Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (2 page)

The goddamned poppy field—the acrid scent of smoke and coppery smell of blood thick in the air.
Fuck.
No amount of Jose Cuervo or pussy—or even some of Pretty Boy’s fan-fucking-tastic Apocalyptic Night strain of weed—could shut it out.

Steele downed the rest of the beer and checked the clock on his cell phone. It was nearly six in the morning. He hadn’t gotten much shut-eye, but he had a business to run. He pulled on his clothes and headed for Inferno Firearms.

Time to go to work.

***

Steele paced the length of the shooting range attached to Inferno. It was nearly ten o’clock now, and he had restless energy to burn. The beer buzz had worn off, and he didn’t have a single customer to distract him.

Being in this part of the store made him antsy. Since Coyote had been taken, Steele hadn’t even been able to walk down the hall to his office.

It was late November, and a cold front had moved in from the Gulf, sinking the temperature into the mid-forties.  Even in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a Horsemen hoodie, and his cut, Steele froze his nuts off at work because Daisy had been cranking the air conditioning up to a temperature an Eskimo would find chilly.

He wouldn’t dream of asking her to turn it down, though. Daisy was several months pregnant with Cowboy’s baby. He had a duty to protect his brother’s old lady and give her whatever she needed. No matter how much it pained him.  

“Did you hear about the gas station in Canyon City? Police say they found a credit card skimmer on one of the pumps yesterday.”

Steele glanced up to see Daisy observing him over the top of her newspaper. “No, I hadn’t heard, Daze.” And he really didn’t give a damn, either. More important things were on his mind.

Before she’d gotten knocked up, Daisy had an athletic build with big brown eyes and blond hair—a real looker. Steele had taken a run at her too when she’d been new to the club, but she’d gone and fallen for Cowboy instead. Yet another girl who’d passed on Steele—it was an epidemic.

Today, she wore a pair of black leggings and a long, red shirt with a panda bear’s face on it. A few weeks ago, Daisy had been bitchin’ about how ugly and cutesy-ass maternity clothes were.

“What the hell are you wearin’?”

She scowled. “First off, I didn’t buy it, Elizabeth did. I mentioned doin’ a panda theme for the baby’s room, and now I’m the proud new owner of maternity bear wear outfits.  Second, I can’t fit into any of my clothes, so unless you want me to run around here naked….”

“Say no more.” He held his hands up in mock surrender and let the naked comment slide. As an old lady, Daisy was off-limits.

Steele couldn’t say for sure how many months along Daisy was—he didn’t do pregnancy talks. Regardless, something about her rounded appearance was oddly appealing. She was curvy, fertile-looking–bigger tits, too.

Kinda hot.

Though he had enough sense to keep it to himself. Daisy would knock his teeth down his throat if he said it aloud—or Cowboy would for damn sure. 

No harm in admirin’ the view, though. From a safe distance, of course.  

With difficulty, she clambered onto a stool at the end of one the lanes. Daisy had a glass of lemonade in her grasp like it was a summer day, and she kept misting the back of her neck with a small spray bottle full of water.   

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he grumbled.

“Pacing like a lion at the zoo. You’re givin’ me a headache.”

“Sorry.” He stopped marching back and forth but he couldn’t shake the nervous energy, so he tapped out a rhythm on the wall instead.  

“Worryin’ yourself to death ain’t gonna bring him home any faster.”

“Who said I was—”

“Hold it right there, Leatherneck. I can see it written all over your face, so don’t even think about lyin’ to me.” Her features softened. “I know
exactly
how it feels when someone you care about has been taken from you.”

Her sister, Rose Weston, had also been taken by a Raptor and kept by their lawyer as a sex slave. While Steele didn’t know all the details, he’d pieced it together from some things Daisy had said. The bastard had raped Rose.

No tellin’ what the Raptors were doin’ to Coyote right this very minute.

“Gotcha, Devil Dog.” He faked a smile he didn’t quite feel.

Marines liked to bust each other’s chops. Leatherneck and Devil Dog were nicknames for members of the Corps. He and Daisy tossed them back and forth. Daisy was a fellow Marine, and she never burned daylight makin’ a point. She’d give it to you with both barrels, and Steele loved that about her. When she’d taken up with Cowboy, he’d offered her a job at Inferno. It’d been one of the best decisions he’d ever made.

Working at Inferno together, all three of them had gotten close. Steele didn’t know what he’d do without Daze or Yo, and he didn’t want to find out.

“I don’t suppose you or Rose got any leads I could track down? Something the brothers haven’t thought about?”

She sighed. “I gave Cowboy all the research I’d gathered on the club. Worryin’ ain’t gonna do any good.”

“I know, but neither is standin’ around waitin’ for a body to drop.”

Right before a combat mission, Steele always felt jumpy and tense. In a battlefield, being as nervous as a whore in church made sense. He’d learned something worse always waited patiently to pound his ass into the ground. The Marine shrink he’d been ordered to see after Abe died called it “hypervigilance.”  

“Come on.” Daisy slowly got to her feet and closed the distance between them. Then she put up her dukes like she was preparing for a prize fight.

“What the fuck are you doin’?”

“You need to hit something, so let’s spar.” She tugged her ridiculous top down and scowled—full-on Marine with a grudge.

The bear on her chest stared at him stupidly, and he fought the urge to snicker. “Stop it. I ain’t hittin’ you. You’re pregnant.” He didn’t add
and a woman
. It’d piss her off, but it was the God’s honest truth. Real men don’t hit women—under any circumstances.  

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know. You can still hit me above the neck. Come on, Steele. I know you wanna.” She paced around him in a semicircle, fists raised.

Despite himself, Steele chuckled…just as she’d planned.

“If you’re too chicken….”

“Damn straight.” Steele clucked, doing his very best chicken impression. “We both know you would’ve wiped the floor with me.” He pulled her into a sideways hug. “Thanks, Daze.”

She kissed his cheek and released him.

Steele reached around and rubbed his neck. The tension dissipated, leaving him worn out. But his stomach didn’t feel so tight anymore. Maybe he should see about getting some grub from Hades Diner.

“Anytime, buddy.” She waddled back to the stool.

“So what should I be doin’ besides drivin’ myself up a wall?”

“When I get in a bind, I ask myself what Chesty Puller would do, but you gotta wait for the right time to act on it.”

Only a fellow Marine would get the reference. Steele loved learning about other Marines, or even other soldiers. He had a thing for reading military biographies. He always collected bite-size nuggets of wisdom, which came in handy in his line of work.  Of course, it took him forever to read one due to his—er—issues, but it was worth the effort.

She bobbed her head in the direction of the gun case next to her. “In the meantime, I’d get some target practice in if I were you. It’s a good release, and when the time comes to get serious, you’ll be in fightin’ shape.”

It sounded pretty damn good—might curb his urge for destruction. Besides, payback was as slow as molasses and twice as sticky. He was in this for the long haul.

“You wanna shoot too?”

“Nah.” She rubbed her belly. “Baby Violet don’t like it much. She does somersaults every time I take a shot, but I’ll watch you.”

After they slid in some ear plugs and placed protective goggles over their eyes, he practiced shooting his Glock 17. He hit the paper target in the chest again and again—all lethal shots.

His cell phone rang. Steele checked the number. It came up as
Unknown Caller
. He hit the green button. “Hello?”

“Where’s Coyote, dearie?”

Steele blinked. The voice was trippy, scaling up to a high falsetto and then down low to a baritone. It had to be a voice modulator. “Who the fuck is this?”

A laugh. “A fox in your henhouse. Where’s Coyote?”

“You didn’t answer my question, why should I answer yours?”

“Who’s that?” Daisy mouthed.

Steele shrugged.
No fucking clue.

“I know something’s wrong. I can feel it. And if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll get nasty with you.”

The lights shut off.

Oh, fuck.
Coyote controlled some of the shop’s systems via computer, and Steele didn’t know how to disengage them.  “He’s missing. Do you know where he is?”

The lights flickered on again. “Someone took him?”

Steele couldn’t give particulars because it was club business. “Yes, he’s gone.”

The call ended without another word.

Steele stared at the flashing screen. Nearest he could figure, the caller had been one of Yo’s hacker buddies, but the guy didn’t even know who’d taken his brother so he wouldn’t be much use.

Damn. And Steele’s plate was already filled to the brim. He didn’t have time to track down a sad sack computer nerd.

The door swung open, and the club’s new prospect, Angel, walked into the range.  Angel had been hanging around the club’s businesses for weeks, and Axel, the newly minted president, had given the kid the opportunity to prospect for the Four Horsemen. Mostly because all the other prospects had become full-blown members, and they needed somebody around to do the grunt work.

Angel was in his mid-twenties with blue eyes, blond, spiked hair, and a lithe frame. He had a girly-ass pair of angel wings tattooed on his back. But on the plus side, he hadn’t fucked up too much yet, didn’t say a whole lot, and ran errands without bellyachin’.

Angel held up a white paper bag from Hades, the club’s diner and hotel. “I brought you a couple sausage biscuit sandwiches, hot off the grill,” he said to Daisy as he handed it over.

She grabbed one of them, tore the wrapper off, and took a bite immediately. “Thanks. I’m starving,” she mumbled around a bite. “I can’t seem to get enough food lately. Did Cowboy send you over?”

“He surely did. I’m supposed to stay with you today and get anythin’ you might need or want.”

Daisy beamed. “Did I pick a good man or what?”

Steele sighed and muttered under his breath.
Thanks for showin’ us all up.

Angel turned toward him. “Oh, and Axel said he wanted to see you and the rest of the brothers. Somethin’ about an emergency club meetin’.”

All of a sudden, Steele’s throat ached and chills raced up his spine. They weren’t due for a meeting until tomorrow night.  The only possible reason could be news about Coyote.

He took out his nerves on the kid. “Let me give you some advice, prospect. When the club president asks for someone, lead with the info. Did he say why?”

“Sorry, man. He didn’t say what was goin’ on, only that he wants everyone at Perdition pronto.”

“And you didn’t ask what for?”

Angel licked his lips. “Uh, no. Damn. Sorry, Steele.” The kid gulped after he said it, like he expected Steele to shoot him on sight.

Steele suddenly realized he still had a death grip on the Glock. He deliberately put the gun down and set the earplugs and goggles with it. If Daisy hadn’t talked him down a few minutes ago, he probably would’ve taken a swing at Angel…or worse.

He headed for the door.

“You want me to go with you, man?”

Steele didn’t bother replying—if the newbie riled him up again, he might earn a beat down.

Chapter Two

Christ. Let this be good news.

Steele jumped on his 2015 Harley Davidson Dyna Switchback in vivid black and took off. It handled like a dream, and he loved the built-in saddlebags. Great place to haul shit—guns, knives, condoms.

Normally, a ride soothed his nerves, but this time his heart raced in his chest and his knuckles had gone white on the handlebars. It took him fucking forever to drive up the road a piece. After he pulled into a space at Perdition, Steele hit the kickstand and dashed inside.

Perdition served as the Four Horsemen’s clubhouse. The building had been a warehouse at one time and still had the bones of an industrial space. The exposed beams on the vaulted ceiling held two antique Harleys suspended on chains. A long, lacy string of panties wrapped around the walls, along with the occasional framed poster of a naked chick astride a Harley.

Think on your Sins
, the club motto, was painted in blood red across the surface of one large wall.

Steele couldn’t think about anything else right now. All of his sins seemed to be bubbling to the surface lately. He strode past the bar and down the hallway behind it.

The boardroom at the end of the hall had been designed to intimidate. The steel entrance doors were stamped with the image of a stallion’s head along with the club’s name. A quote from Revelations was painstakingly carved into the long oak table centered in the room:
Behold a pale horse. And his name that sat on him was Death. And Hell followed with him.
Another Bible quote hung in a poster-sized frame on the wall:
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers
.

He shot a glance around the meeting room, noting they nearly had a full table today. Most of the members were present: Axel, Voodoo, Captain, Shepherd, Pretty Boy, Crash, Dash, Fetch, Goat, Duke, Justice, Breaker, Jagger, Ranger, Ryker, Renegade, Ace, and Wild.

Steele stared at the one empty seat—Coyote’s.

He forced himself to look away. Normally, the two of them would be sittin’ here bullshitting and waiting for the meeting to get started.

There’d be no jokes today.