Running Hot

You

Running Hot

by

J.L. Sheppard

Hell Ryders MC Book 2

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 Hot

COPYRIGHT © 2017 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: info@thewildrosepress.com

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, 2017

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1494-5

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1495-2

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To my grandparents:

Esther Alvarez & Cosme Lopez

Hilda Hernandez & Daniel Hernandez

Author Acknowledgments

As always, a big thank you to my publisher, The Wild Rose Press, Inc., my editor, Sharon Pickrel, and everyone who works behind the scenes at TWRP.

To my family and friends, thank you for your continued support and encouragement.

Readers, it’s for you, I write. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

J.L. Sheppard

RUNNING WILD

Oh. My… Let me compose myself… You have to freakin’ read this!

~Coffee House Press

~*~

Exciting and hard to put down, and I loved every single second of it!

~Alpha Book Club

~*~

…A big hit and a must read!

~TBR Pile

AWAITING FATE

This romance captures the heart from the very beginning… The reader can’t help but get completely caught up in all the passion of the story.

~Night Owl Reviews

HEAVENLY DESIRE

Equal parts romantic, heartbreaking and just good old fashioned entertaining, Heavenly Desire has that special something that makes each turn of the page a gateway to emotional turmoil, danger, and forbidden passions…

~Tome Tender Blog

Prologue

Thomas Cuss Layne lay under a ’57 Chevy, the car he’d been restoring for the last two weeks. Feeling a kick on his leg, he slid out from under the car, sat up, and met his VP’s gaze.

Jaw clenched, Dash shook his head. Can’t believe this shit. We’re outta whiskey.

A Friday, the night the brothers met at the compound to relax and lay low. They did this by drinking, banging taps, shooting pool, and listening to music the only real way to listen to music—loud. So he understood why Dash sounded peeved they were out of whiskey.

Brother, we got prospects to get that shit.

Dash shrugged. They’re out pickin’ up some shit.

He dragged a greasy hand through his hair and chuckled. That shit by any chance whiskey?

No, it ain’t. It’s some shit for the garage.

He spared a glance at the clock at the far end of the shop. They had plenty of time before the brothers showed up. I’ll make the run. Be back in no time.

Dash lifted his chin. Thanks, Cuss.

No prob.

He stood, grabbed a towel, and wiped the grease off his hands. He then threw on his cut over the long-sleeved, thick, black thermal he wore, climbed on his bike, and rode off. The cool air whipped against his face, chest, arms, no better feeling. Arriving at a shopping center off Main Street, he parked, hopped off his bike, his gaze shooting toward the liquor store. Something caught his eye. He shifted his stare and froze. His stomach hollowed out and knotted. Only one person could make him feel that.

And it was her.

Tiffany.

She strode out of the grocery store, the exit just a few feet from the liquor store, dressed for a night out wearing a blue fitted dress, black fur coat tied at her middle highlighting her small waist, and a pair of six-inch heels. Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, her lips pink and glossed, cheeks rosy from the cold.

Still a beautiful girl, still out of his league, but damn, she was beautiful, grew more so every year. Having known her since she was fourteen, he knew this as fact.

She shifted, head angled to the side then back, looking behind her. A man walked out holding a dozen roses and a bottle of wine. Tall and blond, a pretty college boy worth her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaned into her, and whispered something in her ear, something that must’ve been hilarious because she laughed in that way that lit up her whole face.

It hurt.

It stung.

It killed.

She was happy. They looked happy. They’d date, and then, the pretty college boy would propose. She’d say yes. They’d get married, have a big, lavish, expensive wedding. She’d have his kids and live happily ever after. Without him. She’d never be his, not for an hour, minute, second.

Fuck.

Fuck him.

Fuck life.

Fuck it all.

The knot in his stomach turned into a burning ache consuming his whole chest. Still, he couldn’t force himself to look away, like he wanted to remember the sight, like he wanted to suffer and relish that burning ache. If it was all he’d ever get of her, he did.

Gaze glued to them, he watched the pretty college boy open the car door for her, watched the pretty college boy cup her cheek and kiss her lips. He watched the pretty college boy pull away and the beautiful smile that spread across her face.

Cuss wanted to go to her, see the look on her face when she saw him. He craved to know what she’d do, how she’d react, but like he couldn’t tear his gaze away, he couldn’t summon the strength to move, knowing deep in his gut, he’d forced this. Exactly what he knew would happen.

He missed his chance.

She’d never be his.

He wasn’t good enough, so he never tried. A coward, he hadn’t wanted to fall for her knowing one day she would leave for bigger and better. But standing there, staring at them, feeling nothing but that ache, he realized he should’ve risked it, even if they’d only lasted a night. One night with her would’ve meant much more than all the taps he could fuck in a lifetime combined.

He clenched his jaw so hard it throbbed.

Then and there, he decided, she was his. She didn’t know it, would never know it, but she was his girl. Some of his brothers knew it. He’d saved her twice, claimed her in front of his brothers, at a party, and once, she rode on the back of his bike. No doubt, she was his girl and would always be, didn’t matter who she was with.

Only when they drove away did Cuss drop his head. He stared at the ground, still enduring that burning ache.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there motionless and lost in thought. He didn’t feel the cold, had grown numb to it, but it was long enough Dash called and asked him if he’d been swallowed by the ground.

He bought whiskey then drank too much of it.

Still, the image of her kissing the pretty college boy didn’t fade. He consoled himself by remembering she would always be his girl.

Chapter One

Cuss.

Shit.

Something was up.

Past four in the morning, Thomas Cuss Layne just got back from the bar with a few of his brothers, Army, Hash, and Strike. It wasn’t cold, but there was a bite to the air, standing out too long, it’d get to you. And yet, there was Prez, standing outside the garage, arms crossed, stoned faced. His gaze hard and glued to him.

He clenched his jaw. Yeah.

Someone’s here to see you. Says it’s business. Says he knows you.

His brows drew together. His brothers, the brothers of Hell Ryders MC, knew his family. They knew his mother worked two jobs to put his lazy-ass, entitled brothers through college. They knew his biological brothers too since he had to bail both of them out of sticky situations. They knew Rich, his best bud from high school. Not family but close. No one he knew outside the club would ever come to the club looking for him when they could just call.

Who is it?

Robert Hamilton.

Tiffany’s dad. His girl’s dad.

His chest compressed, heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, the air he breathed singeing his lungs. It was bad. It had to be. Something had happened to her, his girl. No other reason her father would come looking for him.

Where is he?

Prez cocked his head to the side. Take it you know him?

Yeah, I know him, and I’ll explain later ’cause him here means my girl’s in trouble.

Prez quirked a brow, uncrossing his arms and tucking his hands in his pockets. Didn’t know you had one, Cuss.

Don’t got time now, Prez. Where is he?

Prez nodded toward his right. Office.

He jogged in that direction, opened the door, and spotted an older man leaning against the counter. Tall, almost his height, with a light shade of brown hair that had further grayed on the sides since he’d last seen him, though he still had the same cut and style, trimmed on the sides and slicked back on top.

Cuss’s hands turned to fists.

Robert Hamilton.

He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe he was staring at Robert Hamilton, the man who’d fucked him so many years ago. If the bastard had accepted him, maybe, just maybe, his girl would really be his.

Hamilton straightened, dropping his arms to his sides. See you remember me.

How could he forget the man who felt the need to put him in his place? You never forgot that type of shit. Hamilton’s gaze slid to his hands then back to his face. He smirked.

Hamilton proved he was smart all those years ago, but the man proved it again, noticing what Cuss tried to hide, but for the life of him, couldn’t hide—how much he cared.

Don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here. Either you’re stupid or just plain dumb. Tell me what you want then leave.

Suppose I deserve that. Hamilton paused for too long.

He took a step in his direction. Did you hear what I said? Tell me what you came to tell me and leave.

You’re not disguising anything, boy, which is why I came to you. I know you’ll take care of this and swiftly. I know what you and your club do—

He lifted his chin. Then why wait for me? Could’ve told Prez.

Hamilton closed the distance, leaving just a few feet between them. "I want you to take care of this because I know after all these years you still care about my daughter, and I know you’ll handle it."

He cared, he more than cared. One look at her the first day his junior year of high school, and she’d been burned in his brain. Beautiful in a way every guy found attractive no matter what he preferred. He was one of the many victims, but she’d been out of his league and still was. He knew it from that first look. Nails manicured, clothes new and designer, and the purse slung over her shoulder worth at least a grand. He knew, and still, he never found the energy to stop thinking about her, dreaming about her.

He closed his eyes. Her face came to mind. Lips thick, eyes a piercing green, long chocolate-colored hair framed her heart-shaped face. He’d never touched it, felt it against his fingers, but he knew her hair was thick and lush.

A deep burning sensation knotted his stomach, leaving him breathless. Every time he looked at her, it happened. Every time he thought of her, it happened.

Jaw clenched, he parted his eyes. You don’t know shit about me. You don’t know shit besides what your money can buy you. What makes you think after all this time I’ll do you a favor no matter what you’re paying? You wanted to ensure the job done, should’ve spoke to Prez ’cause I ain’t doing shit for you.

Hamilton smirked. You want to play games? Play them.

Taking a step in his direction, he forced Hamilton to look up at him, not much but enough. You got balls of steel coming here.

"What I have is my daughter’s best interest at heart. What I know is no matter how much money I pay, you’re the best man to do the job."

Cuss had been up since five, worked a full day on a car and two bikes, and he started drinking at eight. He was exhausted, but adrenaline started pumping the minute he heard Robert Hamilton was waiting for him. So, though he tried to hide how badly he wanted to know what was up with his girl, though the last thing he wanted was to let on how much he cared, he’d grown tired of this exchange and needed to steer the conversation in that direction.

He gritted his teeth. Tell me what you came for then fuckin’ leave.

Tiffany dated a guy. She broke it off two months ago. He’s been…

He held his breath, wondering if it was the same guy he’d seen her with two years ago, wondering why it ended, wondering a slew of other shit he shouldn’t be concerned about but couldn’t help but wonder.

Hamilton cleared his throat. …Insisting.

Insisting? He bit his tongue, looked away from him toward his left. A dark counter lined the length of the room. Behind it, a desk and a couple of computers. He saw this, tried with everything he had to focus on those computers, that counter, so he wouldn’t ask. Hamilton was making it hard, he’d hesitated again, hesitated long enough he felt heat rise up his cheeks.

Calling, emailing, showing up at her apartment… Hamilton sighed then bowed his head.

Before he did, Cuss saw it, the pain and resolve in his gaze. Cuss understood.

Hamilton was desperate. No other way he would’ve gone to him, to his club whether or not it’s what the club did for a living. Hamilton had the money to pay them to do the job, and still, he didn’t trust anyone but him. So scared out of his mind for Tiffany, his daughter, he needed to add a personal element, someone who knew and cared about his only child enough to ensure it would be resolved. And so, Hamilton swallowed his pride and went to him.

What else?

Hamilton quirked a brow. What I said is enough. It’s more than enough considering she tells her mother and I bits and pieces.

He had a point. Cuss would do the job, but he wanted all the facts. Where’s the boyfriend?

Hamilton’s eyes widened.

Last I heard, she had a man. Her man should be dealing with this shit, not me.

Hamilton released a breath. She dated someone for some time, close to two years. They ended things. When she started dating again, she caught this guy’s eye.

He nodded. How much?

Whatever it takes. Name the price, I’ll pay it.

Damn, the man loved his daughter. Further proved it now, making it impossible to hate him.

Five million.

No hesitation. Done.

His gut soured.

It was bad, worse than he thought.

He fisted his hands then without losing sight of Hamilton’s eyes, he jerked his head side to side. "Not taking any money from you ’cause I do this, she’s mine."

Hamilton stiffened, his face flamed. I’m not trading my daughter for your services—

I didn’t think I was worth her. His jaw twitched. "You made it clear you felt the same. Nothing’s changed ’cause I know I ain’t worth her, but you know what?"

He leaned into him. "I don’t give a fuck anymore. I do this, I’m taking the chance ’cause she’s been mine for years. She doesn’t know it, but I know it. She’s my girl. That means I do this, I’m gonna get a piece of her, whatever she gives me, I’m taking. You get me?"

Hamilton glared. She isn’t anyone’s—

"That’s where you’re wrong. All those years ago, you fucked up, ’cause she wanted me as more than just some hero. She wanted me, and I pushed her away ’cause I thought I didn’t deserve her ’cause I’m poor and she’s got money, ’cause you reinforced that shit. If we’d come to anything, she probably would’ve moved on by now, but she would’ve been safe with me, all this time. I wouldn’t’ve let anything touch her, and I would’ve had a glimpse of what I’d wanted for years." His voice thick, rumbling.

"I didn’t get the chance. I pushed her away ’cause that’s what I thought was better for her, and I wanted the best for her. It means she didn’t get the chance to throw me out on my ass, and you know what?

I’m gonna give her the chance now. I do this shit, I’m not backing off. I’m staying for-fucking-ever. As whatever she wants, I’m staying.

Hamilton’s jaw went hard. I’m paying for a service. It doesn’t include—

Pay for the service then, but I’m not taking any of your money. I’m gonna handle this shit right now. The money’ll go to the club, everyone except me. I don’t take money for bribes. All those years ago, you tried to pay me off. That’s what you’re trying to do now. The reason why you came directly to me, another one of your bullshit bargains, so if I try shit with her, you can tell her you paid me to handle her shit.

He shook his head. "Not gonna happen. Back then, I was young and in a shit position, but I paid you back for everything I owed you. Now, I’m not taking your money."

He took another step in his direction, getting in his face. I’ve made my intentions clear, so fuck you, and fuck off. You wanna talk money, talk to Prez. I gotta flight to catch.

****

Cuss punched the bastard in the face. His fist struck his nose, more blood spattered. He kicked him in the stomach.

The idiot groaned.

He’d been at this for a while. As soon as he talked to Hamilton, he told Prez to talk money with him then recruited two of his brothers, Mellow and Bud, to make the trip with him. They headed to the airport and hopped on a flight. By the time they arrived, he had a text message from Prez with details, the name and location of Tiffany’s admirer whom they’d aptly named Asshole.

Cuss, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, asked again, You gonna leave my girl alone?

Instead of answering, Asshole, lying sprawled on his apartment floor, groaned. The idiot was too stupid even after an hour long beating to realize Cuss could and would go on forever.

He kicked him again, this time hitting him in the balls. A pussy move, but he didn’t care at this point. He’d wasted too much time on this prick.

Asshole screamed. His hands cupped his balls as blood spurted out of his nose, staining more of his expensive white carpet.

Cuss had only seen the kitchen and living room since the apartment was open concept. But from the sheer size of the room, the top of the line appliances, and dark wood furniture, not to mention, the asshole lived on the top floor, the penthouse, in a high rise in Downtown LA, he knew the guy came from money. Cuss did not give one fuck. The prick fucked with his girl, and no one fucked with his girl.

He smirked. I asked you a question. You wanna use your dick in the future, I suggest you answer me ’cause I’m getting tired. I wanna see my girl. Means up next, I’m cutting off your dick.

Yeah…yeah…plllleaasssse, don’t…

Yeah, what? He punched him again, right on the nose. Cuss had probably broken it several times over and doubted even surgery would fix what he damaged.

Asshole cupped his face, a stupid and futile attempt to stop the blood pouring out. I’ll leave her aloneeee…

He quirked a brow. Who?

Tiffannnyyyy…

He kicked him again as hard as he could. Thought you knew better than to say her name. Thought we’d learned this already? Guess I’m gonna have to rough you up some more.

Noooo…. God. Pleasseeeee. He moaned.

Hovering over him, he grabbed him by the front of his bloodied shirt, dragging him until Asshole sat. He squatted in front of him, inches from his face. "Gonna tell you one last time. Tiff is my girl. Always will be my girl ’cause she’s always been my girl. You do not fuck with my girl. You do not say my girl’s name. You do not even think about my girl ’cause she’s mine. I hear any different, you will be ten feet under. I do not make empty threats. You fuck with my girl whether or not you think she’s my girl, and you will pay. By pay, I mean you’re swimming with fishes. He cocked his head. Get me?"

Asshole nodded.

He punched him one last time. The impact launched the prick onto his back. Then Cuss strode out of the fancy ass apartment, plucked his phone out of his pocket, and dialed Mellow.

My girl, where she at?

Apartment across from hers, looks like they’re havin’ drinks or some shit.

He smirked then hung up, thrilled with the thought that in a half hour at most, he’d be staring into his girl’s piercing green eyes.

Chapter Two

These finals are going to kill me.

Tiffany smiled, tucked her feet under her, and spared Donna a glance. The tall brunette with shoulder length hair, a straight A student, could be melodramatic.

Sure. Marianne rolled her eyes, pushed her long, flaming red hair behind her, and then took a sip of wine.

Donna, sitting on the blue couch beside Tiffany, leaned forward. I’m serious. I’m going to fail at least two.

The last time they heard this was during midterms. Donna passed with A’s. Tiffany exchanged a look with Marianne, sitting on an armchair across from her and Donna, then they burst into a fit of giggles. The alcohol partly to blame. Each of them was on their second glass.

Donna’s brows furrowed, her shoulders slumped. I’m serious.

They laughed harder. Marianne recovered first. You’re already valedictorian of our class, what more do you want?

Donna rolled her eyes.

Tiffany looked between the two, and not for the first time realized how much she’d miss them after graduation.

She met them her freshman year at UCLA, close to four long years ago. Marianne, like her, was a double major though Marianne studied English and journalism. Donna, a biology major with plans to go to medical school, had already been accepted. Whether they studied the same major didn’t matter much.

They lived in the same apartment building during those four years, just across the hall from each other, got to know one another, and shared the belief school came before parties, booze, and boys. Naturally, they clicked. Not that they didn’t party every now and then. They’d been to frat parties, bars, and clubs, experienced Los Angeles for all it was worth, but it wasn’t their focus. They drove to campus together, stayed at the library studying past hours together, attended football games together, and shopped together. Even Sundays, the day they’d aptly named, the day for relaxation, they spent together.

She confided in Marianne and Donna when she decided to break up with her last and only real boyfriend, Mark. They knew, too, how terrified she was about her stalker.

Looking at them then, sitting on the blue couch in Marianne and Donna’s apartment, a couch they’d sat on, talked, gossiped about celebrities they did not know, and spilled numerous drinks on, in an apartment much like hers, but smaller, it hit her. She had two weeks left with them, two weeks left of this life she grew to love. Sure, they’d keep in touch, call, email, and text as much as they could, but they’d part ways. Donna would attend the University of Miami’s Miller School of Medicine in Florida. Marianne would head off to a small town in Oklahoma for her very first broadcast reporting job, and she’d go home to Wadden where she’d hopefully get a job in education.

Tiffany spent the last several years double majoring in business and early childhood education. The former she studied for her father. The latter for herself. She always knew what she wanted to do. Now, after close to four years of dull business classes, she couldn’t see herself submersed in the field, reaffirming she wanted to do what she’d always dreamed of doing. Four years hadn’t changed it.

You’re thinking about him, Donna whispered.

She drew her gaze away from the television, now off, and released a breath. The stalker, no. I was—

Not him. Donna shook her head. "Him, your boy from back home."

Her boy from back home, Thomas. They knew about Thomas, too, knew the whole story. Her best friends knew she got one look at him the first day of her freshman year of high school and fell, hard and fast. They knew even when her parents allowed her to date, he never asked her, knew her first date went very bad, very quick, and he’d been the one to save her, but it landed him in jail. They knew a few years later, he saved her, again. They knew he never wanted anything from her, not a relationship, not even friendship. He saved her twice, but every chance he had, he pushed her away.

Marianne and Donna also knew Thomas was partly the reason she broke up with Mark. Mark Cooper, her first real boyfriend, was an amazing man, handsome, kind, loyal, from a good family, and her parents loved him, but something had been missing. That something, the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, the rush of adrenaline whenever he neared—what she felt with Thomas.

Both Marianne and Donna warned her that flutter was the adolescent sign of puppy love or a crush, and that it didn’t last. They claimed she felt it