Free The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) by Jaci J Page B

someone around here will take me and be nice about it. Buck’s not the only one with access to something with a motor, I’m sure.
    Tromping across the gravel lot, it occurs to me when the whole property comes into view that this is the weirdest setup I’ve ever seen. Looking around, I get the feeling this place is a biker’s paradise.
    Off the highway, down a dirt driveway, in the middle of a gravel lot, surrounded by dense forest sits an old rundown shanty of a bar and grill. Believe me, I use bar and grill loosely. You wouldn’t know it was here unless you were from around here, or stumbled across the sign, missing a bunch of light bulbs. It’s more of a wooden shack with a few tables, chairs, a bar, and a kitchen than a restaurant and bar.
    Behind the “bar,” off to the side is a ten room motel. They’re something special, as in bad porn set, disco fever kinda special. Behind that is an old rusted metal shop, and behind that, through a patch of trees, is a cabin / house deal that I’ve yet to explore. And to top it off, there are motorcycles and bikers littering the entire property.
    It’s like a weird fortress, secluded in the middle of nowhere and hidden behind miles of gravel and trees. It’s the perfect place to hide away from the world, conducting all kinds of illegal business. They have everything they need; food, shelter, bikes, parts, and all the things to fix them with. But most importantly, they have booze.
    The gravel crunches under my feet on my way to the only person within shouting distance. A tall, slender, leather covered back is facing me, but I can tell it’s Buck’s brother, Poncho.
    I wander up to a paved hole in the ground. “There’s a pool?” I muse, stepping around a rusty lounger. Makes sense, I guess, considering this was a motel at one point.
    Shifting on his feet, Poncho gives me a sly smile, stretching his mocha colored skin.
    “There is?” he mocks surprise, eying me over his shoulder. Walking up next to him, I can see a black garden hose in his hand, water flowing from the end into the hole in the ground.
    “Don’t you have people to do that?” I ask, motioning towards the hose in his hand. I don’t know a lot about MC life, but I do know there are prospects to do this sort of stuff.
    “Rather be doin’ this than stuck in that hot ass shop.” He nods over at the shop I just exited.
    “It is hot.” I agree. I’d rather be out here too.
    The hole in the ground was a pool in its former life. Fifty years ago, I’m sure it was nice, serene, and possibly even tranquil, but now it’s nothing more than a cracked and chipped hole in the ground. The old blue plaster is sun faded and rust streaked. There are cracks up the walls and there’s a piece of plaster missing from the bottom the size of Texas. It’s not a nice water feature. Hell, it’s not even clean. Bacteria breeding ground, I’m sure.
    But it’s about one hundred fucking degrees out here. Botulism be damned, I’m dipping at least one toe in there if I’m allowed.
    “Can I swim in it, or is there some biker rule that outsiders only swim in the river?”
    “One piece or two?” he asks, cocking a thick black brow at me in question.
    “A what?” It dawns on me the second I question it. I get it. He’s hilarious. “Naked.”
    “Then you get first dip, babe.”
    A few inches of water pool at the bottom of the hole, and at this rate, he’s gonna be here for a while.
    “So why are you filling up the pool?”
    “For this weekend. Why, you like watchin’ me fill up the pool?” Boredom. Pure, mind-numbing boredom.
    “Bored. Watcha doing after you fill this pool up, huh?” Good God, please say leaving.
    “What do ya want, Lennon?”
    I’m new here. None of these people know me, but whatever interactions we have, I feel like they do know me, or at least they’re getting me. Or maybe it’s me being a female thing they seem to get. I can’t even lie without someone catching on.
    “I need a ride