RIDING HOT
The shed was dark, and the floor was made of rough c ement. In one corner was a man, blindfolded and bound with rope, huddled up into a ball as Lila walked in. There was no light in the shed, so she kept the door propped open with a rock, letting in a sliver of light to see what she was doing.
In fact, she didn't really know what she was doing. Of all the things her father had ordered her to do for the Red Angels MC, he'd never forced her to kill someone before. Apparently, this loser tied up in the corner like a pig ready for slaughter had pissed off the president of the Red Angels enough to die. Worse, he'd ordered his daughter to kill the guy herself.
But for the first time ever, Lila had been given an order that really made her stomach turn. She'd done everything for the legendary President Black; she'd sacrificed most of her life to do daddy's bidding, and all to further the interests of the club. She'd chafed under her father's controlling grip on her life, and had always ended up yielding to his wishes—but murder was a step too far for her.
What was this guy's crime, anyway? He'd ripped off the club for a crate of gun parts. Why not just kick the crap out of him and send him on his way? The cynical answer sprouted in Lila's head: control. President Connor Black knew his daughter had been getting difficult about her lack of freedom under the club's influence, so he wanted her to get her hands dirty—dirty enough to stay close to him and the club forever. He wanted her to kill this man so she'd never consider running away. Murder: one last gruesome act to bind Lila to the Red Angels and keep her from having a normal life, one last chain to forge around her neck so she could never escape. And it was the one thing she simply couldn't bring herself to do. Then and there, Lila made her decision: she turned around and left.
As Lila stormed out of the shed, Spike, her father's right hand man who was waiting for her outside, stopped her.
"I didn't hear a gunshot, sweetie pie," he said as he grabbed her arm.
Without warning, Lila wheeled round and clocked Spike over the head with the butt of the gun. As her handler lay unconscious on the ground, Lila decided to take his phone and the bag of cash they'd confiscated from the prisoner she'd just spared. She was going on the run, and she needed both money and time.
***
Lucas Grant sat alone at the bar, quietly drinking a beer. The Iron Sons clubhouse was a dismal place these days, with most of its members busy taking care of little "chores" in and out of town to keep the club afloat.
Another biker pulled up a stool next to Lucas and sat down, the word "president" emblazoned in capital letters on the back of his jacket.
"This place looks more like a dump every day," the Iron Sons president remarked.
"We'll bounce back," Lucas replied as he finished the last of his beer. "We always do."
"And, thanks to a little tipoff, we may have a way to do just that."
"Who do you need me to take care of?" Lucas asked without hesitation.
"Nobody," the president replied. "The club needs this package in pristine condition. You remember the Red Angels MC, right?"
"Those amateur pricks that muscled us out of last month's deal?" said Lucas disdainfully, "How could I forget?"
"Apparently, President Black's daughter just walked out on the Red Angels MC and hasn't been seen since this afternoon."
"Black's little girl just upped and ran?" Lucas asked in disbelief.
"That’s what we know so far," the president said. He pulled out a photograph and put it on the bar counter. "But she ain't little anymore."
The clandestine picture showed a twenty–something-year-old woman in full biker-chick gear speeding down a highway with shoulder length, red hair billowing in the wind.
"The 'red angel'?" said Lucas with a laugh after looking at the photo. "Cheesy as fuck."
"That little bitch's daddy
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