Riding Him (Ghost Riders MC Book 5) (9 page)

W
e would like
to thank Katie Wilde, Ruby Dixon, and Ella Goode for asking us to be a part of this journey with them. We’d never envisioned an MC series like the one we wanted to write… with no cheating, no condoms, and a couple of virgins. So when they asked us to come along, and tell the story in our
Alexa Riley
way, we jumped at the chance. The three of them are not only amazing to work with, but are pretty fantastic people. Through their encouragement and support they pushed us to be our best, and we are forever grateful. You babes rock!

To all our readers… we are so happy you ate this series up, and kept yelling at us for more. Thank you for turning the pages, but with all good things, it’s time The Ghost Riders come to an end.

Thank you so much for from the bottom of our dirty, dirty hearts, and we look forward to what’s coming next!

<
3
AR

I
thought
I had all I needed: my gun, my chopper, and my brothers. Most women don't crave a life like mine, but after the things I've done and seen, I never thought I longed for more.

The Ghost Riders Motorcycle Club is my family and I'll bleed for them. I'll do anything to keep them safe, even if it's from me.

One look from him and everything I fought to hide was ripped wide open. Being an FBI agent gave him the power to flip my world upside down, and he did it in a way I never saw coming.

What happens when an FBI agent becomes more obsessed with you than with his case? Do you let down your guard? Or pull the trigger?

W
arning
: This book contains a heroine who doesn't submit, a hero who fights for what he's claimed, and insta-love so hard it will dent your kindle. *not responsible for dented kindles*

P
ulling
Her Trigger is a complete novella. No cliffhangers. No alpha-hole. No cheating. HEA. STANDALONE.

M
y finger curves
around the trigger, ready to take my shot. I know it is only a matter of time before I do, so I am ready. Pres didn’t see the look on some of their faces before he arrived, but I had. The Five Aces are pissed and it showed. I saw the rage and hate through my scope before my brothers arrived.

Shifting my position, I test the wind, and make sure I’ve got a clear shot if shit goes down. There isn’t a target I can’t hit, and I don’t plan on starting now. I’m one of only nine women who have operated as a sniper for the Air Force, but they aren’t the only branch of military I was used for. I am small and get around unnoticed, and it doesn’t hurt that I am one of the best shots anyone knew of. I played with the Marines a lot, and it’s actually how I met the men I’m protecting today.

I know no one can see me up here on top of this building unless I want them to, but my brothers know I’m here, and that’s all that matters. I’ve always been at their backs whenever they need me, and I was doing it long before I was in the club. We picked this meeting spot because I told Pres it would be perfect. The west bottoms of Kansas City are always abandoned when the sun sets. Most of the warehouses down here have been sitting vacant for years. I stare at the once-vacant lot before me, that’s now filled with four of my brothers and five of the Five Aces. They might think they have us outnumbered, but I could take out three of them before they knew what happened.

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 fucking 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 fuck, 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 fucking 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 fuck 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, asshole.

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.

* * *

L
eaning 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.

This bar is my own place to unwind, away from my brothers. Sometimes I go with them to the bar down the road from the club, but never when I’m looking for cock. This place is mine. A place where no one knows who I am. I can sit back, enjoy a few beers and if I get lucky, see a few bar fights.

It’s better than heading back to my place alone with all this adrenaline still buzzing through my body. I’m sure in a few hours my brothers will be at our regular bar, Denim and Diamonds, but sometimes I feel out of place when trying to get laid there.

They call me Casper, the not-so-friendly ghost. They were calling me that before I was patched in. They like to say I pop up out of nowhere, and I guess the name just kind of stuck. Pres and most of the brothers had no problems when I got patched in years back. They knew me from our days in the service, and knew I was loyal to a fault. I saved their lives countless times. Times when they didn’t even know I was there, until the night air came alive with the sound of my bullets. But some of the other brothers did have a problem with me becoming a full member. The only female to be patched into the Ghost Riders. It’s nothing new to me. It’s something I’ve faced my whole life, so I let it roll off me now. I don’t give a shit if you don’t want me here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere unless the Pres gives me the order, or unless I end up six feet under. The club’s the only real family I’ve ever had.

I’ve spent years proving myself, first to my father, then to my country as I busted my ass training to be a sniper, and then when I first joined the Ghost Riders. Now I just don’t give two fucks. I know I’m the best at what I do. As does the Pres. That’s why when shit went down shortly after I got out of the service, and I still had fresh blood on my hands, he told me to get my ass to Kansas City, that he had a place for me. I was there the next day.

The waitress thumps my beer bottle down on the wood table next to my boot without asking for my order. She turns around and heads back to the bar without so much as a word. Reaching for my beer, I see a man walk through the door. His eyes instantly lock on mine, as if he knew I was going to be sitting right here.

The guy looks like a total badass but I’ve never seen him in here before, that’s for damn sure. Motherfucker is gorgeous. He’s not something any woman would soon forget. His jet-black hair is cropped short with just enough to grab onto if you needed. His features are clean cut but rough around the edges. He looks like he’s trying to be a suit-and-tie kind of guy, but deep down he’s really a t-shirt and muddy jeans kind of man. His nose has a slight bump, like it has been broken a time or two, though it adds to his sex appeal instead of detracting from it. His mouth is grim yet sensual, with straight white teeth and canines a bit longer than his front teeth. It makes me think he likes to bite, and my nipples tingle at the thought. He’s handsome, if you go for that sort of thing.

But what stands out about him most are his eyes. They’re the same gray metal on the scope of my Mini Hecate .338 Lapua Mag—one of my favorite rifles. I don’t play with it often, because the concussion of the weapon is so strong, my ears hurt after only a few shots. I wonder if this man could make my ears hurt after a night of him screaming my name.

His eyes slide over me, like he can see through my tight jeans and black tank. His appraisal is cocky and bold, like I’m his to stare at. The idea makes my pussy clench. It has definitely been too long if I’m getting off from just a look.

Pulling my eyes from his, I take a long drink of my beer. I’m not surprised moments later when he’s standing next to my table.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks

I tip my bottle back and take another long pull from it, showing him mine is still half full. A drink isn’t what I want from him, and hanging out at this table isn’t either.

“A shot then,” he offers. “The night is still young.”

“You don’t have to get me all liquored up to get me into bed,” I say, dropping my boot from the table and using it to push out the chair next to me, an invitation for him to sit down.

“And what is it you think I’m looking for?” he asks, sitting down into the chair. His gaze lands on my chest and slowly travels to my face. He’s a cocky bastard and not trying to hide it. Hopefully, for me, he has a reason to be.

Leaning forward, I give him a better view of my cleavage. While they may be a bitch to shoot with, they also have their advantages.

“You mean to tell me you didn’t come to this hole in the wall looking for some easy pussy?”

“Is that why you’re here?” His voice holds an edge to it, like the idea bothers him or some shit. Aren’t we here for the same thing? Or maybe he just doesn’t like forward women. If that’s the case, he needs to get out of that chair and make room for someone else.

I grab my beer and polish it off, and start to get up. “Forget it,” I say, intending to make my way to the bar. If he’s looking for a piece of ass that will play innocent, he’s going to have to get it from somewhere else. Maybe Dean, one of the regular bartenders, will be in tonight. He’s halfway decent in bed, doesn’t ask questions, and leaves the hotel room as soon as we’re done.

New Guy grabs my wrist, halting my departure. I try to snatch my arm from his grasp, but he holds me steady. He relaxes his grip when I stop trying to pull away, his thumb rubbing circles on my wrist in slow, sensual motions. I could free my wrist now, but I know it would be useless. Strength was never my strong suit. I’m quick, quiet, and always two steps ahead of my opponent. It’s the only way to be when you don’t have brute force on your side.

“I’m not playing games with you,” I say, agitated that I like his lazy ministrations. I can imagine him doing this to my clit. He can probably feel my heartbeat speeding up as I think about it.

“No games,” he says, rising to his feet, pulling me towards the back of the bar. His strong grip leads me to the rear hallway. He checks every door handle we pass, trying to find an unlocked one. When the last door pops open, he hauls me inside. He presses my spine against the closed door, his firm, masculine body pressing into me. I start to protest, but am cut off when his mouth covers mine.