Fabio's Remorse (Hell Raiders MC Book 5) Read Online Free PDF

I was going. Dog followed, and I was glad I'd spent time teaching him silent commands. He remained at heel, even though he clearly felt he should range ahead.
    I rounded the tent, 9mm at the ready. Movement over by the truck drew my attention. The impulse hit hard, to rush over and confront the man crouched down by the back fender, but I held off. He seemed to just be waiting there, and I needed to figure out why before I walked into some nasty mess.
    The tree line stood only a few yards to my right, and offered far better cover, so I made my way over to it. From there, I also had a better view of the prowler. At that angle, it looked like the man slumped against the wheel.
    What the hell? Some drunk-ass fool decided to sit down by my fucking truck and sleep it off? Wary as fuck, and paying close attention to Dog's body language, I approached the figure. The lack of movement or sound as I drew close made me nervous.
    I stopped, just out of arm's reach. "Hey, buddy, you need something?"
    No response.
    Well, fuck. I kicked his foot, with the same result, so I kicked harder. The person shifted with the force I used, just enough for the moonlight to show me the glistening black liquid soaking a medium toned hoodie. The movement allowed the coppery tang of fresh blood to waft up to me.
    Fuck!
    I reached down to check for a pulse, not really surprised to find none. Someone left me with their dirty work to clean up. Annoyance flared. I made enough mess on my own to clean up after, without adding anyone else's.
    Sitting back on my haunches, I ruffled Dog's fur, deciding what to do. The man was dead, the body already stiffening and going cold. Nothing I did or didn't do would change that. I could call the authorities, and wait around while they did their thing, or just pack my shit, conceal my presence, and let someone else deal with it.
    The soldier in me wanted really badly to do the 'right thing' and call the cops. The realist in me knew that would put me right in the prime suspect chair. I'd done nothing wrong in this case, but what if my little vacation in Pennsylvania had ended up on police blotters everywhere? For all I knew, they could be searching for me. Letting my hair grow and not shaving would keep a casual observer from recognizing me, but if my prints ended up getting checked, the whole damn FBI might come down on my head.
    Decision made, I packed up, quick and thorough. With a small, leafy branch, I smudged away my, and Dog's, footprints from a few dusty, grassless areas. It took some work, but I concealed traces of my presence well enough that someone would have to look pretty damn hard to find anything. It was still early, so the dew, and subsequent drying, should take care of the rest. With Dog beside me, I drove away, leaving the body to become someone else's headache.
    We drove on through the night and well into the day, staying off the beaten path and taking random turns occasionally. Lunch came from a small roadside general store that had seen more prosperous days. I didn't mind, though. The woman behind the counter handed me a fresh-made sandwich and an icy-cold root beer, while she apologized it wasn't more.
    "This is perfect, thanks. Let me have a bottle of water, too. Dog's probably getting thirsty."
    "Oh, you have a dog? You should bring him in. I'm sure I have some dog biscuits around somewhere." She bustled from behind the counter. "Well? Go on, get him."
    Faced with that force of nature energy, I had no choice. I went out and brought Dog in from where he'd been napping in the truck. Bastard padded right in like he owned the joint, and ate up the attention the woman gave him.
    "He's gorgeous!" She stroked his head. "He's an Akita, right? What's his name?"
    I shrugged a little and swallowed my root beer. "I have no idea what breed he is. He was skinny and ate up with fleas, and I fed him. From then, Dog just stuck around."
    "He doesn't have a name?" If looks could kill, I'd have been six feet under at that