Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) by Cynthia Rayne Page A

the Tres Erre. They’d leave busting the Dixie Mafia to the FBI.
    Justice slid into the booth with Steele. “Well this oughtta be interestin’.” He turned to Steele. “Are we gonna make a scene or go in stealth mode?”
    “No, we’re gonna get the intel we need and get the hell out before we run into the devil himself.”
    “Are the Dixie Mafia enemies of yours or what?” She could sense a story there.
    “No comment.”
    Ash let him have his secrets for now, but she’d snoop to get some answers later.
    Angel brought her a white Styrofoam container. She opened the lid to find a yogurt parfait with fresh berries and granola on the side.
    Hmph, Voodoo had known exactly what she’d like.
    “I should be going,” Ash announced. “I gotta sign the agreement with your club president and fax it back to Cole.”
    “Any idea when the stripper’s gonna be there?” Justice asked. “If you got her home address, we could show up, maybe avoid an unnecessary confrontation.”
    “I don’t have a residence on record. I tried all the databases but didn’t come up with jack shit. I got a feelin’ she’s transitory. Maybe stayin’ with friends or relatives?” She pulled out her cell phone, searched for the Lone Star Lounge, then dialed the number.
    Ash grabbed her breakfast and stood. “I’ll text you if she’s working tonight,” she called over her shoulder and walked away from Steele as fast as her feet would carry her. She wished she’d practiced the maneuver when she was younger.
    It might’ve saved her a lot of pain.

Chapter Six
     
    Later in the evening, Ash rode with Justice and Steele over to the strip club. The drive to Crimson Creek had been awkward and silent. Ash hadn’t done the teamwork thing since being in the military. To make matters worse, the bikers had insisted on driving, so she was squished between them as she rode in one of their trucks.
    Her Forrester had four seats, more leg room, and bulletproof glass. She’d been shot at more than once, so it came in handy.  For some reason, Ash had an uncanny ability to piss folks off.
    They stood in the parking lot, staring at the glitter and glitz. The strip club was wrapped in red, white, and blue neon lights. On the top of the club’s sign, a glittering cowgirl flexed her leg up and down, displaying her boots. Justice and Steele didn’t look happy about being here either, which was rare for men.
    The lot was nearly full, and a group of guys in their twenties leaned up against the wall near the entrance. They wore identical blue shirts, but she stood too far away to read them. Ash guessed they were probably part of a bachelor party.
    “You sure you wanna go in with us? It might get rough in there.”
    She bristled. “I can handle myself, Steele. Unless you got another reason? Are you afraid your Dixie Mafia pals will show up and spill the beans about more felonies?”
    After she’d signed the contract with Axel that morning, the president had let the club’s business relationship with the mafia slip. He’d been light on details, but she’d figured out the club had done one drug run across the border. Now, she’d be forced to work with the Horsemen in order to find the Raptors, and Steele’s club would skate off with no criminal repercussions.
    Steele shook his head. “Not now, Ash.”
    “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
    “Who pissed in your oatmeal?” Justice shot her a look, but she pretended not to hear him.
    They trudged to the door. Both bikers paid an entry fee to a big, beefy guy in a tight white T-shirt and jeans working as a bouncer. He wore a ten-gallon hat, and his muscled arms were as big as her thighs.
    “No charge for you, ma’am.” He tipped his cowboy hat.
    “Why?”
    He leered at her chest even though she’d dressed down in a sweatshirt and jeans. Walking into a strip club in provocative clothing would invite unwelcome attention when she was trying to lay low.  
    “We don’t get many ladies. You here to