Ride or Die (Devil's Edge MC #1)

by Terri E. Laine

  Ride or Die

  Terri E. Laine

  Contents

  Ride or Die

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  A Thank You

  about

  stalk

  other books by Terri E. Laine

  Ride or Die

  TERRI E. LAINE

  RIDE OR DIE

  First Edition

  Copyright 2017 Terri E. Laine

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The scanning, uploading and distribution of the book via the Internet or via any other means without permission is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchased only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support for the author’s rights is appreciated. For information address to SDTEL Books.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is dedicated to the fans.

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost a humongous thank you to all my readers for taking a chance on me. There are millions of books to read and you chose mine. That’s HUGE to me. And without you, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to share all the stories that are in my head. So Thank You again.

  Many THANKS go to Nina Grinstead at Social Butterfly PR. She is the best. And thanks to all the people at Social Butterfly PR, Jenn, Shannon, Candi, Heather and Hillary.

  To my beta readers, who deserve my upmost appreciation. Their input for project is invaluable and made this book better by leaps and bounds. So Thank You: Kelly, Emily, Samantha and Ashley. You ladies are the absolute ROCK!

  A huge thank you to Sommer Stein at Perfect Pear for designing a stunning cover that compliments the series perfectly. And to Wander for the gorgeous photography.

  To my awesome writing partner, Annie Hargrove, thank you for being the best friend and business partner!!!

  Finally, I want to thank Emily from Lawrence Editing.

  1

  Swiping left to right with a rag on the table vaguely had her considering slitting her own throat. Hell, the same motion could be used for both. And wasn’t that fucked up on so many levels that she’d even made that association? What she really needed was a life. A deep voice broke the silence just as she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

  “Call it a night, Pipe,” Kings commanded from the bar. “Get your ass home and safe.”

  She glanced around to find she was the only one left besides Kings. There would be no arguing with the big man that she still had a few more tables to clean. Although she preferred to earn her night’s pay in full with no future favors owed, she kept quiet. Instead, she strolled over to the man himself where he stood with folded arms and a bald head. Mentally, she made the connection between him and Mr. Clean from the bathroom cleaner commercials, though he was a darker and more formidable version. And yeah, he wasn’t the friendliest version of that guy either.

  She tossed the rag she’d been using in a bin hidden behind the massive counter that spanned one wall. With one word, “Night,” she pushed out of the ‘For Customers Only’ front entrance and into the cool night with a two-finger salute from her temple to the heavens. She had no fear of reprisals by her bold action. For unknown reasons, Kings always wanted her to use that door. She’d learned not to ask why because she would never get an answer out of him.

  Outside the sports bar establishment, the chill in the air had her rubbing her arms for warmth. She glanced down at her zebra outfit, tight striped T-shirt with plunging neckline paired with micro shorts. It was the uniform of an almost stripper. She sighed inwardly and was just glad her shift was over. Casting her eyes to the curb and back down the street, she decided to lean back on the cool exterior wall because the bus hadn’t arrived yet. And frankly, she wasn’t keen on hanging at the occupied bus stand.

  Automatically, she drew out a pack of cigarettes from her purse, the one Kings had conveniently placed on the bar top on her way out. She’d snagged it without so much as a backward glance. So went their odd father-daughter relationship that held no blood ties between them.

  She had just maneuvered the cross body strap of the small bag over her head when a raspy voice hit her in her left ear. “Need a light?”

  Whipping around sharply, she faced a stranger. And because it was New York and in the middle of the night, her hand automatically went to the weapon she kept hidden inside her purse. Just as her fingers brushed metal, she stopped. Lo and behold, on the surface the guy didn’t appear at all to be homeless, a drug addict or a mugger. Nope.

  In front of her stood a customer she clearly remembered from earlier. He was the memorable sort in a tall, broody, and ruggedly handsome way. Yet, there was something dark in his eyes, cruel even. Instincts dictated she should run as fast as she could. However, with little fear left in her, she tapped out a cigarette and placed the filter end between her lips and waited.

  His eyes never left her, daring her to do something. And that something turned out to be a flare of heat, the sexual kind, to traverse down her body. And wasn’t that a first? Never before had she immediately had a visceral reaction to a man and fantasized about banging him. And the fantasy only grew more intense with their glare off.

  He lifted a metal lighter he’d plucked from his pocket. With a quick thumb action, the flame was born. With his other hand, he blocked a nonexistent wind away as the fire burned next to the business end of her lifeline. She sucked in a breath, lighting a spark between them.

  Surprising herself, she ended up being the first to turn away from his intriguing eyes. Instead, her interest honed in on the glimpse of something, maybe letters that were marked on each of his fingers. She’d wondered about those big hands of his when she’d served him in the bar. However, too fast they were gone before she could figure out just what they said.

  She pushed off the wall using the leverage from her bent knee. It didn’t matter that she felt an instant attraction to this guy. Either he was a creeper because he’d left the bar over an hour earlier, or there was no place for him to hang out, to accidently bump into her just when her shift was over. Or it could be worse.
He could have targeted her specifically because of who she was and not what she looked like.

  Meeting his gaze once again, the corner of his cheek lifted to reveal a bad boy smirk. She was familiar enough with those. Even though she was struck by him, she wasn’t stupid.

  It didn’t matter that she was astonished to find him hot, especially when he sported a lumberjack beard, something she’d never found remotely attractive before. Nor did it matter that he had a fuckload of ink down the sleeves of his arms and metal bolts in his eyebrow and ear, the combination of which made him kind of beautiful in a dangerous way.

  Instead, she ignored him while she inhaled and filled herself with patience and calm. Something she needed in waves.

  “You really should give up the cancer sticks.” His words seemed a bit hypocritical for a guy with a lighter. Then again, she had no idea why he had one. And it had appeared fancy from the quick glance she got of it.

  She drew in another lungful of mellow and enjoyed every second of the reprieve she felt from it. He, on the other hand, popped what looked like a stick of gum in his own mouth.

  As she watched him, hedonistic thoughts continued to play out in her mind, like how he could use his mouth on her. When his grin grew dark, she knew it was time to go. To bring him back to earth and herself too, she blew a steady stream of secondhand smoke in his face.

  “Thanks for the light, but fuck off.”

  He may have been God’s gift to women, but she knew better than to mess with a guy who looked like that. She made her way to the street to the cover of the bus shack for all the rejects like her who couldn’t afford a car or other nonessential things in life.

  She half expected him to follow her or at the very least have a fuck you, bitch thrown back her way. She was used to insults from guys she wouldn’t give the time of day. But he said nothing. That gave her pause and almost had her turning to see over her shoulder what he did do. Instead, she kept her eyes forward and waited for the bus.

  The stand was covered in graffiti and smelled of piss and vomit. She stood and nonverbally mingled with the two other people near her. One appeared to be a permanent resident for the night. He clutched the handle of a beat-up bag with one hand, and in the other, a well-worn blanket that covered him. The second participant in their weird three’s company was a girl who obviously had a rough night. Smeared makeup streaked down her face toward a torn pink satin camisole and short skirt she wore. Tear-stained makeup didn’t hide the hard stare the girl gave her in return.

  If Piper had been anywhere else, she might have asked the girl if she was okay despite her stiff posture. But this was New York. And as it was, she kept a clutched hand on her purse near her nose. Periodically she traded it with the other hand that held her cigarette. The maneuver was to try and keep the smells of the onion man from making her gag as he slept soundly on the bench.

  She didn’t even think of how the latest resident of the street probably hadn’t bathed in weeks if not years, because she was a paycheck away from becoming his neighbor. Shit was hard in the big city, and her problems weren’t any bigger or smaller than those in the very space she occupied.

  Just as the bus pulled up, she heard a rumble off in the distance that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a two-wheeled ride. As the don’t cry for me girl entered the bus, Piper waited while her heart sank. Too many months ago, she’d been mired in plans for a wedding. Not a huge one, but a modest one with family and friends. Her fiancé had big dreams that were big enough for the both of them. Until one day, he’d left with friends on his motorcycle. His Hog. His baby. And never came home. And shit had only gotten worse from there.

  Two steps on the bus and a school teacher like scold came from a voice slightly above her head. “No smoking on the bus, miss.”

  She glanced up at the tired driver, who looked like the rest of the few bedraggled passengers wishing they were anywhere but where they were.

  She wanted to be snarky and correct his use of the term miss. She wasn’t a lady. She wasn’t anybody. Instead, she sucked in another heaving breath and tossed the half used cigarette behind her toward the curb.

  As she watched the flame die, she quickly agonized on how dumb that action was. And not just because she’d added to the litter of the city. She couldn’t afford to be so cavalier with the few thrills life had to offer her. And smoking wasn’t a cheap habit.

  Reticently, she chucked it as a loss as she made her way to a seat. The hot guy she’d tried to ignore had thrown her off her game. Why hadn’t he responded to her rude brush-off?

  She sat in one of the many empty rows of seats halfway between hell and nowhere. The time was late and even in the city that didn’t sleep, most were in bed at this hour. She couldn’t help but turn and glance toward the bar when the lights went out inside the metal cage. The view crystallized through the window to reveal that the sexy guy was gone. Thoughts of a carnal one-night stand with a stranger to help forget all her hurts were gone, along with him.

  When was the last time she’d given her body over to another? Weeks, months, years…she couldn’t remember. She wondered if her shit still worked or was it like riding a bike? Fuck…that thought sent her mind spinning to a place she didn’t want to go. Her hand absently lifted to her mouth only to find it empty of that pleasure. She needed a smoke.

  “Hey, lady, do you have some change?”

  She glanced up to see a guy with floppy hair that covered one eye. His shifty hands covered by fingerless gloves in the middle of a cool but summer night was her first tip-off. He held one out in front of her, palm up, sure of his request. When his visible single eye locked onto her gaze, it was wild with prospects of the few hours remaining of darkness.

  She turned away as she shook her head no and hoped he would leave. Instead, he shocked the shit out of her and pushed her over from her aisle seat to the window one, to sit next to her. What the fuck?

  “See,” he said under his breath. “You look like a girl that just got off work waiting tables. And I think you have some tips you’d like to share.” His voice was gritty, like smoking had finally done its toll on his voice box. Stupidly, he brandished a knife, holding it low so that neither the few passengers, nor the bus driver would see what he was up to.

  “Not tonight,” she whispered more to herself. And with an eye roll to show just how her night had turned to crap, she deftly snagged the meth head’s wrist. She twisted and heard a satisfying pop before she angled the knife hard and down into the plastic seat between his legs.

  “Fuck, lady,” the guy yelped and gripped his wrist. After a quick glance around to see if anyone was paying attention, which they weren’t, she caught his wide eyes staring at his family jewels, which she’d nearly severed.

  “Take that as a lesson. Beware of stranger danger.”

  He only blinked at her before returning his focus downward. Good, he wasn’t going to cry out; probably because of the drugs coursing through his brain, and not because he was smart enough not to.

  She stood and fluidly sprang over the seat in front of her. After she landed, she moved to the aisle and easily hit the button for the next stop. She’d have a bit of a walk, but the bus was turning out not to be the easy ride home she’d hoped for.

  She didn’t have to hold on to the pole very long before the bus shuddered to a stop. She stepped off with no comment from the meth head. His shocked eyes had still been glued between his legs at her last glance in his direction. As the bus took off, her attention moved toward the rumble that stopped not ten feet beside her.

  To her side, the gorgeous stranger from earlier, sat astride an all-black Harley. Crap. Her mind shifted through events of the past and what she might have done wrong. Dumbstruck by his appearance, she stopped in her tracks. She could only wish he were just a random stalker.

  Despite the Danger alarm going off in her head, she couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him. His eyes were midnight blue, she guessed, based on the twinkle created by the halogen
lights from above. His mouth seemed grim, but she couldn’t be sure with the cover of his beard. Worse, she noticed for the first time, a leather vest that covered a black tee that stretched over his broad chest. And wasn’t that bad news?

  She cursed inwardly and ran through her options. She could flee the scene, but she had a feeling she’d already been made. This most definitely wasn’t a causal meeting or a chance of fate.

  “We need to talk.” And damn him if that sexy rasp in his voice didn’t flood her core with moisture.

  “I think I was pretty clear with the fuck off earlier. If I’d known you were a creepy stalker, I would have added an or die to the end of my sentence,” she snarked in defense, while she gripped her purse one-handed. Fleetingly, she wondered if she had enough time to brandish her weapon.

  She watched in fascination as his mouth curled into a wicked but broad smile. He released the handlebars of his bike and easily kicked the stand with such fluidity, one knew he was more than a casual rider. He was off it and in front of her in two long strides. She knew better. She needed to get the fuck away. If only her feet hadn’t found a place to root beneath her. Screw it. She’d hold her ground. She wasn’t fragile or without expertise in self-defense.

  “It’s about your mom.”

  2

  There weren’t many words he could have said that would have flummoxed her. But his were cruel and made her insides run cold.

  “My mom is dead,” she deadpanned, while trying to think her way past this situation.

  She half turned from him, prepared to walk away. Thankfully, it hadn’t been about business. Not that it was about pleasure either. Still, she’d lowered her internal danger level. He wasn’t the threat he could have been.

  “Your real mom.”

  Turning steely eyes on him did nothing but show just how pissed off she was. The mother she’d buried was her real mom. Her biological mother, whom he was obviously referring to, wasn’t worth the stains on the sidewalk, let alone a trip all the way from California for someone to find her.