Twisted Mercy (Red Team Book 4) by Elaine Levine Read Free Book Online Page A

only half a six-pack in the fridge.
    “My cooler.”
    “There enough for me?”
    Hope looked back at him over her shoulder. She smiled at him. Smiled. At him. His eyes grazed her face. She had a narrow face, with a square chin and long dimples that went from her cheekbones down to her jaw. Her lips were pointy at the center top and corners. Her bottom lip was nicely rounded. Her eyes were clear and focused, without any of the haze or shadows of an addict. What the fuck was she doing hanging around with the WKB?
    When she turned back to the stove, he noticed the black long-sleeved hooded tee she was wearing. It had a white pattern of skulls and scrolls and flowers that spilled down the sleeves and over the back. With sparkles.  
    Who the hell wore sparkly skulls?
    She set a cup of black coffee in front of him. “Cheer up, sunshine,” she said with a little laugh. “Not a morning person, are you?”
    “No. What time is it?” He sat on the barstool at the counter.
    “Nine.”
    “Huh.”
    She put a plate in front of him loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes. She set butter and syrup out as well.
    “Aren’t you going to eat, too?” he asked.
    “Already did.”
    He wolfed his food down in time for her to wash his plate with the rest of the dishes. He went to stand outside, getting a feel for the weather—though this time of summer, it was rarely changeable. Cool in the morning. Hot all day until the sun set. Sometimes the pattern was broken by afternoon showers, but it didn’t look like they’d have any relief from the heat today.  
    Hope stepped outside. Her hair was drying fast. She twisted it together and tied a stretchy band around it, leaving it half up and half down in a feminine spray of hair. He remembered the sweet scent he’d first awakened to and wondered if that was her shampoo.  
    “I’m heading over to the garage,” she said as she skipped down the steps.
    “I’ll be over in a while.” He watched her cross the yard and called after her, “Thanks for the grub.”
    She waved at him and got in her truck.  

    * * *

    Max straddled his black Harley Panhead, primed it, and kicked it to life. It roared like a metal dragon, then settled into a rumbling purr as he turned down the tree-lined dirt road leading to the highway. The noise of his bike shattered the tranquility of the high mountain retreat. One man came out of his cabin, marching toward the road as if he’d finally screwed up the courage to intercept Max. But, as with every other day, he changed his mind after looking at Max’s skull facemask and White Kingdom Brotherhood patches, which were inside out at the moment—another sign he was bad shit to anyone in the know. The man stopped at the end of his drive, impotently raising his fist as he went by. Max flipped him off, then laughed. He’d miss the old bastard when this mission was over.  
    Fuck. He’d miss his bike, too. It was too well known by the club for him to ride it anonymously. If he wanted to keep a low profile when he was done here, he’d have to store the bike and go back to riding in a cage.
    Max rode past the compound entrance and turned onto a Forest Service access road. It led deep into Bureau of Land Management grazing land, heading north, then east, through the old ghost town, coming up to Blade’s property the back way.
    About an hour later, he turned off on a narrow dirt road that wound behind the Red Team mansion and led to the bunker’s access tunnel. Max rode through the shallow creek and slipped between the boulders covering the entrance. His eyes took a while to acclimate to the dark interior of the tunnel. The roar of his bike’s engine bounced around the dense tunnel walls, as if in complaint that the ride was ending.  
    He rode straight up to the bunker’s loading dock, then cut the engine. Greer opened the door and stood there grinning at him. Max dismounted and removed his helmet. “Things so slow Owen moved you to doorstop?”
    “It a