Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(36)

Bo filled us in. Long story short: Doc Ronnie wasn’t exactly who she seemed to be.

She’d gotten involved with the Iron Coffins MC when she was very young, back when they’d been based out of Santa Fe, and she’d been too na?ve to know better than to run with meth dealers and gun runners.

Then she’d started dealing drugs herself.

An ATF and DEA bust netted the biggest players, but Ronnie turned to WITSEC. The rest was history or some such shit—she got her life turned around, stayed off the radar.

Until she happened to hook up with the former Marine captain boasting a Medal of Honor.

Captain Maverick had wrangled all that info out of Ronnie’s FBI handler. The Special Agent showed at her house just in time to be interrogated by Bo, who was so not Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky.

And now we had the plans for the Iron Nails MC compound—recently renamed and relocated to Jacksonville, Florida. Working on the assumption that was where they’d taken Ronnie.

To kill her?

Kidnap her to make a point?

Keep her from testifying at an upcoming trial?

Not a single one of us had a fucking clue.

But Walker sure seemed fired up to do away with outlaw MC shit heels or, better yet, the Fed Bo had questioned.

“What did you do with the Feeb?” Walker grinned with something close to misguided joy.

“Tied him up and dropped him over the Ravenel Bridge.” Bo’s short hair stood up on end like he’d raked his hands through it a few dozen times.

Walker gave two thumbs up to the idea of killing a federal agent.

“Just kidding.”

“Why not?” The Native American man scowled. “I volunteer.”

“Knock it off. No unnecessary murders today.” Hunter snarled.

“Always such a buzz kill.” Walker moaned. “Hate that you’ve gone full legit.”

“Looks like a road trip.” Brodie peered around.

“I don’t wanna drag y’all into this shit circus.” Bo squinted at the floor.

“Too bad. This ain’t a democracy.” Boomer canvassed our reactions to Brodie’s statement and rightly assumed we were all in.

We usually tried to play it legal, but that didn’t mean we weren’t above fucking up anyone who messed with our women.

“Reconvene this afternoon. We’ll take Iron Nails by dark.” Hunter took point when Bo looked overwhelmed by the MC’s support. “Get cleaned up, gear up, and move out.”

“Clean up?” Brodie sniffed his pits then sniggered in my direction. “Hey. I’m not the one who smells like sex.”

“Sure glad someone else noticed that.” Tail stroked his long black hair behind his head. “Handsome’s got hot pussy action written all over him.”

“I was with Shy.” With my face shoved against his, I added, “And I already warned you what would happen if you talked smack about her again.”

“Shee-it.” Brodie stepped between the two of us, his hand on my pumping chest. “We’re just razzing you, brah. We didn’t know you’d finally hooked up with your girl.”

I drove all ten fingers through my hair and released a small smile. “Well, I did. A couple weeks ago. And none of y’all’s business anyway.”

“’Bout damn time,” Coletrane muttered. “Thought you were gonna dig my eyes out with a spoon every time I glanced at Shiloh.”

“Thought about it,” I agreed.

“Well, that’s one happy ending, at least.” Grandfather MC, Tucker, clapped a hand onto my shoulder. “Let’s say we make it two tonight.”

“Yeah. It’s all about Doc Ronnie now.” Boomer’s tight grin meant mean business.

****

No more joking once we hit the road, the eight of us on our bikes with Bo in the lead in his stripped-down Hummer. We were all about saving Veronica Hartley, but during the less than four-hour ride to Jacksonville my mind filled with a barrage of thoughts about Shy.

Her undaunted bravery in the face of her illness. The way she’d donated heaps of money so kids who went through what she did might have it a little bit better.

The soft curls on top of her head. The even softer ones between her legs.

Her insanely gorgeous face when she arched back in a screaming climax, and the taste of her skin, her pussy, her sweet nipples in my mouth.

Hammering down on my ’59 Harley Panhead as we sped toward the Florida border, I stared straight ahead at the endless strip of tarmac rolling beneath my wheels.

Guilt compacted everything in my chest.

Maybe I’d do Shy more good if I cut her loose.

Hated leaving her alone with her on Diablo’s radar.

Shit, I was already in so deep I hated not being able to wake up with her earlier that morning.

There was no out now, and I needed to come up with some fucking way to keep her clear of Satan’s League’s dirty paws, get Diablo off my back once and for all.

Turn over my seed money for the brewery I’d been sinking all my spare time into? I was tempted, but fuck. I wanted to prove myself worthy of Shy . . . maybe even to my family after all these years of estrangement.

Hell, Walker was gung-ho to kill cunts. Maybe I could hire him to make the hit? Shit, I probably just had to ask him, and he’d do it free of charge.