Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (22 page)

Pretending nothing was going on between her and Steele wasn’t working. Her gut told her he’d been every bit as affected as her. They should sit down like two grown-ups and talk it out.

After Ash finished her morning run, she breezed into Hades. But the diner was dead—no Horsemen, except for Angel, who stood at the counter. She walked right back out the door. Frankly, she was a bit irked Steele hadn’t tried to contact her.

When she hadn’t seen or heard from him a couple hours later, she went to Inferno Firearms. Avoidance was no longer an option for both of them.

Ash strolled in the door and took a good long look around. Inferno was tricked out like an outdoorsman’s version of a candy store. Her fingers itched to try out something new, maybe a pistol. Although the rifles looked inviting too.

She found a steely-eyed woman behind the counter. Ash remembered Steele mentioning he ran the store with Coyote and another woman.

“You must be Daisy.”

Daisy placed her hands on her hips. “So you’re Ashton Calhoun. I’ve heard all about you.”

“Really?”

“The Horsemen love some good gossip.”

Ash strolled over to the counter and met the woman’s gaze evenly. Daisy was a brown-eyed blonde, pretty, and somewhere in her twenties. Steele had mentioned Daisy had been a Marine too.

They sized each other up. Queen Bees never liked each other, and Daisy clearly wanted to establish her dominance. Ash understood it on an intellectual level. After all, it was only natural for Daisy to be territorial on her own turf. But it still pissed her off, and Ash wasn’t in the mood for diplomacy.

Might as well settle this like a devil dog.

“Runnin’ through the desert with my M-16, I'm a mean motor scooter, I'm a U.S. Marine.”

Ash shouted the cadence. It was one of her drill sergeant’s favorites, and it had echoed in her head long after boot camp. As they’d done a five mile run every morning, he’d made them sound off. She’d spent many mornings yelling the refrain while her thighs screamed and her feet blistered.

“If you see me comin’, you better step aside. ’Cause many men didn't and many men died,” Daisy finished.

“Steele told me you were in the Corps.” Though Ash didn’t think she looked so tough…especially since she was pregnant and
out to there.

“Still am.” Daisy raised a brow. True enough. No one ever left the Corps completely behind.

They’d both established their alpha status.

“Nice bear,” she snarked, taking in the black and white panda T-shirt, complete with matching yoga pants.

“Thanks, it was a gift.” Daisy placed a hand on her belly. The words were pleasant, but the tone was anything but. “Cowboy and I are expecting a little girl. He mentioned you were working with Steele.” She moseyed around the counter and went toe-to-toe with Ash, who refused to back up, despite the close proximity.

“Speaking of Steele, where is he?”

“He ain’t here.”

Ash bit the inside of her cheek.
I will not sucker-punch a pregnant woman.
“I didn’t ask you if he was here, I asked you
where
he is.”

“You seem kinda anxious to find him.” Daisy leaned forward, speaking soft and low. “I heard you two ain’t strictly professional.”

“That ain’t none of your business.”

“See, there’s where you’re wrong. Steele and I are tight—best friends, you might say. He’s goin’ through a tough time, and he doesn’t need any more pain.”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Her nostrils flared. “I might be pregnant, but I’m not helpless.”

“Yeah, you’re real scary.” She tried not to smile. Well,
almost
tried.

Right then, the door swung open, and Ash turned to see Ace sauntering into Inferno. “I’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere. Didn’t you get my calls?”

She grabbed the phone from her pocket. Sure enough, she had a couple of messages. “Damn, I had it on silent. What’s goin’ on?”

Ace nodded to Daisy. “Uh, club business.”

Daisy watched the interplay with wide, overly innocent eyes. “Do tell.”

Ash tapped her foot. “You’re quite the little busybody, aren’t you?”

“You two havin’ a fight?” His eyes got kind of glossy. “Because, if you girls wanna
wrastle
it out, I’ll get some mud and a pair of bikinis.”

“Yuck.” Ash shuddered.

“With a side of
hell no
,” Daisy finished. “And I’ll tell Cowboy you said that since I’m in no shape to give you a black eye.”

Ace put his hands up. “Sorry, my bad.”

“Thought you were about to kick my ass.” Ash sneered.

“Come on, break it up. Let’s go outside.” Ace grabbed Ash by the elbow and hauled her down the aisle and out the door. “There’ve been some…developments.”

Ash shot a smug look in Daisy’s direction.

She wasn’t feeling so smug after Ace finished giving her the 411 on the situation. Ash stared at the welcome mat, which still had a reddish-brown smudge. Steele must’ve been devastated when he opened the box and found his friend’s severed fingers.

Whatever issues were between the two of them, she felt for Steele. No one deserved that kind of psychological torture.

She needed to see him more than ever. “Where’s Steele?”

Ace shrugged. “No clue. After the meeting, he took off. He ain’t answering his cell either.” He studied her face. “Now, don’t go throwin’ him a pity party. Steele’s the reason we’re in this mess. If he’d kept his guard up at the warehouse, none of this would’ve happened.”

Ash didn’t reply.

“Hey, you wanna get some lunch?”

She glanced up at him distractedly. “Uh, no, I can’t. I’ve gotta go.”

Ash set off in search of Steele, leaving Ace in the parking lot.

***

Hours later, Ash stared at Steele’s apartment door, arm raised, ready to knock.  

The sun was setting in a blaze of pink and orange. Ash had spent most of the day trying to find him—calling him every hour or so, sending a dozen text messages, and she’d searched for him everywhere. When she’d driven by his place earlier, his motorcycle had been gone, but now it was pulled into the space in front of his apartment. She was glad she’d thought to check in before calling it a night.

Ash knew she should probably leave this alone, call one of his brothers to check on him. But she knew he was in pain right now. And while he didn’t know for sure if he’d lost Coyote, the possibility had to be weighing heavy on his mind.

Ash knocked on the door.

“Fuck off.” The voice was muffled and slightly slurred.  

“Steele, it’s me.”

Nothing.

After a long pause, the door swung open, and Steele stood in the doorway in a pair of jeans with bare feet and a bandaged chest. He looked like hell—bloody, bruised, and beaten.

She felt a twinge of guilt as she examined him. The skin around his left eye was swollen and tight-looking—it’d turned a reddish-purple color with an overlay of yellow. His lower lip puffed up. There were more bruises all over his torso.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure as shit don’t look it.”

“Well, I am.” Steele bent his head, studying the floor. “They told you.”

“Yeah.”

Ash didn’t wait for an invitation; she slipped underneath his outstretched arm and rushed past him. With a curse, he shut the door behind her, but he didn’t argue.

Ash took in her surroundings. They stood in his kitchen, but she could see through to other rooms. It was a typical bachelor pad—small with beige carpet, white walls, mismatched furniture, a sink full of dirty dishes, and a layer of dust coating everything.

“You don’t need to do this. I’m not gonna do anything stupid.” Steele pulled a quart-sized Mason jar from the fridge and took a long sip. The liquid was clear, but she knew it wasn’t water.

“Ain’t that my line?” she joked.

It fell flat.

His chin quivered for a moment, then his features smoothed. “You want some?” He held it out to her.

“No, thanks. Do you need anything?”

He took another long drink. His movements were slow and a bit unsteady. She wondered if he’d been driving around liquored up.

“Didn’t know you cared.”

It was her turn to examine the floor. “I…I don’t. We’re workin’ a job together, and this is a professional courtesy.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could put them back.

He gave her a little half-smile. “I see.”

“Where were you today?” Ash turned her back on him. She should’ve called Justice or Ace to handle this. She had no business playing Florence Nightingale.

“Drivin’ around. Seein’ the sights.”

It was a non-answer, but she left it alone.

Ash stepped into the living room. “I like your place.”

A couple of books sat on the corner of the scuffed coffee table. From the marked spines, she could see they’d been checked out from the public library. She’d never seen him with anything other than a textbook in school.

Ash picked one up, perusing the back. It was a military biography. The due date was two months from now, which was a long check-out period. As a kid, she’d only been able to check books out for two weeks. He must know a friendly librarian.

“You’re quite a reader.”

“Nah, I like the pictures.” He walked through the living room and into the bedroom before flinging his battered body down onto the bed. Steele placed the Mason jar within reach on the nightstand.

“Bullshit.” Ash grabbed another to see sticky notes placed on several pages.

“Leave it alone.”

Just to be ornery, Ash thumbed through the book. She grinned when she read a quote by General William Thornson, U.S. Army:
There are only two kinds of people that understand Marines: Marines and the enemy. Everyone else has a secondhand opinion.

“Why didn’t I know you’re a bookworm?”

“Not a bookworm. I’m bored.” Steele rolled over on the bed, giving her his back.

When they were kids, he’d teased her about spending all her free time with her nose in a book. He’d snatch them out of her hands and run away, forcing her to chase after him.

She walked into the bedroom and stood, staring down at him.

“What are you really doin’ here?” He burrowed into the pillow. Steele seemed to be fading fast, sucked under by the alcohol and his injuries. 

No clue.

“Makin’ sure you don’t fall asleep on your back and choke on your own vomit.”

“I can hold my liquor, and you’re a bad liar, Dusty. Always were. You hate my ever-livin’ guts.”

She probably shouldn’t be here alone with him. Not when his defenses were lowered. Because her walls were down too. And he looked damn good in his rumpled bed.

Ash sat on the corner of the bed, a safe distance away. Right now, she couldn’t seem to summon the familiar pain and anger. She wondered if the beating she’d given him, combined with sympathy for the Coyote situation, had started to heal the rift between them.

Right now, his fear and pain was palpable, but she didn’t want to push him. “Tell me about the books.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Ah, fuck. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Too bad, you’re drunk and defenseless, so this is the perfect time to talk. Tell me.”

Steele rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Damnation, you ain’t gonna let this slide, huh?”

“Nope.”

“I’m dyslexic. That’s why I sucked at school.”

Ash gasped. “No one caught it?”

He pulled a pillow over his head, refusing to look at her. “Nah,” he muttered beneath the fabric. “I hid it.”

Clowning in class had been his specialty, and she’d lost count of how many detentions he’d gotten. Not to mention the many suspensions for being a “disruptive influence.” Because he’d been such a star athlete, she wondered if the teachers had been pressured to pass him.

Ash snatched the pillow from him. “I’m so—”

“Don’t.” He sat up in the bed. “Don’t fucking feel sorry for me. It’s no big deal. I squeaked through high school and made it into the military. I don’t need your pity.” He snagged the moonshine again and took another sip.

Steele was too proud for his own good.

“I don’t pity you, but I would’ve helped you.”

Steele reminded her of a rough-and-tumble tomcat who used to hang around her neighborhood. She’d wanted a cat but her dad was allergic, so she’d taken care of the stray and pretended it was hers. Ash had named the tabby Rocky because he was always scratched up from fighting. Rocky had a sleek brown, black, and white coat with fierce green eyes and a torn ear.

The cat used to look into their basement windows at night—cold, hungry, and alone. She’d offered him plates of leftover chicken, canned tuna, and any other treat she could scrounge up. But he’d hissed and spit at her every time she got near, so she’d been forced to leave the food and watch from the window as the taciturn cat devoured every morsel.

Ash used to bring Steele food too. When she packed a lunch, she’d “forget” and bring two sandwiches or an extra slice of cake. He’d always scarfed down the treats she’d brought him. Steele had never been malnourished, but there probably hadn’t been enough food in the house to satisfy a growing teenage boy.

The cat had never let Ash pet him, even though she’d longed to stroke his fur. And Lord knew she wanted to stroke Steele too.

Ash scooted closer to him on the bed but managed to keep her hands to herself. Being around him stirred up so many old memories, old
feelings
too. 

“I’m so sorry about Coyote.” Ash laid a hand on his arm and squeezed.

He placed his hand over hers. “Thank you.”

“You’re gonna find him.
We’ll
find him.”

“Why aren’t you bein’ nasty to me?”

“No fun when you can’t fight back.”

Steele laughed, but it came out rusty and low. “Maybe I should let you beat the tar out of me more often.”

Their gazes locked.

She shivered. Right now, laying down beside him on the big bed seemed like a reasonable idea.

Clearly, I’ve lost my mind.

Ash ducked her head and forced the words out before she could take them back or do something even more stupid like kiss Steele. “I’m not an idiot. You didn’t kill Abe. I know that, but I can’t…. I’ll never get justice for him or my family, and it eats away at me.”