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

wasn’t for you.” Is he serious? Did he honestly think I’d make such a thing for him?
    We sit in silence. After a while, Buck gets up, sticking the gun back in the waist of his jeans. “Up. Making dinner.” He holds out a hand to me. Yeah, I could eat. Taking his hand, he pulls me up to my feet. I land with a little bounce. His hand is rough and callused, and he holds onto it for a few seconds, staring at me before he decides to let go.
    He turns and starts to walk off. Without stopping, he lets out an ear-piercing whistle. “Let’s go, Bill!” Slapping his thigh, the dog leaps up and runs up behind Buck, dancing around his heels.
    Trailing behind Buck, I holler after him. “Why do you just let Bill roam the woods?” That can’t be safe out here with wild animals and shit. He might get eaten.
    He turns his head back and looks at me like I’m crazy for asking. “Darlin’, he’s a hunting dog.” That means absolutely nothing to me.
    “So?”
    “So, he’s a tough little fucker,” he replies, running a hand down the dogs back. Looking down at Bill, I smile. He’s not a fucker, he’s a sweet beast.
    “Just like his master?” I muse more to myself than to Buck, but of course he hears me. Smiling back at me, he lifts a brow. He fucking smiled. Good lord, what a smile it is.
    “Exactly, darlin’.”

    Sitting on the deck railing with Bill under my swinging feet, I watch Buck work. His back is to me. He’s got a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other as he mans the grill and bullshits with his guys.
    Buck’s not talking to me. He’s not even looking at me. I might as well be invisible. But really, it’s okay because I can stare at him without being interrupted or caught.
    Buck is a man’s man. You can tell in the way he holds himself; back straight, head held high, and a face full of ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ You might mess with Buck, but then again, you might end up dead.
    He looks fine as hell in his black T-shirt, faded Carhartts, and a black backwards cap. He even has his glasses off. It’s that something more he seems to exude, and he doesn’t even know it.  
    In the short time I’ve been here with him, I’ve learned that he says exactly what he’s thinking, when he thinks it, and he has no filter. I like that about him.
    “Cheese, babe?” A nudge to my leg brings me back to the porch. Pulling my eyes up to Buck’s, I smile when I catch him staring intently at me. I can see him fighting the urge to put his glasses back on. I hate that his eyes bother him enough to make him think about it. “Lennon?”
    “What?” I ask, looking up into those crazy, beautiful eyes of his.
    “Cheese. That square, fake yellow shit you put on your burger. You eat it?” Right, he was asking me if I wanted cheese.
    “No, thank you.” I’m not a huge fan of it.
    “Here ya go then.”
    Loaded plate in hand, I sit myself on the steps of the deck. Buck, Rock, and Poncho sit around an old wooden spool eating, drinking, and talking about bikes. I don’t even attempt to sit with them. I don’t have shit to add to the conversation, so I figure I’ll eat down here with Bill.
    I pick at my food and stare into the woods. I get lost in thought about life and what I plan on doing with mine, which isn’t much. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve never been able to get it together. I’m a drifter, despite my best efforts at holding down a job and keeping a home. I’ve tried, but apparently I’m not good enough because my whole life has been reduced to a duffle bag, hat box, purse, and two boxes stored in a closet far away, a place I haven’t been to in years.
    It’s not that I’m too good or above a “normal” life, I’m just not good at it. Jobs last a month or two at best, and staying in one place for too long has never been my strong suit. Just the word “normal” has never really appealed to me, even though I’ve tried like hell to accept it and live it. I’m not sure I will ever be