DESERT ROSE: An Enemies to Lovers MC Romance (RB MC) by Jax Hart

Author:Jax Hart [Hart, Jax]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-23T16:00:00+00:00

EDGE

4

“Wake the fuck up man! Come on!”

What? Huh? My eyes fight the bright light.

“Fuck!” I grumble at the ice-cold water raining down on my face. “Tate?” For a brief second, I see two of him. He helps me sit up. My mouth is full of desert dust. I can’t remember where I am…. What day it is….

“Pedro cracked your skull with a rock. You ain’t bleeding much, but probably have a concussion.”

I shut my eyes, willing my body to ignore the pain. Shouts come from behind the dunes. I open them to see headlights bouncing through the desert as trucks and four-wheelers come racing in. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Nah, we’ll settle it in the pit. A clean fight. You wanna war with the Cartel?”

“Fuck. You are right. I’m just pissed he got the jump on me. Where’s Rage?”

“Doing about the same as you. They got him over the head with the butt of a Glock.”

Chief races up the hill with a group of his men. He’s the head of the Res second under the elder council men. The elders make the decision, but Chief is the muscle that gets shit done. “Here.” He hands me some white pills and a water. “Pain reliever.”

“Thanks,” I grunt swallowing them down. “The bastards leave?”

“You wanna follow?” My fists smack the ground. “I can’t believer that skinny fuck got the drop on me.”

“Head back to the lodge with my crew while I deal with the teen age shit show below.”

“How long was I out?”

“I was gone about forty minutes or so. Had to fuckin’ go to the canyon to shut down the junkyard racing. But there’s still groups of fuckheads getting high and hiding out in different areas.”

“Fucking kids. They have no idea…”

With a bottle of cold water pressed to the base of my skull I rise, shrugging off help as I move toward one of the trucks jacked up with monster wheels. The bumpy drive back to the lodge has me wincing in pain but fuck if I’ll show one grimace. I don’t waste anytime finding a bottle of JD behind the bar and pouring myself and Rage healthy glasses. The shit burns good as I take a seat and rest my eyes.

“Nope. Can’t do that. You need to stay up at least 24 hours. You know you have a concussion right.”

I groan, pressing two fingers to my temple while sipping my whiskey. We pass time playing cards and eating the steak someone put on he grill to keep our bellies full and stop us from getting too buzzed. I don’t know how much time passes by when Tate comes blazing in with two loaded semi-automatic rifles. “Two girls are missing.”

All of us stand, grim and ready. Concussion or not. Women go missing all across Indian reservations in America. They just vanish without leaving a wisp of a trace. And all of a sudden, the foreboding feeling I had driving put here makes sense. One of Tate’s men comes out of a backroom carrying long rifles and more semis.

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