In the remote Rocky Mountains, lives depend on the Search & Rescue brotherhood. But in a place this far off the map, trust is hard to come by and secrets can be murder…
As
a Motorcycle Club member and firefighter, Ian Walsh is used to riding
the line between the good guys and the bad. He may owe the Club his
life, but his heart rests with his fire station
brothers…and with the girl he’s loved since they were kids, Rory
Sorenson. Ian would do anything for Rory. He’d die for her. Kill for
her. Defend her to his last breath—and he may just have to.
Every
con in the Rockies knows Rory is the go-to girl for less-than-legal
firearms, and for the past few years, she’s managed to keep the peace
between dangerous factions by remaining
strictly neutral. But when she defends herself against a brutal attack,
Rory finds herself catapulted into the center of a Motorcycle Club
war—with only Ian standing between her and a threat greater than either
of them could have imagined.
About Katie Ruggle:
When she’s not writing, Katie Ruggle rides horses,
shoots guns, and travels to warm places where she can SCUBA dive.
Graduating from the Police Academy, Katie received her ice-rescue
certification and can attest that the reservoirs in the
Colorado mountains really are that cold. While she still misses her
off-grid, solar- and wind-powered house in the Rocky Mountains, she now
lives in Rochester, Minnesota near her family.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1ZXdlWU
iBooks: http://apple.co/21k5Laj
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1ZXducQ
Excerpt
If
Zup didn’t decide on the rifle within the next two minutes, Rory
was going to shoot him.
Unfortunately,
because he was the son of the local motorcycle club’s president,
killing him—or even just putting a hole where no hole had been
before—would pretty much guarantee severe consequences. Since Rory
was moderately content with her life at the moment, she’d rather
not have it end abruptly. Drawing a long breath in through her nose
and praying for patience, she employed her subpar salesmanship
skills.
“What’s
the problem?”
Zup
looked up from his scowling appraisal of the SUB 2000. “Maze said
he had a Kel-Tec, and it jammed all the time.”
“Tell
Maze to quit using crap ammo.” He just frowned at her. With another
deep breath, she tried again. “These rifles are built to use common
pistol magazines.”
“I
know.” He held the rifle to his shoulder again. “That’s why I
want one. That, and it can fold in half, so it’d be small enough to
carry around in a laptop case.”
“Well,
the recoil spring and bolt are heavier than in a pistol.” With a
great effort, she kept most of the condescension out of her voice.
Rory hated having to explain things to people, especially guys like
Zup, who just ignored her anyway. This was why she hadn’t become a
teacher. Well, that, and she’d most likely fail the background
check—and probably the psych exam. “If you use poor quality
rounds, you’re going to get some failures.”
Zup’s
frown turned from the rifle to her. “Maze loads all our ammo. Are
you telling me he’s fucking it up?”
“What
I’m saying,” she gritted
through clenched teeth, “is that if you run good ammo through this
rifle, it’s going to be reliable.”
After
eyeing her suspiciously for a few seconds, he grunted and brought the
stock to his shoulder again. He shifted his position several times as
he peered through the sights, and then complained, “This steel pipe
sucks as a cheek rest.”
“That’s
it.” She jumped off the counter where she’d been sitting and held
out her hands. “Give it to me.”
Instead,
he turned away from her while tucking the rifle close to his chest.
“Hang on,” he told her. “I’m still deciding.”
“No,
I’ve decided for you.” Rory flicked her fingers in a “gimme”
gesture. There was a beep indicating someone had just come through
the front door of her shop, and the last of her patience disappeared.
“If you can’t appreciate an accurate, dependable, untraceable
Kel-Tec SUB 2000 because it’s not comfy
enough, then you don’t deserve it. Hand it over.”
Reluctantly,
he relinquished the rifle. “I do want it. How much?”
“Nope.
Too late.” She pulled down on the trigger guard and swung the
barrel assembly up and over the receiver, marveling at the ingenuity
it took to completely redesign a rifle so it could fold in half. As
she gently placed it into its case, she couldn’t refrain from
stroking her fingers over the gun’s practical shape. It wasn’t
the most attractive of rifles, but it did its job. She’d take
functional over pretty any day.
Zup
watched the gun disappear. Although it was hard to tell under his
bushy beard, she was pretty sure he was pouting. “Ro-ry…”
“What
are you whining about now, Zup?” a low voice asked.
It
took all her willpower not to look. If she glanced at Ian Walsh in
all his dark, muscle-bound glory, she’d start stammering and
blushing. Every time he walked into her store, his melty brown eyes
focused on her, black hair mussed by his fireman’s helmet or a
motorcycle ride, those full, beautiful lips curving into a friendly
smile, she marveled that this incredible person was in her life. They
were just friends, of course, but she told herself that it was
enough—more than she could expect, really. With his model-perfect
features and body, he looked as if he should be attending photo
shoots, not leaning on the wall behind the counter, chatting with
plain, weird Rory Sorenson.
Plain,
weird Rory Sorenson, who right now couldn’t even look at him.
After
that first breath-stealing moment when she first saw him, she could
usually turn on casual-and-friendly mode, but not after the dream
she’d had the night before—a dream that had featured her, Ian,
his bike, and not many clothes. Her cheeks flamed at the memory.
Keeping her gaze focused downward, she latched the case with more
care than was required.
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