Read Online Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) by Cynthia Rayne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cynthia Rayne
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around would lessen hers somehow.
Instead, she examined her face and saw Abe’s more masculine features echoed in her own. They were fraternal twins, but they’d had a strong resemblance—the same eyes, the same upturned nose, and same unfortunate hair color.
“Don’t do this to yourself. Not today.”
It was definitely time to go. The run would burn off some of this rage.
Ash headed out the door and jogged around Hell. Trying to be Zen about it, she emptied her mind and focused on being in the moment. She didn’t want to think about the case, her brother, or Steele. Nothing but the open road beneath her feet.
The soles of her shoes slapped against the pavement as she propelled herself farther, faster than she’d gone before. Ash concentrated on the momentum–arms pumping, heart hammering, and the cold air slamming into her lungs. Every now and then, she got into an open headspace, but it didn’t happen often enough. She loved the peace running gave her, the cold clarity of movement.
From time to time, she wondered if she wasn’t running toward something like a goal. What if she was running away from something? Herself? Her past? Abe?
Focus.
But she couldn’t, her brain ran faster than her feet.
While she glimpsed inner peace occasionally, she’d never gotten a feeling of ecstasy. Nothing about running was euphoric. It was exhausting, dirty, and made sweat pour from her body. Unless you counted sore thighs and shin splints as bliss.
To distract herself, she fired up her iPod and hit the running playlist. Big Data’s Dangerous started up. As she listened, she took in the view. While she was in town, she planned on visiting some of the local businesses—the Bloody Hell Tea Room and Devil’s Brew, for sure. And she planned on avoiding Steele’s place, Inferno Firearms. Nostrils flaring, Ash sprinted right by the gun shop.
Twenty minutes later, she finished her run and loped back to Hades.
Now, the question was what to do about breakfast. The residents of Hell didn’t seem the kind of folks who were into health food. Southern food in general had a reputation for not being the healthiest of cuisines.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have a fridge in her room. Ash made a mental note to get a dorm-sized fridge and some supplies when she went out today. Lately, her go-to breakfast was a smoothie made in her small travel blender—a handful of spinach or kale, some pomegranate juice, yogurt or almond milk, half a banana, and some berries. Sometimes, she added protein powder or powdered peanut butter. But this morning, she’d make do with something from the diner. With her luck, it’d be calorie-ific, and she’d have to run off the meal later in the day. Oh, joy.
After grabbing a quick shower, she threw on a pair of jeans, red Chucks, and a blue shirt. She added a matching flannel shirt because it was nippy this morning.
Ash strolled into Hades. An antique jukebox played Bobby Darin’s Mack the Knife . The diner had a fifties feel—black-and-white-checkered floor, red vinyl booths, and steel stools with red vinyl tops. Texas memorabilia decorated the walls. Her favorite metal sign read: Bad Cowboy! Go to my room .
Amen. She’d had the chance to meet men from all over the world, but Texans were the best.
The place was busy—several men in matching black leather vests sat on stools situated around the counter. From her research, she knew the vests were called cuts. They featured an angry-looking stallion in the center with Four Horsemen along the top. Near the bottom of the vest was a Texas patch. She heard the biker’s raucous laughter but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Some non-leather clad civilians were tucked into booths and tables around the room.
After taking a seat by herself in a booth, she noted there weren’t any menus on the table. Maybe the locals had memorized the diner’s menu and already knew what they wanted. How…quaint. After discreetly scoping out everyone’s
Instead, she examined her face and saw Abe’s more masculine features echoed in her own. They were fraternal twins, but they’d had a strong resemblance—the same eyes, the same upturned nose, and same unfortunate hair color.
“Don’t do this to yourself. Not today.”
It was definitely time to go. The run would burn off some of this rage.
Ash headed out the door and jogged around Hell. Trying to be Zen about it, she emptied her mind and focused on being in the moment. She didn’t want to think about the case, her brother, or Steele. Nothing but the open road beneath her feet.
The soles of her shoes slapped against the pavement as she propelled herself farther, faster than she’d gone before. Ash concentrated on the momentum–arms pumping, heart hammering, and the cold air slamming into her lungs. Every now and then, she got into an open headspace, but it didn’t happen often enough. She loved the peace running gave her, the cold clarity of movement.
From time to time, she wondered if she wasn’t running toward something like a goal. What if she was running away from something? Herself? Her past? Abe?
Focus.
But she couldn’t, her brain ran faster than her feet.
While she glimpsed inner peace occasionally, she’d never gotten a feeling of ecstasy. Nothing about running was euphoric. It was exhausting, dirty, and made sweat pour from her body. Unless you counted sore thighs and shin splints as bliss.
To distract herself, she fired up her iPod and hit the running playlist. Big Data’s Dangerous started up. As she listened, she took in the view. While she was in town, she planned on visiting some of the local businesses—the Bloody Hell Tea Room and Devil’s Brew, for sure. And she planned on avoiding Steele’s place, Inferno Firearms. Nostrils flaring, Ash sprinted right by the gun shop.
Twenty minutes later, she finished her run and loped back to Hades.
Now, the question was what to do about breakfast. The residents of Hell didn’t seem the kind of folks who were into health food. Southern food in general had a reputation for not being the healthiest of cuisines.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have a fridge in her room. Ash made a mental note to get a dorm-sized fridge and some supplies when she went out today. Lately, her go-to breakfast was a smoothie made in her small travel blender—a handful of spinach or kale, some pomegranate juice, yogurt or almond milk, half a banana, and some berries. Sometimes, she added protein powder or powdered peanut butter. But this morning, she’d make do with something from the diner. With her luck, it’d be calorie-ific, and she’d have to run off the meal later in the day. Oh, joy.
After grabbing a quick shower, she threw on a pair of jeans, red Chucks, and a blue shirt. She added a matching flannel shirt because it was nippy this morning.
Ash strolled into Hades. An antique jukebox played Bobby Darin’s Mack the Knife . The diner had a fifties feel—black-and-white-checkered floor, red vinyl booths, and steel stools with red vinyl tops. Texas memorabilia decorated the walls. Her favorite metal sign read: Bad Cowboy! Go to my room .
Amen. She’d had the chance to meet men from all over the world, but Texans were the best.
The place was busy—several men in matching black leather vests sat on stools situated around the counter. From her research, she knew the vests were called cuts. They featured an angry-looking stallion in the center with Four Horsemen along the top. Near the bottom of the vest was a Texas patch. She heard the biker’s raucous laughter but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Some non-leather clad civilians were tucked into booths and tables around the room.
After taking a seat by herself in a booth, she noted there weren’t any menus on the table. Maybe the locals had memorized the diner’s menu and already knew what they wanted. How…quaint. After discreetly scoping out everyone’s
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