Take Aim and Reload (Forgotten Rebels MC Book 3) Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Beth D. Carter

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-262-2

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  Big thanks to Shannon Vasquez, Andy Love and Kelli Justice for some great quotes and to CR Moss for being an awesome friend.

  To Mike, the love of my life.

  TAKE AIM AND RELOAD

  Forgotten Rebels MC, 3

  Beth D. Carter

  Copyright © 2017

  Prologue

  Cherry banged on the door to her sister’s mechanic shop, fear forcing her to glance over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Only the chirping of crickets could be heard, but that didn’t alleviate her terror. Again, she pounded and this time she heard the grumble of her sister tromping through the closed shop. Relief poured through her. Church would help her. She would know what to do. A second later, the light flicked on as the door abruptly opened. Church stared at her through eyes identical to her own, in a face that was a mirror copy.

  “What the fuck, Cherry?” Church demanded, her small frame seemingly able to fill the doorway. She still wore her work coverall with the leg hems pushed into stained work boots.

  “Let me in, Church,” she cried, panting a little. She had ditched her car a ways back and ran to her sister’s shop in hopes of losing her assailant. “I’m in trouble.”

  “Trouble? You?”

  Once more she peered back into the night. “I’ve done something.”

  Shock replaced her sister’s anger and Church stepped aside. As Cherry hurried inside, Church closed the door behind her and slapped the light switch. Church placed her hands on her hips and stared at her in the moonlight, waiting for an explanation.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cherry dug through her pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “I-I did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “I got proof. On Cabot Pharmaceuticals.”

  For a moment Church stared at her and Cherry saw the concern on her face melting away to dawning realization. “You … what?”

  “Remember when I told you that I thought the CEO was being shady?”

  Church nodded warily.

  “I-I broke in tonight.”

  “You did what?”

  “I had to, Church. I had to ease my concerns. I broke into Warren’s office and got into his computer.”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Church held up her hands. “You broke into Warren’s office? You mean your boss, Warren Cabot, the owner of Cabot Pharmaceuticals?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God. Then what, you hacked your way into his computer?”

  “Actually, I knew the password. I am his executive assistant. Or was. I don’t think I have a job now.”

  “Okay, but you? You did something illegal?”

  Cherry could understand her sister’s disbelief. Their entire lives had been shadowed by the fact that they’d been grossly misnamed, with Cherry being the good girl and Church rebelling against every rule.

  “I-I had to do something,” she said. Silently, she cursed her stutter that always manifested whenever she was stressed. “We’re the biggest pseudoephedrine pharmaceutical company in the Midwest and I just knew he was brokering some type of underhanded bad deals.”

  “I’m not quite sure how I feel about this,” Church said, smirking a bit. “This role reversal is kinda freaking me out.”

  “Stop it,” Cherry said sharply. “I didn’t get away s-scot free.”

  Church’s teasing nature dropped away and she glanced behind Cherry to the door. “Someone caught you?”

  “The head of security, Lee Masterson. He saw me. And since I used my badge to get into the building, there’s now a record of me going there tonight.”

  A myriad of emotions crossed over her sister’s face as the repercussions filtered through her head. “If he knows about you, then he knows about me.”

  Cherry nodded.

  “Well, fuck!” Church threw her hands up in the air and turned away. “God damn it, Cherry, why couldn’t you just keep your fucking nose out of their business?”

  “I couldn’t do that and you know why.” Cherry twisted her fingers together and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “From what I was able to understand, he’s selling it to gangs through a dummy corporation who in turn make meth. They’re putting the drugs directly in the hands of kids, Church. Kids just like Ricky.”

  Church rubbed a hand over her face. “Yeah. All right. You don’t need to talk about him.”

  Cherry laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “Yes, I do. We can’t forget about him.”

  Suddenly, a loud explosion erupted through the night. Glass shattered. Something smashed into the wall next to her head. Confused, Cherry felt her sister grab her arm and yank her down.

  “Holy shit!”

  Cherry blinked. “Was that a gun shot?”

  “It sure the hell wasn’t a fucking ‘Hello, how ya doing!’”

  “Masterson followed me.”

  “You think?” Church looked around the fish bowl of windows that encompassed the garage. “Shit, we’re sitting ducks! We have to get out of here.”

  “We can’t go to my apartment. He knows my address.”

  “Obviously,” Church snapped. “Now shush.”

  They waited, long tense moments, straining to hear any sound. The crickets had shut up, leaving nothing but an eerie silence behind. Anxiety gripped Cherry tightly, and she fought not to hyperventilate.

  “If we head out the back and make it over to Woody’s Tavern, I can hot wire his truck,” Church whispered.

  “You want to steal a truck?” Cherry whispered back, slightly horrified.

  “Seriously?” Church demanded. “Someone took a shot at us and you want to be morally outraged because I want to borrow a truck to save your life?”

  “Well, forgive me for wanting to save your mortal soul from damnation,” Cherry muttered.

  Church rolled her eyes. “Shut up and follow me. Keep your head down and be as quiet as possible.”

  Cherry grabbed her arm. “Where are we going?”

  “That asshole shooting at us might know you and me, but I’m betting they have no idea of Paw Paw’s cabin in the Ozarks,” Church whispered. “I never took the steps to change the title over and it’s still in Ricky’s name. We’ll head there, lay low. Figure out what to do with that flash drive.”

  “But what about your shop?”

  Church’s face went blank. “Should’ve thought that before you decided to play Nancy Drew.”

  “I’m sorry, Church.”

  Her sister pulled her arm away and Cherry’s hand fell. “You’re too soft, Cherry. I just wish to God I didn’t look like you.”

  Pain sliced through Cherry. Once again, Church had managed to make her feel regret and shame, both rolled together with a big dose of sadness. They might have been identical twins, but they couldn’t be more different, and Cherry felt like she had spent her whole adult life trying to figure out why they weren’t the best of friends. Weren’t sisters, especially twins,
supposed to be closer than anyone? Somewhere along the way, they had taken vastly different paths, and Cherry wished she knew how to breech the distance.

  Church led them out of the back door of the mechanic shop, through the darkness, and into the older-than-dirt pick-up truck she hotwired in about five seconds. As they fled into the night, Cherry gripped the flash drive, hoping beyond hope that it could help. Hoping it could help one stupid kid stay off meth. Hoping it could repair her and Church.

  Hoping it could help Ricky rest in peace.

  Chapter One

  Cherry bent to pick up a wildflower, noting the petals had already began to brown at the edges. Fall was fast approaching the Ozarks, even though summer still had a claim on the weather. The mornings were cool, and the afternoons were hot, which was why she liked to go for walks before lunchtime.

  The day marked a month since she and Church had been in hiding. Her fault, her sister liked to mumble under her breath every hour or so. Cherry couldn’t really be mad, not when her sister had given up her life to help her out, but the strain between them grew on a daily basis. Compounded by the fact that they still hadn’t figured what to do with the flash drive. The one time they had ventured into Springfield, Church swore up and down they were being followed, so back to the cabin they’d fled. Although no one seemed to tail them, Church was adamant they couldn’t trust anyone, especially the cops. Cabot Pharmaceuticals was a huge corporation, with many outreaching tendrils, and until she could figure out how to go against Big Pharma, she had to stay hidden and trust Church.

  A squeal of tires followed by the crunch of metal jolted her out of her musings. Cherry dropped the flower and ran, heedless of her own safety. She knew the road wasn’t too far away and the crash had sounded close. Pushing through bramble and vegetation, she came across the dented remains of a motorcycle lying forlornly on its side, one tire slowly spinning. The snake painted on the gas tank seemed like it was hissing at her. On the miniscule shoulder of the asphalt road, a body lay sprawled. A man lay on his belly, arms and legs askew like a limp marionette whose strings had been abruptly cut. His helmet was shattered on one side, with cracks in the plastic criss-crossing the dome. However, it wasn’t any of those things that made her hesitate. The name on the back of the leather vest he wore designated him part of a motorcycle club and that name caused a sliver of fear to palpitate through her body.

  The Forgotten Rebels.

  It wasn’t the name of the motorcycle gang she’d read in Cabot’s emails. The White Death MC was a name she’d never forget. But she’d done enough research to know that Missouri was one of the biggest meth producers in the country and that many biker gangs peddled the addictive dope to kids. On that aspect, this hurt man was part of her nightmare, part of the reason why Ricky was dead and a heck of a lot of kids got hooked on meth and heroin. The vindictive part of her mind told her this man deserved this accident and more, but then she saw the rise and fall of his chest and pity moved through her. It simply wasn’t in her nature to let people remain injured. If someone had felt any compassion for Ricky, perhaps he’d still be alive.

  Cherry bent down to better assess him, afraid to move him or even to touch him. She’d read plenty of first-aid Cliff Notes to know movement could actually hurt him even more. Still, she had to get him and the bike off the road. Anyone could round the corner and strike them, and then she’d have an innocent bystander’s accident on her conscious as well. The pros for moving him far outweighed the cons.

  “Mister,” she said. “Wake up.”

  The man didn’t move.

  “Mister!” she yelled loudly. “Hey! You gotta wake up!”

  Still no movement.

  Cherry pursed her lips and looked around. He had to weigh two hundred pounds, or more, and he looked to be of pure muscle. He was a big guy and there was no way she’d ever get him to budge. He had to move by his own volition. Stretching out a hand, she silently cursed that it shook. Why couldn’t she be more like Church? Church wasn’t afraid of anything.

  She poked his shoulder. “Hey!”

  The man moaned.

  Pleased with that sign, Cherry shook him this time. “Mister, you have to get off the road and I’m not able to move your big body.”

  For a moment, she thought she’d lost him again, but then he groaned and rolled over onto his back. He reached up and struggled for a moment to get his helmet off, and when he did, it flopped away.

  “Oh, fuck,” the man muttered. His eyes fluttered but didn’t actually open.

  “You’ve been in an accident,” she said, trying hard to maintain a calm tone. “You need to get off the road.”

  “Ow,” he said as he moved each limb. As he bent his left knee, he grimaced. “Shit! Oh, fuck.”

  “Watch your language,” she reprimanded. “You and your motorcycle are in the road. They need to be moved, but I can’t do those things so you have to do them.”

  He blinked and then settled his gaze on her. His eyes were dark, almost black, framed by thick lashes. The full beard and mustache hid the lower half of his face, but his rough voice raised goose-bumps on her arms. He was big and dangerous, and he scared her.

  “Angel,” he said.

  “I’m not an angel,” she replied, shaking her head. “But you need to help me. You and your bike are on this road and anyone can come back and hit you or it. Do you understand?”

  He looked from her to his bike and then back again. A funny little shiver fluttered through her belly and for a moment she had to fight to remember what she’d said.

  “Jesus,” the man muttered. “Everything is swimming.”

  “Can you walk? Can you help me with your bike?”

  “My knee hurts,” he said.

  Cherry looked down. Torn material and blood soaked the area. “You banged it up pretty good.”

  The man grunted in agreement. He tried to sit up, only to fall back with another groan. Cherry grabbed his hand, intent on helping him, but the moment their fingers touched, electricity shot through her arm. She jerked back.

  “Angel?”

  He put a hand to his head and Cherry realized it was only a matter of time before he was out again. She figured he had to have a concussion but hadn’t a clue on how to help him. The only thing she knew for certain was that he had to get off the road.

  “Yes,” she replied. “But angels can’t move motorcycles. Come on, mister, help me.”

  Cherry braced herself before taking hold of his hand again. The tingles were there once more, but she ignored them. Instead, she tugged, and he reluctantly stumbled to his feet, swaying slightly. She put her arms around his waist, hugging him only to help steady him, but it brought her body into direct contact with his, chest to chest and hip to hip. She was acutely aware of how big he was compared to her much smaller frame. Since she had never in her life been so close to a man, his nearness was almost overwhelming.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

  “Heart.”

  That surprised her. “Really?”

  He closed his eyes and leaned against her, not answering. Cherry staggered a bit, but held firm, finding her footing.

  “Heart, we need to move your bike.”

  For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, and prayed he hadn’t passed out. Then he gave a soft little moan and stepped away from her.

  “Okay,” he said. He swung around to his bike. “Fuck. I just had it tricked out.”

  With some difficultly he managed to stand it upright, and together they pushed it to the shoulder. The kickstand wasn’t working because the impact had crushed in the side, so he laid it down as gently as he could. Then he collapsed next to it, sitting down and leaning his head against the torn up leather seat.

  “I don’t feel good, angel.”

  “I know,” Cherry said. She cupped his cheek. “You stay here and I’ll get some help. I think you have a concussion.”

  He reached up and grabbed her hand, keeping it in place.
His beard was soft to the touch. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, Heart,” she said. “I promise.”

  He let her go and seemed to wilt before her eyes, slumping into unconsciousness. She checked his pulse and felt the steady thread of the beat, but she didn’t like how pale he was. There was something about the man that tugged at her, confusing and terrifying yet exciting at the same time. His vest should’ve turned her stomach, but the pull he had on her senses had her staring at the man and not the patch he wore.

  Silently vowing to be back as soon as possible, Cherry stood and hurried back the way she’d come, practically running all the way back to the cabin where Church was tinkering on the numerous rusting vehicles resting in the barn.

  “Church!” she yelled. “Come quick!”

  Her sister jumped up, a hammer in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. She looked like a warrior preparing for battle.

  “What is it?” she demanded. “Company?”

  Cherry shook her head. “No. A man. He was in an accident and he needs help.”

  Church blinked at her and then relaxed. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  Cherry frowned. “Don’t swear at me.”

  “Don’t swear at you?” Church threw down the tools. “Fuck you, Cherry. You hear me? Fuck. You.”

  Tears pricked at Cherry’s eyes, but it wasn’t the time to break down. Heart needed her help. She lifted her chin. “Okay. Y-you can curse me if that makes you happy, but we really need to get to Heart and help him.”

  “Heart? Jesus,” Church muttered. “What are you expecting us to do? Take him to a doctor? Do you not remember what happened the last time we ventured into Springfield?”

  “I still don’t think we were being followed.”

  Church put a hand to her ear. “What did you say? I could’ve sworn you said we weren’t being followed, when I know for a fact that some asshole was tailing us.”