Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (4 page)

As a kid, he’d battled those bastards—spraying poison, leaving out traps, and eventually beating them to death on the kitchen floor. He’d cut their numbers down, but he hadn’t killed the horde of insects completely. Steele still hated the scurrying noise they made. It made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.  

Suddenly, a memory flashed before Steele’s eyes.  Himself as a teenager, hip-deep in trash at the city dump. It’d smelled like this place. At night, when his mother had been working her second job, he’d scrounged for scrap metal he could sell to the recycling place in town. Sometimes he earned enough to buy them extra food, and every bit helped.

Shaking off the recollection, he focused on his current surroundings. A collection of tattered blankets, empty bottles, fast food wrappers, receipts, used condoms, and stray pieces of clothing littered the room, along with an overflowing ashtray and cheap candles, which had welded themselves to the floor. Had the neighborhood kids been using it as a party pad? Or maybe some squatters had taken up residence for shelter. They’d have to be desperate, given the state of this shithole.  

Together, they swept through the bottom floor. The kitchen held an assortment of rotten food, which added an extra layer of sickening on top of the urine/garbage combo. While it might be disgusting, the house appeared to be uninhabited now—no bikers, no hostages…no homeless people or horny teens, either.

Although they hadn’t ventured up to the second level.

Steele wandered over to the rickety staircase
to find the top portion was crumbling–the wood literally rotting away. The stairs had been carpeted at one point, but he couldn’t tell what color because it’d turned into a grimy black from dirt and fluids of some sort. He really didn’t wanna walk on the unstable flight of steps, and he didn’t hear any telltale noises.

“Any chance someone’s hiding up there?”

Justice shined his flashlight up at the plastered ceiling. Chunks had fallen on the floor, exposing the bare wood beneath them. Other parts were crumbling, surrounded by brownish stains. Still other portions had large holes where the wood had given way.

Steele doubted the second story could support one man’s weight, let alone two…a guard and a prisoner. Or Justice and himself, for that matter.  

“Nah.” His brother already backed toward the door. “Fuck this place.”

Dammit. Yet another dead end.
“Call it a night?”

“Let’s pack it in. I think this is a lost cause.”

“Yeah, it’s pointless.”

“We’ll find another way. Sorry.”

Steele nodded grimly. At this point, it’d take nothing short of a miracle to save Coyote.

Justice exited first, and Steele gave him space while he navigated the shaky porch, in case the damn thing crumbled to the ground beneath their feet.

Steele was about to step outside when a human-shaped projectile slammed into him, pinning him against the wall.

Chapter Three

“Who are you, and who do you work for?”

Steele could make out his Glock laying on the floor a couple feet away, right next to his spinning flashlight. He tried to focus on his attacker’s face but couldn’t because the glare from the guy’s headlamp blinded him.

Disoriented, Steele shook his head, trying to clear it. He hadn’t been bushwhacked since his first week in Afghanistan. Luckily, he’d survived the encounter, but he didn’t know if he’d be so fortunate this time.

When he could think again, he found himself pressed against the wall. Whatever lived in the rotting wood at his back squalled and scratched as if trying to tear through the panel.

“I said, who do you work for?”

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Steele asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m askin’ the questions.”

“What’s goin’ on in there?” Justice demanded from the porch, but he was smart enough not to run in half-cocked. Running headlong into an attack would be a stupid move. 

“One guy!” Steele bellowed. “Armed. Stay outside.” He returned his attention to the attacker. “Where‘d you come from?”

“Upstairs, asshole,” he growled. “You should’ve checked it out. Now answer me.”

What the hell? This guy had somehow scrambled up the ramshackle staircase? “How’d you get up there?”

“Scaled the wall with a grappling hook.”

Steele focused on what he could determine without seeing the ninja bushwhacker clearly.

His attacker was a short dude and carried a huge Smith & Wesson 460XVR. Overcompensating for a tiny dick, no doubt. From what he’d heard, it shot like a cannon and it could bring down a bear with only one bullet, but it held five. They didn’t call it a “bone collector” for nothing.

He had the gun cocked and pressed beneath Steele’s chin. He hoped the fucking thing didn’t have a hair trigger—the bastard might accidently blow Steele’s head clean off.

“Nice piece you got there.”

“Thanks. If you don’t start talkin’, you might get an
insider’s
view of it.”

Steele tried not to think about the cold gun barrel against his chin and took another gander at his assailant. He wore black fatigues and a half-face mask printed to resemble a grinning skeleton, which covered his features from neck to nose.

Steele could hear Justice tromping across the porch, even though he couldn’t see his brother. “Stay back,” Steele called.

The footfalls stopped.

“Yeah, I’d listen to your friend. If you come in here, I might get agitated and accidently shoot you,” Skeleton Boy shouted. The intruder’s voice was a bit high for a man—girly even—and bizarrely familiar.

Steele had heard the voice before, but where?

“If you do, you won’t make it out of there alive,” Justice snarled.

Steele heard the click of his brother’s gun cocking. Fuck, this could turn into a genuine bloodbath if he didn’t do something. Yet another op he screwed the pooch on. He should’ve checked the upstairs and done a more thorough perimeter check.

Keep it together
.
Think about this later…after you make it out of here alive.

“Two against one. Those aren’t the kind of odds you wanna play,” Justice said.

“I can always pull the trigger, and we could have us a one-on-one death match. Sound good?” Skeleton Boy hit a button, and the head lamp switched off.

Steele blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness once more.

“Come on. I’m done playing games. Who are you?” Skeleton Boy demanded again. “Who do you work for?”

“I’m Steele, and I’m self-employed.” Fuck if he’d bring the club deeper into this particular pile of dog crap.

“I don’t have time for this.”

When his eyes adjusted Steele brought a hand up and smashed his attacker’s wrist with all of his strength, knocking the gun out of Skeleton Boy’s hand.

Steele vaulted forward and gripped the other man by the shirt before ramming him into the opposite wall.  When Steele reached for the mask, the guy grabbed Steele’s other wrist and butted the heel of his hand into Steele’s chin, clacking his teeth together. Lightning quick, Skeleton Boy hooked a foot around Steele’s ankle and sent him tumbling to the floor.

Steele knocked him off balance and hauled him down to the floor.  They struggled, spinning around and around in the filth until Steele finally pinned Skeleton Boy beneath him.

“You okay?” Justice called from the doorway.

“I’m fine, man. Got the gun away from him.”

“Let go,” Skeleton Boy groaned.

Steele heard Justice coming in the door behind him, but he didn’t turn to look. He was more interested in the masked man on the floor. He yanked off the headlamp and used it as a spotlight, then jerked the mask down and gasped at what was revealed.

“Ashton Calhoun,” he whispered.

Steele couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen her since Abe’s funeral. Abe Calhoun’s younger twin sister. Abe had been born three minutes earlier, so he’d taken on the role of big brother.

“I ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays.” Steele stood and dragged her along with him.

He examined her more closely in the hazy light. He’d know Ash anywhere, even if she’d changed over the years. She stood about five and a half feet tall with brown hair pinned tight to her head and the same vivid green eyes.  Most noticeably, she now had a long jagged scar on the right side from her hairline to chin. While the skin must’ve knit together long ago, it’d left a deep groove in her pretty face.

Ash stared right back at him, studying him. “As I live and breathe, Jack Steele. I thought you looked familiar, but I wondered if my mind was playin’ tricks on me.”

Or maybe she’d wanted to fuck with him. He certainly deserved it.

Ash didn’t look angry,
exactly
—more like stunned, a bit wary. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been empty, hollowed out by grief at her brother’s funeral. He’d tried to approach her afterward, wanting to say something—anything—to ease her pain, but she’d walked away from him and right out of his life. They hadn’t spoken since.

Damn, but the military agreed with her.

She was hotter than he remembered—sleek and sexy. She was leaner, meaner, and practically dripping bad-assery with her big gun and tight fatigues. She’d dropped a couple pounds and replaced it with whip-corded muscle. After he had a few minutes to get used to the scar, he might get into it—it gave her a dangerous air.

Justice still brandished his weapon. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah. You can stand down. She’s cool, man.”

“Chilly, you might say.” Then came her familiar sub-zero expression—colder than a cast-iron commode in the winter.

“Uh…Steele?” Justice piped up. “She don’t look so friendly.”

Yeah, he could read it in the curl of her lip, the indifference in her gaze. Ash
hated his ass, and she had every right to, but at least she wasn’t empty. Pissed off was better than grief-stricken.

Steele smiled at her, giving her a taste of his charm, hoping he’d thaw her out some.  “Naw. Don’t worry. Me and Ash go way back. Trust me, she’s not a threat.”

“Wanna bet?”

She socked him in the nose, snapping his head back.

***

Twenty minutes later, Ashton Calhoun stood outside with Jack and his buddy, Justice. Jack had a white handkerchief pressed to his nose to stop the bleeding, and a large crimson stain bloomed on the fabric like a blood-red rose.

Good.
Ash snickered. She wished she’d popped him a couple more times, maybe knocked out a tooth or two—he’d earned it and then some. An awkward silence hung over the group. No one had spoken a word after the introductions were made, and she sure as hell didn’t feel like chatting.

Jack hadn’t aged much in the past ten years—still tall, long, and lean. His body seemed more solid, muscled. And she should know. Ash had gotten her hands on him as they rolled around in the filth. Actually, he’d gotten more attractive, which wasn’t fair.

He still had dark brown hair and those striking hazel eyes—a cockiness she’d once found appealing as a love-struck teenager. At one time, she’d thought he was the sexiest guy she’d ever seen. Ash had followed him around for years…even wanted to give him her virginity in high school. Now, Ash was glad she’d screwed someone else.

Though Jack, er, Steele had given her her first kiss. He’d been damn good at it too…the bastard. He’d been the only guy she’d ever loved, and it’d died a slow, bleeding death.

And apparently, Jack had an alias now. He was going by his last name, Steele.
 Hmph. Justice and Steele. Lame.
How the hell did Jack end up a member of a biker gang?

But more importantly, did she really give a rat’s ass? She’d been searching for the Raptors for a week now, and she’d boned up on biker culture. It was obvious the two men belonged to a gang.

Ash dusted the yuck off herself, although something sticky was glued to her backside. She probably didn’t want to know what had gotten stuck there.

Justice sat on the tailgate of their truck, watching her like he’d found a fascinating new show on Netflix. The biker had to be military, but she didn’t know what branch. She could tell by the way he’d handled himself in their earlier skirmish. He stood around six feet tall with light brown hair and blue eyes. His skin had a golden hue as though he’d spent a lot of time in the sun. Stubble hovered over his lips and across his cheeks. He wore a pair of hip-hugging, dark blue jeans along with a black hoodie.

Ash glared at him.

Neither of them offered up anything in the way of intel. She had ways of getting to the bottom of things—not so pleasant ways. They’d gone snooping in that house too.  They had to be asshole-deep in all of this. Ash would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to teaching them a lesson in the process.
Namely, don’t fuck with me.

“Who is she again?” Justice asked. “A girlfriend, you said?”

“He’s
not
my boyfriend.”

“She’s an old high school buddy, Ashton Calhoun. She enlisted in the Corps too.”

“Gotcha. A chick marine like Daze. Explains how she ambushed your sorry ass.” Justice raised his brows.

Ash snorted. Jack’s mouth hung open like he was trying to catch flies.

“Fuck off. I was friends with her older brother, Abe.”

The mention of Abe’s name sent a spike of adrenaline spiraling through her body. She felt like backhanding him for daring to bring up her brother’s name but managed to hold on to herself. She ground her teeth together.

“Were you?”

Jack met her eyes. “We were all good friends. Once.”

Ash hadn’t intended to run into Jack—er—Steele again. It might’ve been easier if she’d left this alone, but she was here and she had a case to work. Maybe fate had stepped in on this one. They had a lot of unfinished business between them. Things needed to be said.

And she didn’t back down from a fight—not these days.

Jack cleared his throat. “What the hell are you doin’ here? Last I heard, you were workin’ for military intelligence, all top secret.”

“Times change. Now I work for Cole Security as a contractor.”

“You’re a mercenary.”