Hot Pursuit by Lorie O'Clare Read Free Book Online Page A

room, then walking over to the door.
    He looked through the peephole but saw no one. There was nothing but darkness outside. Opening the door, Wolf had less than a second to react before Ben Mercy’s fist headed straight for his face.
    “Son of a bitch,” he hissed, ducking but taking a few knuckles across his cheekbone. “It was nothing personal, Mercy,” he informed the kid, and returned the greeting in kind.
    “My home is personal!” Mercy yelled, and did a pretty good job of dodging Wolf’s fist, although it sent him back a few paces.
    Wolf had his key card on him so let his motel room door close and lunged into Mercy. He didn’t take lightly to being followed or being hit. Nor did he ever back out of a good fight.
    “Get over it!” he snarled, and tried again to lay a good one on the young brute’s pretty face.
    This time Wolf connected, but Mercy knew how to fight. His fist made contact with Wolf’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
    Wolf doubled over, and Mercy was on him, shoving him into the brick wall in between the motel room doors. Mercy was good sized, six feet if not taller. Wolf might not have been blessed with height, but he had muscle and knew how to use it. In his line of work not knowing how to hold his own in a good brawl was a death sentence.
    Wolf growled as he shoved the kid off him, then charged when Mercy stumbled backward. The kid lost his balance at the end of the sidewalk and stepped sideways off the curb into the parking lot. Wolf came at him, returning the gut punch and doing his best to angle it so Mercy didn’t fall against his Escalade.
    There was a motorcycle next to it. Mercy howled from Wolf’s punch hitting his stomach and bent over the bike.
    “Give back what you took or I’ll beat your face into the ground!” Mercy roared, and came at him like a mad bull.
    The two men fell onto the sidewalk, throwing punch after punch. Wolf didn’t try getting up until he heard yelling. He’d be damned if he’d spend the night in jail when he was on a hunt. Apparently, Mercy was thinking the same thing. The kid scrambled to his feet and away from Wolf when two women and a man were running toward them yelling in Spanish.
    “It’s cool,” Mercy told all of them, holding his hands up in the air. “No need to call the police. We’re done.”
    Wolf cursed under his breath, and Mercy glared at him. Apparently, the kid could cool his temper pretty easily, but Wolf still seethed. Mercy had a six-pack that was as solid as a brick wall, and Wolf’s knuckles stung worse than if he had scraped flesh to the bone. The two women held back, but the man, who had been at the front desk when Wolf checked in, puffed his chest out and stuck his hands at his waist.
    “You both get out of here, now,” he said in perfect English. “There is no fighting at my motel.”
    Wolf didn’t see need for conversation. He stormed around the desk clerk and pulled his key card out of his pocket. So much for a good night’s sleep. There were advantages to traveling light, and this was one of them. He entered the motel room with the desk clerk at his door, yelling at him to get out. Wolf grabbed the small bag that held his toiletries, unzipped his duffel and shoved it inside, then zipped the duffel up and headed out the door.
    “Thanks for the fine service,” he grumbled, slapping the key card into the desk clerk’s hand, and headed to his SUV.
    Apparently, the motorcycle belonged to Mercy, because he was on it and had already backed out of the stall. Wolf hid a smirk when he looked at the punk’s red face. There was a damn nice-looking bruise trailing down the right side of it. Mercy’s eyes looked a bit puffy. Either that or he was crying.
    “Have a fun time riding that thing,” Wolf muttered, but took a moment to admire the fine machine Mercy was sitting on.
    Wolf had a Harley at home, too. Now wasn’t time for nostalgia, though. He started his large SUV and rolled down the window. The motel had