Merciless Ride Read Online Free Page A

crawl into my own bed for the night, as well.  
    Alas, that is not my current situation. Axel is tucked in for the night at my mom’s house. My aunt is staying over so they want him to spend the night. At least I don’t have to worry about picking him up after my shift.  
    Everything has changed and become more complicated. This was all much easier when he was a baby. He is getting bigger now. When he’s asleep, he’s dead weight to move around and get home.  
    Arriving at Ruthless tonight, I smile at the bikes already lined up outside. The Hellions prospect, the one who came to pick Shooter up from my place three weeks ago when he left me his car, is outside watching over all the chrome and leather. I kind of feel bad for the guy. Well, any of the prospects, really. They are made fun of most of the time, and the guys run them ragged. It is supposed to be some macho display of dedication and loyalty. I don’t get it, but I am not part of the club, so I guess I wouldn’t. It’s not my place to ask questions or try to understand.  
    Hmmm… I wonder if he knows when my car will be finished. At this rate, I need to make Shooter’s car payment for the month or some shit. It’s definitely not something I can afford right now, but I need to pay him, especially if this is going to drag on further. I don’t want to owe anyone.  
    Thanks to Corinne, I have picked up a few day shifts as a waitress at Brinkley’s, a local diner. It is nothing to brag about, but it is helping get the bills paid. They have a consistent lunch rush; as a result, I am making a more steady income on tips than I do behind the bar.  
    The guys are good about slipping me extra, especially Tripp. Rex has tried, but it makes me feel cheap so I always give it back to him. However, I find money pretty regularly in my purse that I am sure comes from him. Since I can’t prove it, though, I try to turn a blind eye to it.  
    I see another biker standing near the bikes, only he is a fully patched member of the Desert Ghosts MC, his cut clearly displaying their insignia. Guess they are sticking around. They have been riding through more and more frequently. Although, in the last two weeks, they have been at Ruthless nightly. Whatever they are here for, they are obviously affiliated and on friendly terms with the Hellions. There is no way they would feel comfortable hanging around this often for this long if it wasn’t friendly between the clubs. Hellions run the Carolina’s everyone knows it and no one challenges it.  
    Ruthless doesn’t fly official colors. The owner, a good ol’ country boy named Bob, says he can’t fly colors in his bar while still paying tithes at church on Sunday; he wouldn’t feel right about it. Whatever you say, mister. Pastor Joe knows the money placed in that offering plate comes from booze, and that booze was paid for with Hellion’s money. He sure doesn’t turn it away, now, does he?  
    Either way, the bar keeps steady business, which keeps me making steady tips. With the Desert Ghosts in town, I have been making a little more each night, saving up to get Axel a trampoline for Christmas, I hope.  
    Working here, even though I’m surrounded by badass bikers, I feel safe. I know the Hellions won’t let anything happen at Ruthless. Sure, we have the occasional bar fight when the brothers get a little drunk. The barflies get in hair pulling cat fights almost nightly, but I feel safe at my job, something I can’t say about working at another bar.  
    The night is busy, and as soon as I get behind the bar, it’s chaos—drink orders flying, alcohol spilling, ice dropping, and people shuffling about. The longer it goes on, the more I feel my feet dragging. The extra shifts at Brinkley’s are taking their toll. Not knowing what my car repair is going to cost, though, I need every penny I can get.  
    Corinne rings the cow bell we have over the bar to let the guys know to belly up to the bar and get their final beer