Running Wild (Hell Ryders MC Book 1)
Running Wild
by
J.L. Sheppard
Hell Ryders MC Book 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Running Wild
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Jeanette L. Sheppard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0698-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0699-5
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my feisty, crazy, beautiful little sister, Jackie. This one is just for you.
Author Acknowledgments
A big thank you to my family and friends for their continued support. To my editor, Sharon Pickrel, I’m forever thankful for all I’ve learned and your hard work. Last but not least, to my publisher, including everyone who works behind the scenes, thank you for giving me the opportunity to reach countless readers, and especially, for believing in my stories.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
J.L. Sheppard
AND HER BOOKS
BURDENED BY DESIRE
“…keeps the readers on the edge of their seat…This fast-paced plot keeps the adrenaline pumping with action, suspense, romance and emotional drama.”
~The Romance Reviews
~*~
HEAVENLY DESIRE
“…brings the story to life with well written scenes that capture the imagination while the suspense and drama draw the reader into the story and the characters are strong, bewitching and ensnare the readers from the very beginning.”
~Night Owl Reviews
~*~
AWAITING FATE
“…is a delightful paranormal romance that is hard to put down…The author created characters you care about and are invested in the outcome of their story.”
~Sizzling Hot Books
Chapter One
Sitting in coach on an American Airlines flight with her headphones blasting music into her ears to drown her rambling brain, the urge to cry her heart out overwhelmed Allie again. The urge gnawed her raw every five minutes when she remembered again how her life had turned to shit. She swallowed and held those damned, pesky tears at bay. She couldn’t and wouldn’t have a meltdown in public.
Allie wanted to cry since the moment she made the decision to leave the only life she’d ever known behind, but she couldn’t. Having made the decision days ago, to accomplish it, she had to pretend all was well, so no one discovered her plan and stopped her.
Seven days ago, her life became, not just crappy or shitty, but fucked. She didn’t like to curse and only did when warranted. Now, it was.
With her heart lodged in her throat and trembling hands, she packed a duffel bag and took off, knowing she’d never return. She wanted no part of it, not anymore, not ever. Still, it was the life she’d led for three years, the life she’d been primed to lead for twenty-two years before that, and it hurt to leave it behind. Hell, it was devastating to leave it behind, but she didn’t have much of a choice.
The seatbelt sign lit. Relieved, she heaved a sigh. Finally, they were landing. She couldn’t wait to get off the plane. She hated flying though she’d done it often even as a kid. Turning off her music player, she pulled up her seat and took another deep breath, forcing her tears to dry. One managed to slip out. Hoping it wasn’t the opening of the flood gates, she wiped it away quickly, then focused her attention on holding them in.
Before she realized it, people around her unbuckled their seatbelts, stood, and retrieved their bags from the overhead compartments. She took her purse and duffel bag and deplaned. Walking through Santa Rosa’s airport, the big step she’d made slammed into her, leaving her breathless. She should’ve thought this through. She should’ve left her father a note, so he wouldn’t call the police and report her missing. She should’ve at least called Tyler before unceremoniously dropping in and invading his life. What if he didn’t have room for her? What if she showed up at his house and he wasn’t there? Too late to turn back now.
Allie walked outside, stepped into one of the many cabs lined outside the airport, and gave the driver Tyler’s address. Twenty minutes later, she arrived at a one-story house in the small town of Wadden, outside Santa Rosa. It looked empty, and worse, from the outside, it looked like it was in the process of being remodeled. A large dumpster with pieces of cabinets and furniture stood beside the house.
She should call him, but her cell phone was one of the many things she left behind, and buying another one right then was not her top priority. She gave the cab driver another address, his work address, and prayed. She highly doubted he’d be at work at three p.m. on a Saturday, considering he mentioned a time or two he didn’t work weekends, but she had no choice. She hoped she’d at least get some information from someone who knew where she might find him. If not, she’d stay at a hotel and regroup.
Ten agonizing minutes later, she stood outside a mechanic shop with a sign that read, Ryders’ Custom Rides. She paid the cab driver, slung her designer purse over one shoulder, duffel over the other, and walked toward the door with a small sign that read, Office. Pulling the door open, she automatically rested her sunglasses on the top of her head and froze.
Never had she seen that many tattooed, big, scary-looking men in one room together. Not that there were many, just three, but three more than she’d ever seen. That they were bikers didn’t come as a surprise. Tyler told her about the motorcycle club he joined. Still, apart from Tyler, who she didn’t consider a “biker,” she’d never met bikers before, only heard stories, and they unnerved her.
The office was large for a garage and messy. A dark counter lined the entirety of it. Behind it, a desk and two computers. In front of that, three foldout chairs, and beside it, another door. The large office didn’t feel big. In fact, it felt like a cramped bathroom. The three men in it took up all the space, and their intense gazes were deadlocked on her.
She took a deep breath and managed to find her voice. “Hi, I’m looking for Tyler.”
It got her several curious looks and lifted brows. After several long moments, one of the men, in his early thirties, wearing a black tank, the length of both arms tatted so they looked like sleeves, spoke. His dark, hooded gaze ran up and down her body. “No one here by that name, honey.” His voice was deep, rich, and thick.
Unnerving, no one had ever called her honey.
She ignored his gaze as it continued to trail down her body. “I figured since it’s Saturday. Will he be back Monday?”
“No one here by that name,” he repeated. “No one ever here by that name.”
What he meant hit her. Tyler didn’t work there. Tyler never worked there. The sudden urge to cry came. She blinked the tears away, telling herself she would not cry in front of tatted, ripped, scary men.
“Fuck.” She had no idea where Tyler lived or worked. And now, she had no freaking clue how to find him or what the hell to do.
She had no clue why he’d lie. They were close, spoke at least once a week, sharing their lives, laughing, and joking. Her father disapproved of her speaking to Tyler. She’d hid it from him for a long time. When he’d found out, he nagged her until finally she told him she’d cut all ties.
The three scary men were now looking at her like she was from another planet. She flushed. “Sorry.”
“Heard the word before, doll.” This came from the man standing to her left. Dark hair framed his face, his eyes were a light hazel, and he wore a white, V-neck shirt that exposed some of his tattoos. Like the others, he wore a black, leather vest. On the right part of the vest, a patch read, Hell Ryders MC. Under it, another patch read, Road Captain. She had no idea what it meant and disregarded it.
“I suppose you have.” She looked away from him, took a deep breath, and met his stare again. “May I use your phone?”
“Need a ride?”
Her attention darted toward the last man. He stood to her right, wearing no shirt, only a black, leather vest. Hard to ignore, primarily since he was sculpted with six-pack abs, the whole nine yards. Blond with bluish-green eyes, out of the three, he scared her the most because those eyes looked dead.
“Um…well, yeah, but I need a phone, too.”
“You can ride on the back of my bike,” he said without meeting her gaze. His attention glued to her chest.
Was he insane? She would
never
get on the back of a bike with a tatted, half-naked man with dead eyes.
She brought her large, designer bag to her chest.
His gaze snapped to her face. “’Cause you got a fancy bag, I can’t check out the digs?”
What? God, really? She didn’t even know how to respond.
The other two men chuckled, obviously finding this amusing. “Tyler wouldn’t mind sharing,” Tatted Sleeves said through a chuckle.
Gross. Her and Tyler? No way, but she wouldn’t tell them they weren’t a couple. If they had so little respect for her thinking she was taken, she couldn’t imagine how much worse it’d be if they knew the truth.
Her cheeks flamed. She’d run from one nightmare to walk into another. “How do you know if Tyler will mind?” she snapped, her voice filled with fury. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. They were not the type of men you riled. She just couldn’t help it. She was exhausted, scared, and needed a good cry.
Two of the three laughed. Dead Eyes didn’t find it amusing. “Prefer my taps without attitude.”
What? Did he just…Yep, definitely another nightmare. Screw borrowing a phone. She rather walk.
She turned on her heel and reached for the door just as a roar of bikes sounded outside. A hand grasped her elbow and pulled her back around to stare into those dead eyes. Fear clogging her throat, she forgot to breathe.
He leaned in until a hair’s breath away.
She tried to yank her arm away. He tightened his hold until it hurt. “Let me go.”
The roar of the bikes grew louder and louder and then died.
“You wanna ride, you come to me.”
Not likely. “Don’t hold your breath.” She snatched her arm away.
He released her, but stayed close.
The door to the side of the office slammed open, and then she heard the voice she’d been dying to hear for seven long, agonizing days.
“Allie?”
She angled her head toward the sound of his voice, and her gaze met his. His dark hair still cut short, but not as short as when he’d been in the military. Tall, six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, and built.
Her heart swelled in relief.
His eyes softened in that tender way they always did when they met hers. Then they sliced to Dead Eyes, every muscle in his body clenching. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl. “Step the fuck away from her.”
Chapter Two
“Allie?” Army said when he walked through the side door into the garage’s office.
Jace “Trigger” Warren’s steps quickened, pushing through his brothers until he stood beside his army buddy and club brother.
That’s when he saw her.
Fucking beautiful, so beyond anything he’d ever laid eyes on, the impact of seeing her hit him square in the chest, a deep burn he swore touched his soul. She was that beautiful with long, dark hair and clear, hazel eyes. She was classy, too. He could tell by her face, her perfectly manicured nails, and the expensive purse she had angled across her chest.