Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC by Britten Thorne

head. "And the threats?" They were the whole reason she'd fled. "Return what your father stole." "Give the money back or pay another way." "Give the money back or your sister will pay." That last one was the reason she'd finally left when she did.
    "I'm not the only one who wants it. You're of no interest to anyone once you sell."
    "Why wasn't I told any of this? Our lawyers..."
    "Paid off by multiple parties in a race to get to you first." He stood and leaned over her, his arms trapping her there as he gripped the edge of the bar behind her. "You're in over your head here, Miss Moore. Running was the right thing to do, but now that I've caught up, it's time to stop. I'm just the first. The real thugs will be next. Some will be sent by my boss, but more will be sent by other interested parties. You’re going to pay one way or another. You and your sister. Understand?"
    "If I make a deal with you," she said, refusing to react, "how do I know they'll leave me alone?" She didn’t like the way that he was crowding her but he wasn’t nearly as physically intimidating as Gunner had been.
    "You don't," he said, "But you'll have the money and the means for a proper escape."
    It would be worth considering if she could trust him, if she could make herself believe a single word that escaped his lips. She’d happily sign away her shares of the company - she never wanted them to begin with. She wanted to build something of her own. If she could negotiate enough to start over - change her name, move far away, transfer her school credits or simply start again - she’d be more than thrilled. She would jump at the chance.
    But these people were ruthless. They were dishonest and half of them likely sociopaths - she’d learned that much based on what her father said, based on spending any time at all with them at the few functions he’d allowed her and Aster to attend.
    Liars all, and this Colin is just another lackey.
    “I need proof that you’re not selling me some bullshit,” she said.
    He shrugged. “All the proof’s back home.”
    “I don’t believe you.” And I wish you’d step the hell back.
    He slammed his fists on the bar to either side of her and scowled. “Did you not hear me?” he hissed. “You’re in way over your head. You don’t want the next wave of shit that follows me to catch up to you. Go home, sign the goddamn papers, and disappear into Canada for all I give a shit.”
    All her instincts screamed, Don’t believe him. Do not get onto a plane with this man. Do not even get into a car with this man. Escape. Escape! “Please back off and let me think for a minute.”
    “No. I’ve already got a plane booked and there’s a car waiting outside. You’re coming with me.”

 

    Gunner woke mid-afternoon in his office with no memory of getting there. He was wearing his cut but no shirt and his jeans were wide open.
    The place was a mess, but it has been a mess to begin with so it was hard to tell what sort of damage has been done the night before. The chair was gone. One of the strippers was asleep on the desk, curled up with one arm dangling to the floor, snoring as loud as any man. He sat up with a groan and fixed his pants. Glasses of water lined the wall behind him in varying states of emptiness. Explains why this hangover isn't incapacitating , he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was bad, but he'd had worse.
    "Hey," he grunted, slapping lightly at the girl's hand, sending it swinging back and forth. He couldn't remember her name. World's biggest asshole right here .
    "Mmm, Gunner," she said, smiling but keeping her eyes closed. "Why don't we go back to my place and finish what we started, baby."
    Trudy. The girl Jester had pointed him toward at the beginning of the night. “Finish what?”
    She sat up and pouted. “You promised you’d fuck me.”
    Goddamn my head hurts too much for this right now. “Where’s Irish?” Sober and back in control of most of his faculties, he remember what