The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) by Jaci J

into town.”
    “Buck know?” They’re getting me and I’m starting to get them. They’ve got this loyalty thing down to a fine art. I can’t make a move without Buck in the know.
    “Nope.” No point in lying. He could very well just yell across the lot to Buck and rat me out.
    “Then no dice. Buck gives the go ahead, then we’re good. Buck doesn’t know, then it’s a no go.” Too goddamn loyal.
    “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, walking off.

    The road down to the highway must be at least a mile. By the time I reach the highway, I’m hot, and that bacteria breeding ground of a pool sounds like heaven right now. I left Poncho to his pool duties and Buck to his tinkering. Figured I could find my own ride. Who needs guys with bikes anyways?
    Reaching the side of the highway, I pray like hell it’s a busy one. I’m in no mood to stand out here all day, waiting under the scorching sun for a ride.
    Walking a ways down the road, I see nothing but asphalt ahead of me. There’s not a damn car in sight. The sun’s pounding down on me from all directions, the rays beat off the road, causing waves to rise above the yellow dashes. It’s desert hot out here. At least I might catch a tan.
    Running a hand down the back of my neck, I wipe away the beads of sweat collecting there. I’m dragging my feet down the pavement when I hear a vehicle come up behind me. Please let it be a kind, non-murderous motorist who’s willing to help a melting girl out with a ride.
    I watch a truck slow down on the other side of the road. Giving myself a moment to memorize the plate, I read it over in my head; 00F26Q, just in case I get kidnapped, ya know. Safety and that kind of shit is important. I don’t really want to end up on the cover of the local papers.
    The truck rolls to a stop. It’s a big, blue, beat-up rusty bucket, but hopefully it’s my chariot into town.
    “Hey,” a man, maybe in his late thirties, hollers at me from his rolled down window. His arm is on the door and his head’s out the window, giving me a once over.
    “Where ya headed?” I ask. I don’t have time for pleasantries.
    “Town. Need a lift?” Nah, I just like standing on the side of the highway, in the scorching heat, hoping to make conversation with a complete stranger.
    “Yeah, that would be ...” The roar of a bike cuts my words off. Oh no. 
    Tires meet gravel and skid to a halt a few feet behind me. Shit. I bail. I bail real quick, as quick as my feet will carry me. “Never mind, I’ll walk. Thanks.”
    “The fuck you goin’, Lennon?” Buck’s booming voice growls after me. I don’t bother turning around, I just keep walking really, really fast.
    “Town.” I yell back. Asshole.
    Boots beat down the gravel as he gains on me. Fuck, he’s fast. “Woman, your ass better stop when I start talkin’.” I do. I stop and turn around to face him and my head snaps back in surprise.
    “Woman?” Who the fuck does he think he’s calling woman?
    “I hope woman is biker slang for sweetheart,” I warn him.
    “Bitch work better for you?” He grins. A big, fat, happy ass grin breaks out on his stupid face. 
    Buck gets no response from me. I turn and continue my journey into town on foot. I’m not real sure why Buck cares where I’m going and who I’m going with. An hour ago he couldn’t wait to get rid of me, and now he’s following me. See, hot and cold. Pick a fucking temperature, man.
    My feet leave the ground and the air is squeezed clean out of my lungs when Buck hauls me up and against his chest.
    “What the hell?”
    “You got a death wish, darlin’?”
    “I don’t know, are you planning on killing me?” Death by Buck might be worth it. Slow, painful, and torturous. I might just like that.
    My back is smashed into Buck’s chests as he carries me, feet dangling from the ground, towards his bike. He’s grumbling under his breath, but he doesn’t answer me. That’s fine too. Rounding the truck that’s now rolling away, I see three