Riding Him (Ghost Riders MC #5)(26)

I have no problem sitting here all night; it’s what I’ve trained to do. I can wait for hours. I’ve been in the sand with the sun beating down on me, in the mud and pouring rain, in the f*cking Amazon never knowing what was crawling up my goddamn leg.

I killed when I was in the Air Force. Hell, I killed after I got out too, but I haven’t killed for the club. All Pres has to do is give me the word and it’s done. In a heartbeat. In the Air Force I never took my kills personally. You have to keep everything separate, and keep your emotions in check because that’s what you’re paid to do. I took my orders, took out the bad guys, but now things are different. I’ve got skin in this game, so when it’s time to get the job done, it’s not because of a paycheck. Just like when I killed in the field, one less piece of shit in the world, I feel no different about the Five Aces. Taking out a few of them wouldn’t make me lose any sleep, but f*ck, dead bodies is what got us into the shit storm. The plan tonight is to only maim if possible, not start a full-on war between clubs.

They’d stolen some of our guns from the firing range Pres and I own together: the range I run. The guns that were stolen are my responsibility, and it just so happens one of them got left at the scene of a double murder. I don’t care what Pres says, it is my fault. They robbed the range in the middle of the night, bypassing our security. Maybe bypassing isn’t the right word, they blew a f*cking hole in the side of the goddamn building.

Those guns are my responsibility as the sergeant at arms for the Ghost Riders, and I want them back. The Aces destroyed part of something I poured every penny I had into when I left the Air Force. The range is my baby. I’d reported them missing but that didn’t stop the cops from crawling up our asses, pointing fingers at us for a murder. We tend to keep our noses pretty clean, but the cops always have a hard-on for us. I have blood on my hands, but the blood they were asking about this time isn’t mine.

I want the rest of the guns back, not to mention the one that could be my undoing. We know it has to be the Five Aces. They came looking for guns a few weeks back but Pres refused to sell to them. We’d reached out to the Death Lords who informed us the Five Aces like to work with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen. They are a club that doesn’t play by any rules or show respect to other clubs. They let it be known they weren’t too happy with our hospitality and they’d be getting what they wanted. We let them know they could go f*ck themselves.

After everything went down, Pres reached out to them again, pretending to have a change of heart. They agreed to meet up, but I think they only did it to feign interest in the guns, the guns I know they have.

Now here I sit, watching this meeting between my Ghost Rider brothers and the Five Aces play out. I’m only up here as back up in case shit goes down, but I’m itching for a shot. Rolling my shoulders, I try to push some of the tension from my body. I miss the shitty headsets I had in the Air Force, wishing I had ears on the ground. Now I have to rely on gut instinct, and I can tell things are getting heated. I can’t see any of my brothers’ reactions, with their backs to me, but all the Aces are facing me, and it’s getting intense. I train my gun on their VP, and I wait.

My world narrows down and I focus. I feel the wind against my skin, telling me how it will affect my shot. My breathing slows and I wait. I’m ready.

Then he does it. The Aces’ VP reaches for his gun, but he’s too late. I’d already taken the shot that hits him in his right shoulder. The bullet will destroy the ball-and-socket joint, and no surgeon on earth will be able to put it back together correctly. He’ll never use his right arm to its full function again. Good luck using one of my guns now, *.

Everyone jumps back and my Pres throws his hands in the air, yelling. I’m sure he’s telling them if they make another move I’ll start popping them off one by one. One of the Aces makes a move to go to his VP, and I squeeze the trigger. The bullet flies through the air and hits the concrete at his feet. Chunks of rock explode and he second guesses his move.

“You don’t move until I say,” I whisper to myself.

Pres points to the Five Aces VP, indicating for them to leave. When they finally clear out, I feel my phone vibrate against my ass. I reach back and pull it from my pocket.

“Yeah.”

“Cas, get your ass out of here. I’m sure the cops will show up soon if someone heard the shots. Don’t go to the club.” The line goes dead.

Crawling off my stomach I dismantle my rifle, putting it back into the box. I don’t have my motorcycle with me when I carry my rifle. I quickly make my way over to my truck and rub my chest as I climb in. The worst part about lying on the ground for hours is the pressure it puts on my breasts. Most women wish for bigger boobs, I, on the other hand, find them to be a hindrance.

Sliding the rifle under the truck seat, I fire up the engine and pull out, hitting the first highway I can. It’s still early and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. Only one thing ever fixes that. Sex. And it’s been too damn long.

Pulling my hair from my ponytail, I let the black strands fall loose and hit my shoulders. I’d love to head back to the club and hear about what was said on the ground, but the Pres told me to stay clear. Looks like sex it is.



Leaning back in my chair, I throw my booted foot up to rest on the table. The night is early and only a few people are in the bar. The same bar I always use when I’m looking for a quick and easy lay. Not only is it close to my little two-bedroom house, there’s also a cheap hotel next door.