Burn
in
Hail
Tate and Hennessy
Book 3 in the Hail Raisers Series
Text copyright ©2017 Lani Lynn Vale
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To my mom. Thank you for everything you do. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.
Acknowledgements
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Editors: Kellie Montgomery and Asli Fratarcangeli
Model: Tyler Halligan
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
What’s next?
Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale:
The Freebirds
Boomtown
Highway Don’t Care
Another One Bites the Dust
Last Day of My Life
Texas Tornado
I Don’t Dance
The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC
Lights To My Siren
Halligan To My Axe
Kevlar To My Vest
Keys To My Cuffs
Life To My Flight
Charge To My Line
Counter To My Intelligence
Right To My Wrong
Code 11- KPD SWAT
Center Mass
Double Tap
Bang Switch
Execution Style
Charlie Foxtrot
Kill Shot
Coup De Grace
The Uncertain Saints
Whiskey Neat
Jack & Coke
Vodka On The Rocks
Bad Apple
Dirty Mother
Rusty Nail
The Kilgore Fire Series
Shock Advised
Flash Point
Oxygen Deprived
Controlled Burn
Put Out
I Like Big Dragons Series
I Like Big Dragons and I Cannot Lie
Dragons Need Love, Too
Oh, My Dragon
The Dixie Warden Rejects
Beard Mode
Fear the Beard
Son of a Beard
I’m Only Here for the Beard
The Beard Made Me Do It
Beard Up
For the Love of Beard
There’s No Crying in Baseball
Pitch Please
The Hail Raisers
Hail No
Go to Hail
Burn in Hail
What the Hail (12-14-17)
The Hail You Say (1-11-18)
Hail Mary (2-8-18)
Blurb
One look at the sixteen-year-old, prim and proper town goody-two-shoes, Hennessy Hanes, and Tate Casey knows he’s in trouble. He knows he should stay away from the preacher’s daughter, but there’s something about her he’s drawn to, and he can’t resist the pull.
The more he gets to know her, the more he realizes that something isn’t right. He may not be able put his finger on what it is, but he’s determined to find out what’s going on with the girl with the haunted eyes.
Tate didn’t anticipate that someone else would be just as determined to keep Hennessy’s nightmare a secret, and he never realizes just how far that person is willing go to keep those skeletons in the closet until it’s too late.
With the very real threat of jail time hanging over his head, Tate leaves without a backwards glance at the town or the girl. The problem is that out-of-sight doesn’t necessarily mean out of mind, and it’s Tate who’s now haunted by his decision and memories of Hennessy.
***
Hennessy Hanes knows better than anyone not everything is always as it appears to be. After years of being on the receiving end of her squeaky-clean preacher father’s abuse, she seizes an opportunity to leave it all behind and runs.
Her only regret is that in walking away she loses any chance with the one person who tried to save her.
***
Fast forward ten years, and they’re both back where they started.
Tate was never a good boy, and it turns out that the man he’s now grown into isn’t all that much better. Anger is a living, breathing part of him, and there’s a court order forcing him to seek help from the one person he’s never forgotten.
Hennessy never thought she’d see Tate Casey again, and certainly not on her couch. But now it’s her turn to save him, and there are rules she must follow as his psychologist, not to mention a court order instructing her to help him manage his anger. If she doesn’t follow those rules, he’ll end up back in jail.
Tate Casey has never been a man who followed the rules, and Hennessy is no longer the straight-laced, timid preacher’s daughter she once was.
His hands may be tied, so it looks like for the first time in Hennessy’s life, she’ll be the one breaking the rules for the chance to finally get what she’s always wanted. Him.
Chapter 1
Is it bad to need a beer the moment you walk out of jail? Asking for a friend.
-Tate’s secret thoughts
Tate
“I flipped on my blinker and looked left before I took the final turn that would lead me to my house. When I was fully on my street, I saw what looked like ten or so males gathered around something on the ground in a clearing right off the road.”
I cleared my throat.
The woman’s intense stare was almost emasculating.
I continued. “That clearing belongs to Dr. Foreman. Or did— I don’t know if it does anymore or not since I haven’t been here…” she waved me off. “Anyway, there isn’t usually anyone in that field, so it made me pay attention. And that’s when I saw the silvery blonde hair on the ground.”
Something switched in my brain.
My past and present collided, and there wasn’t a single thing that could stop me.
Not anymore.
“And can you tell me what happened next?”
I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “I blacked out.”
The woman, the one that was currently making my dick hard, dropped her eyes to her papers that were sitting in her lap, and started writing once again.
Her slim, breakable wrist—that would take nothing for me to wrap my fingers around—moved as she wrote furiously. The delicate charm bracelet that she was wearing jingled each time she moved lower on the paper.
“When you say you blacked out, can you describe it to me?”
I shrugged. “Not really. One second I was aware of what was going on, and the next, nothing.”
She looked up at me, pursing her lips.
Jesus Christ.
She was wearing ruby red lipstick.
I’d never seen anyone in this town wear red lipstick.
Hell, hardly anyone looked good in that shit, but this woman? She really pulled it off.
She had white skin so fine that it looked like a fucking doll’s, and her black hair was such a stark contrast with her skin that it kept drawing my eyes to where they met.
Right along the line of her collarbone.
She had the majority of her hair up in some complicated bun looking thing, but there was this one rebellious curl that had escaped the confines and was brushing along her collarbone.
“When do you remember ‘coming to yourself’?” she questioned.
She was looking at me over the rim of her cat-eyed purple reading glasses with four rhinestones on each side, waiting for the answer to her question.
If there was one thing I did not want to do, it was talk to this woman about my ‘anger issues.’
I didn’t have ‘anger issues.’ I had issues that weren’t solely based on my anger.
I was one fucked up individual.
I’d been in the Marines for nearly half my life. My sister had been brutally raped, beaten, and then tried to kill herself four times after. I’d been in an on again, off again, relationship with someone since the beginning of time, and it was almost as if it was expected at this point. But, to be honest, I didn’t find her nearly as attractive as I did when I was younger. Yet, she was easy. What we had was easy.
Convenient.
Then there were my parents. My mom was a hooker, and my father was nowhere to be found.
So yeah, I had fucking issues, and anger wasn’t the only reason for them.
Being fucked up was the reason.
It just so happened that the judge that had let me off early for my ‘good behavior’ had mandated that I see a psychologist that could help me work with those ‘issues.’
“I remember everything from the moment that the first cop shot me in the chest with a fucking sandbag.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Language like that is not needed to tell this story, Mr. Casey.”
Goddamn, but she sounded like a haughty librarian that was chastising me for talking too loud in the library.
She dressed like one, that was for sure.
She was wearing a black blouse that was buttoned up from the top of her collarbone all the way into the high waisted, skin tight, black skirt. A skirt that came down to her knees.
She was wearing what looked to be stockings, too, but I could neither confirm nor deny that.
Not without actually checking, anyway.
“Sorry, Ms. Hanes,” I apologized, trying to make it sound genuine.
Apparently, I didn’t accomplish it, because she shuffled the papers she was writing on and uncrossed those goddamn legs.
She placed both high-heeled feet on the floor and stood up to her full height, which was all of five foot four, at most.
The heels she was wearing, however, made her height lengthen to about five seven, if I had to guess.
“That’s forty-five minutes,” she said, looking at her watch. “Thursday when you come in, we’ll start where you left off, all right?”
I shrugged and stood, too.
Then I walked toward the door without a backwards glance.
Chapter 2
I’ve never really been the type of girl that wanted a sugar daddy. Now, if queso daddies were a real thing, I’d for sure need one of those.
-Hennessy’s secret thoughts
Hennessy
This is not good, Hen. Not good. Not good, not good, not good.
If I repeated that to myself over and over again, maybe I could get it through my thick skull.
But I knew that me repeating that over and over wouldn’t do any good.
Not with how I was feeling right then.
Tate Casey. Tate fucking Casey!
He was a bruiser of a man. Tall; over six foot five, if not a little more.
He was tan, muscled, and had a head of dirty blonde hair that looked like he’d just shaved it yesterday.
Oh, and let’s not forget my current weakness.
The beard.
Oh, God. That beard.
It had a hint of red in it, and if there was one thing in this world I had a weakness for, it was a red beard.
Why, I didn’t know.
But I knew that it was one, and I took simple steps to control myself around them.
Wouldn’t be good for the pastor’s daughter to be caught ogling bearded men. Hennessy Harmony Hanes was not a girl that went for the rough ones, especially a redhead.
Why?
Because Momma, God bless her soul, had once had a thing for a redheaded biker before she’d met my daddy, and now Daddy had a vindictive streak against men that looked or acted like him.
And Tate Casey was that man.
His arms were lined with tattoos, and it was clear that even while on the inside, Tate hadn’t missed a workout session.
I wondered if he’d had to lift other men because the weights that they could fit onto one bar likely wouldn’t be enough.
I looked down at my pad of paper that I’d done nothing but draw the man’s freakin’ tattoos on for the last half an hour, and wondered if he’d notice if I took a picture.
That would probably be against some psychologist code somewhere. Which I should probably know, but likely slept through that class.
The man currently staring me down was waiting for me to reply to what he’d just said, but I couldn’t find it in me to tell him what he likely thought I should say.
You should really work on your anger issues was not something that I wanted to say to the man. Not when I felt that what he’d done was justified.
I’d seen that girl’s story in the newspaper. I’d read her accounting on what happened, and what Tate Casey had done to save her from that obvious hell.
I knew, and I didn’t. Freakin’. Care.
My dad, however…well, he sure did.
Violence is not the answer, Hennessy.
He’d said those exact words at the breakfast table the morning I’d read about Tate Casey’s impending incarceration.
Tate worked for Hail Auto Recovery, and had been on a job one night when he’d come upon a gang of young men raping a girl. After beating the guys responsible for the actual rape to death, he’d then gone and taken out five more of the gang members who were just egging them on, before he was caught and detained by police officers.
He hadn’t touched the police officers. He’d surrendered willingly, and had done everything asked of him to cooperate with authorities.
He’d been calm, cool, and collected while also being covered from head to toe with the blood of the men he’d beaten to death.
This was the second session of a mandatory twenty sessions, and he was about as approachable now as he had been the first meeting.
“I’ve heard of the Hail Raisers.” I said, acting like I was considering my notes as I did. “Can you tell me more about them?”
Was that appropriate to ask? I couldn’t tell.
I was winging it here.
Literally, I’d never once been this attracted to one of my patients before.
This was all kinds of screwed up, and if I wasn’t careful, this would cross the line into ‘no-no’ territory.
I couldn’t help it, though.
I needed to know more about this man, and if he didn’t tell me, I’d then have to ask people around town.
They’d, of course, know that he was being seen by me.
Half the town had been present when he’d arrived at my office over an hour ago due to the town’s Summer Fest Parade passing right past our door.
If I said something almost as if in passing, surely everyone else would fill in the blanks without me having to do any asking at all…right?
Shit.
/> This was bad.
Bad, bad, bad.
“Hail Raisers?” he feigned ignorance.
I nodded.
“The motorcycle club.”
He huffed out a laugh.
“We’re not a ‘club,’” he admonished. “Half the men in The Hails’ employ don’t even own a motorcycle. That was just something that was made up one day by some random Joe, and has stuck. Mostly because this fucking town can’t let go of the past.”
I didn’t correct him or admonish him for the coarse language.
He seemed to like it when he got a rise out of me.
“Okay, then tell me about the men in The Hails’ employ,” I amended.
“We’re just a bunch of like-minded individuals,” he shrugged.
“Individuals that have all seen prison time.” I filled in the blank.
He shrugged. “I don’t think any of them but Evander has seen prison time.” He paused. “But I haven’t really heard much about him since I’ve been in the slammer, so it could’ve happened. As for me and Evander? I think we’re just misunderstood.”
I wanted to laugh.
I didn’t dare.
“Misunderstood how?” I persisted.
He tilted his head to the side.
“Is your dad coming to interrupt us today?” he asked, changing the subject.
I frowned and looked at him quizzically. “No, why?”
His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he was as closed off as one could be without actually getting up and leaving the room.
He gestured to the window behind me with his chin, and I turned to find my father standing in the inner sanctum of my office, staring at me through the glass window that portioned off one half of my office from where I met with patients.
“Apparently, he is,” I said, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what he wants.”
Tate shrugged and put his feet up onto the coffee table that’d been separating our two chairs.
I got up, making sure that both of my feet were firmly underneath me, before I took a step in my heels.
I was still getting used to them.
Burn in Hail Page 1
