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

it was he wanted to ask him. Senna’s photo. He hadn’t seen Irish’s old lady in a long while but he was pretty sure that it was her.
    “They left early,” she said. “Heard their bikes and the other girls talking before I passed out again waiting for you to wake up.” She dangled her feet over the edge of the desk, giggling and pointing her toes at him. “You mumble in your sleep. Talked about threes a lot. And you curse worse than my daddy, and he was a truck driver. And who’s Alvarez?”
    It was a punch to the gut. He was going to be sick. “Get out.” He reached blindly in front of him searching for the garbage can.
    “But you said-”
    “Get out or you’re fired.”
    “I don’t work here.”
    “Get out!” He scrambled to his knees and practically crawled across the room towards the trash bin. “Right now! Get out of my office!”
    Finally she left. As she slammed the door behind her, he released the breath he was holding and emptied his stomach.
    Jester’s pain relief method was very temporary, and when it wore off, everything came back with a vengeance. He’d known that, but he’d thrown himself into it headfirst anyway. A mistake. It could never really go away; he would never feel better. He didn’t deserve to.
    He stood on unsteady legs and made his way to the bathroom to throw water on his face. The man that stared back in the mirror was not the same one he’d seen just a week before. He barely recognized himself. Exhausted. Falling apart.
    As his emptied stomach churned and as his veins buzzed with rage and fear and adrenaline, one face kept invading his mind and drawing his thoughts away from their usual violent and destructive path.
    Senna.
    She'd faced death with her head held high. He had drawn his gun and even then she hadn't crumbled.
    He needed to make things right. Call Irish and at least inquire about her sister.
    And more than that, he just needed to see her.
     
    ◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙
     
    “You’re coming with me.”
    He’d only found her because the black Town Car parked outside the shitty watering hole across the street was so utterly out of place, there was no other possible reason for it to be there than for her.
    When he saw that man looming over her, trapping her on her stool against the bar, he knew he was going to lose it. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears and nothing else as rage took over. His stride was slow and his intent clear. The patrons around him silenced as he passed.
    "There a problem, here?" He stood close to the man's back, forcing him to twist around as he turned to answer the question.
    "None of your business," the suit answered. Gunner looked him up and down. Everything was crisp and clean right down to his shiny black shoes. Clean shoes said something about a man.
    "Shouldn't wear white to a place like this."
    The man sneered with distaste. "Why's that?"
    Gunner pulled back and punched him dead on the nose with a sickening crack. Blood exploded down the man's chin as he bounced back against the bar.
    People around them ducked away, shouting, but Senna regarded the guy impassively. He didn't freak out over the sight of his own blood - Gunner could grudgingly give him credit for that, whoever the piece of shit was.
    "I'll consider your offer," she said to the man as she slid from the stool. He tried to staunch the crimson flow but it was dripping through his fingers.
    "What the fuck?" he cursed and spat at the ground. He glared up at Gunner.
    "You stay away from her," Gunner growled. He wasn't sure where this blind protective rage was coming from. He knew he hadn't spared her life so some dick in a suit could try to kidnap her or coerce her or whatever the fuck he was doing.
    "We were just talking, you fucking Neanderthal."
    Gunner drew back to hit him again but Senna's hand was suddenly on his elbow. He relaxed and backed away. That’s a first .
    "Come on," she said.
    He followed her back to the hotel room, clenching and unclenching