.

Drawing their weapons and flashlights, they walked in but didn’t find anyone after doing a sweep. They stood together in the small kitchen—the shelves were bare, and the drawers were empty. The skinny stove and tiny fridge were unplugged.

“The place is cleaned out. The Raptors haven’t been here in a while, and I know they didn’t leave it lookin’ this good. Housekeeping must’ve come through.”

“And carried away any evidence.” Ash had been amazed at what kind of information she could get from someone’s trash—receipts, old bills, discarded medication containers. All of it offered clues.

Steele slammed a fist on the wooden countertop. “Another fucking dead end. I’m sick of this shit.”

“Let’s have a good look around to be sure.”