The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

head twisted to the side.
    “You good?”
    “Yeah, I’m good.”
    It’s late. The sky is black, hollow, and moody. The only light comes from the muted glow of the cloud covered moon as we ride into the soulless night. I love it. The not knowing, the uncertainty of it grabs me, holding me hostage.
    Riding down the highway, I get caught up in the whip of the wind, the roar of the engine, the open road. I lose myself. It’s been a year, a long fucking time since I’ve ran. It feels good to be free and wild and on the open road. I let go, my arms in the air and my head thrown back. I can’t stop it.
    “Careful,” Buck warns.
    “Never!” I scream. I’m never careful. A life not lived is no life at all. “If I die tonight, I’d die happy.” And that’s exactly how I’d want to go out—the wind in my hair and my past at my back.
    “Faster,” I yell out into the night. Nodding once, he smirks over his shoulder at me.
    “You got it, babe.”

    We live in the mountains. I live in the mountains, alone, with my stranger. Buck lives in the middle of nowhere. And when I say middle of nowhere, I mean nowhere. It’s miles and miles up the side of a mountain into nothing but dark, dense forest.
    Other vehicles started to become sparse about an hour ago, and thirty minutes later they’ve all but disappeared. It’s just Buck and I out here in the middle of BFE, and it’s starting to feel a little serial killer-ish. This wilderness is a perfect place to dump a body, but I’m just too goddamn happy to really care. It’s possibly a concern for another day.
    The bike slows when Buck pulls off the old highway and onto a dark, almost hidden, single-lane road. We travel for a while over loose gravel before the trees thin out and we come into a cleared lot. A few hundred feet more and a small log cabin pops up into view.
    “Honey, we’re home,” Buck jokes, coming to a rolling stop in front of an old wooden deck. “Hop on off, sweet cheeks.” I don’t want to. I want to ride until I’m a million miles away.
    “Such a gentleman,” I laugh as I get off the bike. Apparently my roomie is a comedian. I’m a little sore from the long ride, so I stand on my tiptoes and stretch. I look around and catch Buck watching me over his shoulder, so I smile.
    “I thought so,” Buck says, getting off the bike himself. I hadn’t noticed before now, just how fucking big he really is. Standing next to him I feel small. This guy is a beast of a man.
    Scooping up my bag and box, he throws them over his shoulder and walks off, leaving me standing here. His big intimidating body walks purposefully off, his stride wide and cocky.
    “Come on, Tonto,” he yells over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather sleep outside.” Oh, I get it. Tonto, because I’m Indian. Yep, a comedian.
    “Yeah, you’re damn funny,” I tell him. Following after him, I try to keep up, but he’s fast. “Slow down, Sasquatch.” He stops dead in his tracks and turns to me. Oh shit.
    “This living together is gonna be fun, isn’t it?” he mutters, looking me up and down, shaking his head back and forth.
    I’m not sure if that was a joke or a statement. Shrugging, I settle on, “Yep, a fucking blast.”
    This will be great, I’m sure of it. It’s just a feeling I have, deep in my gut.

    It’s odd sleeping in someone else’s bed; different sheets, a comfortable mattress, new pillows under my head. Staring at nothing, up at an unfamiliar ceiling, I listen to the distant noises coming from the woods surrounding us. 
    What’s not odd is sleeping somewhere different. That’s my normal. It’s been years since I’ve slept in my house. I remember the comfort, the familiarity of my sheets and my lumpy pillow. It’s something I don’t have anymore, but at least Buck’s bed is big and comfortable.
    Buck welcomed me inside his place with a sweep of his hand and a grunt. “This is it.” And it’s a nice place. A little messy with a few empties on the