Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Frost had an excellent bullshit detector, and Steele made sure to keep his face neutral.

  “You don’t say. Sounds like a real menace to society.”

  While he counted Frost as one of his good buddies, he never forgot they stood on opposites sides of the law in Hell. He’d served with the man and loved him like a brother, but loyalty to his club came first.

  Sometimes it put Steele in a bind, like when Coyote had gone missing. He’d wanted to enlist Frost’s help finding Yo, but he couldn’t. It would’ve put the club in legal jeopardy. While Frost might give some of the rules the finger, he didn’t ignore all of them—drug-smuggling and harboring a federal fugitive would be too much for the cop to ignore.

  “You’re gonna sit there pretendin’ you don’t know him even though he’s a member of your outfit?”

  Before he replied, Steele took a slow sip of coffee, trying not to appear agitated. “A Kentucky member. I’ve never met the man.”

  Royal had asked the club for help when he’d arrived in Texas a few weeks ago and was now holed up in Goat’s old hunting cabin. Axel had been bringing him supplies. Horsemen always helped another brother out, no matter what the cost.

  Frost studied him. “Rumor is Royal’s in this neck of the woods, and I know how loyal you Horsemen are—to each other at least.”

  The dig stung, but he didn’t dignify it with a response.

  “Most recently, Royal kidnapped a federal marshal—a federal marshal.”

  Steele knew, in Frost’s world, it was an un-fucking-forgivable sin. “Yeah, and I heard she was released alive and well.”

  The cop leaned closer, setting his elbows on the table. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “On the news.” Royal hadn’t harmed the woman, which was good because Horsemen didn’t tolerate shitheads who hurt the ladies, regardless of club affiliation.

  Steele made a mental note to share Frost’s suspicions with Axel. The president might have to move Royal. After this meeting concluded, Axel would be getting a text from Steele.

  “You didn’t get it from another source?”

  “Nope, but I’ll keep an eye peeled for this fella.”

  He sighed. “Steele, helpin’ you guys dole out justice when some asswipe gets away with rape or backs out on payin’ child support is one thing. Harborin’ a fugitive is serious, and I have a duty.”

  “Do what you gotta do, man.” Steele meant it. He had a hell of a lot of respect for Frost, even if the street didn’t go both ways.

  “I think you’re lying to me.”

  “Frost—”

  “Shut up. Don’t sit there with your teeth in your mouth. I used to trust you, but since you joined the Horsemen, you’re becomin’ like the rest of them…crooked as a dog’s hind leg. You used to be my brother—we were on the same side.”

  “Not anymore. I wish you’d joined the club with me, then this kind of shit wouldn’t come between us.” He scowled. “And for the record? I ain’t crooked.”

  “Bullshit. If you swallowed a nail, you’d shit out a corkscrew.”

  They glared at one another. Steele wanted to be pissed, but a laugh bubbled up instead.

  “Asshole.” The insult didn’t hold any heat.

  “Dickhead.” Frost joined in the laughter. Suddenly, they were two old friends having breakfast together.

  “You’ll never guess who’s in town.” Ash hadn’t served with them, but they’d all met at her parents’ place when they’d been given leave at the same time.

  “Too early for guessin’ games. Who?” Frost washed down the rest of his donut with coffee.

  “Ash.”

  His eyes widened. “Ashton Calhoun? That Ash?”

  “Yeah.”

  Frost raised a brow. “And I’m sure you welcomed her with open…arms.”

  “She’s only a friend.”

  “No, we’re only friends.”

  “What? You think I wanna fuck her? You’d be hard-pressed to find a woman I don’t wanna fuck.”

  Frost snorted. “No, man. I watched you two at the party. What’s it been? Twelve years ago? If I recall right, she slapped you upside the head, but you still followed her ass around all night like a dog without a home.”

  “Did not.” Steele pressed a hand to his face. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall what he’d said to her, but he could still feel the slap—even the memory of her touch was…electrifying.

  “Don’t even try to deny it. I’m not the only one who noticed. Abe took you out on the porch and threatened to knock you into next week for daring to look at her.”

  They both sobered at the mention of Abe.

  “He’d be thirty-four next week.” Steele ran a palm down his face. In his mind’s eye, Abe never aged—twenty-four forever.

  “I remember. I say a prayer for him every year.”

  A lump formed in the back of his throat, and he struggled to swallow it. “I left him all alone.”

  Frost squeezed his arm. “You didn’t know what would happen. None of us took guard duty real serious until….” He shook his head. “Guardin’ heroin poppies wasn’t what we’d signed on to do.”

  The entire unit had been up in arms, but they hadn’t had much choice. They’d followed orders…except for Steele, of course. “I know, but I should’ve done my duty. You don’t get to pick and choose what orders to follow.”

  “Steele, you can’t beat yourself up. You didn’t set this in motion. The Taliban needed money for their war machine, and they wanted to scare the fuck out of the farmers working with us. They murdered him to scare the locals. You didn’t kill him, they did.”

  “I might as well have. They lynched him and gutted him like a fish.” Steele saw it all again—the rope around Abe’s neck, hanging at an unnatural angle. The glossy, unseeing eyes.

  Frost gripped him harder, digging his fingertips in, as if trying to physically pull Steele back into the here and now.

  “Don’t do this to yourself.”

  “Can’t help it.” Seeing Ash again and Coyote’s abduction had brought it all boiling to the surface once more. He sucked in a breath. “Frost, I need you to tell me the truth.”

  The cop held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded.

  “You promise?”

  “Yeah, of course. Anythin’.”

  Steele forced himself to ask the question he’d been dreading for years, the one he desperately needed an answer to. “If I’d stayed and done my duty…would Abe be alive today?”

  Frost pondered the question. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly.

  “If you’d remained at your post, I’d have buried two friends instead of one.”

  “I should’ve died with him. My face should’ve been the last thing he saw, not his murderer’s.”

  Frost didn’t reply.

  There was nothing more to say.

  ***

  Afterward, Steele went to work and tried his level best to live his life, even though he felt like it was unraveling at the seams. He hadn’t received any more spooky phone calls from Coyote’s hacker buddies either. Daisy didn’t try to cheer him and left him be. There was a steady stream of customers to concentrate on, so the day passed quickly.

  After he closed up shop, he went over to the hotel and knocked on Ash’s door.

  “Ash?”

  Nothing.

  Steele knocked again. No answer. Damnation. It was nearly dark, and they should be heading up to that cabin and checking it out. She’d texted everything to him earlier. He tried her cell, but it went straight to voicemail.

  Had she fallen asleep?

  Steele pounded on the door. Again, no response. A disturbing thought occurred to him. What if she’d tried to hurt herself again?

  Steele ran to the front desk and got a spare key. He slid it into the lock and entered the room.

  Once inside, he glanced around but didn’t see her. Then he heard running water coming from the bathroom. She was taking a shower. He sighed, the tension leav
ing his body.

  Steele checked his cell. He was running about twenty minutes earlier than he’d planned.

  Steele knew he should walk on out of there. Once she got dressed, she’d give him a call. He could wait for her in the diner. But he was in her room—alone in her space—and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to poke around a bit.

  Ash had never been a traditional southern belle. She’d always been less refined and a hell of a lot more ferocious. As a teenager, he’d loved to wind her up and see what she’d do next.

  On the nightstand, she had a black mesh case chock-full of girly stuff he perused. He was charmed by the bottle of perfume, TokyoMilk Dark. The bottle was black and featured the white outline of a gun, and the scent was called Bulletproof. He found a silver cross on a chain, an inky black bottle of nail polish, and some lip balm. No makeup.

  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.”

  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 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.”

  “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.

  “Hel
l no.” If she were 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.