Free Bolt (Storm Runner's MC 1) by Lauren Devane

Just three more weeks and she’d be out of Detroit for good. Just three more paychecks, and her car would get the transmission it needed since it finally blew out on highway 12 and left her stranded by the side of the road. Finally, Anna could go home.
    The summer air was hot, heavy when she pushed open the door and entered the alley. Immediately she was damp with sweat that clung to her neck and back. Fuck, it was humid. She missed Augusta, the cool summer air and the way the pine forests pressed in on the home where she’d grown up. But she was 900 miles and 21 days away from seeing it again.
    The Easy Bake wasn’t the classiest place to work, but the neighborhood wasn’t the worst Detroit had to offer, either. Her skirts were long enough that none of the groping regulars got a look at her ass, but short enough that she could go out for a real drink after a shift without having to change clothes. Maybe tonight she’d meet someone with something to offer other than disappointing conversation and a kiss that didn’t get her going enough to even consider going home with him.
    She heaved the large black bag over the rim of the dumpster, then slumped back against the wall, disappointed with everything in her life. Anna sighed, considered walking down to the corner store for a cigarette and shook her head, deciding that five years was too much to give up. But god, she wanted that hit of nicotine, something smooth and edgy at once, something that let her take a deep breath in a place that didn’t smell of grease and onions.
    Instead of heading back in—which is what she should have done, Melissa would get pissed if she had to cover her tables for more than a few minutes, even though it was slow—she closed her eyes. Pictured Tim, who’d seemed like such a good man with his clean cut shirts and preppy haircut. She’d been so desperate to leave her boring life behind and he’d been so convincing that she went with him in the dead of night, only leaving a note for her parents, who didn’t approve of him.
    Three years later and she was 23, broke and only now recovering from the mess of that relationship. The crazy accusations, the threats, the isolation. She still wasn’t sure who she could trust most of the time. Melissa was a nice enough person if you didn’t force her to do extra work. Julie was a sweetheart, saving for college by picking up weekend shifts. Hugh was a pain in the ass most days, but at least he loved the diner his wife had founded before she died. At least he ran a clean place.
    She heard plates shatter inside, the sound of screams and stood up. That mess was going to come out of someone’s paycheck. The door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open and walked into the back. The cook wasn’t at the grill—the eggs were burning. Anna grabbed a spatula and flipped them. Then everything changed.
    From the front, small explosions and screaming, then the loudest silence she’d ever heard. Knowing she should check on the people out front, she still moved toward the back door. She could call the police from the alley, what good would it do her to walk into a bad situation and get into trouble like everyone else? She’d do more good free.
    Right as she reached the door, two men walked through. One was large with coal-black hair and hard eyes. The other was slim and attractive, a golden god. He was more terrifying. A spray of blood decorated his face. He smiled at her.
    The big one grabbed her and dragged her into the front of the restaurant. Oh god. Everyone was just—gone. Empty eyes on slack faces, blood and bullet holes. She gagged and would have fallen to her knees if Ugly hadn’t held her arms tight enough that she could feel bruises bloom under his fingers.
    “There’s another one,” the Golden God announced to the room, which had four more men standing amidst the carnage. “What do you want we should do with her?”
    A man in jeans and a black t-shirt—he wasn’t memorable at all, just a