Axle's Brand (Death Chasers MC 3)

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“You want me to—”

“Start making good on those favors you owe,” she finishes as I skate toward a chair that has my shoes in it. “And leave the roller skates on. You can move faster on them.”

My mouth falls open as she struts toward the door in her combat boots, and I skate out into the hallway behind her.

“What are we doing?” I hiss as I slide into the elevator with her.

She stabs a button before cracking her neck to the side. “Don’t worry. I have the hard part,” she assures me. “I just need you to take out the stragglers—which may or may not be necessary. A girl in roller skates doesn’t look too threatening, and you can chase them down easily enough.”

“Damn it, Sarah. Tell me what we’re doing! Why am I shooting someone?”

“Because you owe me,” she says simply, her gaze flicking to me. “And your life depends on helping me save the man I love from walking into a death trap.”

She grins like she didn’t just say that last sentence.

“I’ll explain the details of your next favor on the way,” she adds.

***

When I woke up this morning, I had one thing on my mind. Going to a warehouse in the middle of Nowhere, Texas was not that one thing.

Waiting outside, listening to the sound of rapid gunfire spitting inside the warehouse was also not on the docket for today.

Wearing roller skates on less than ideal concrete was so not on today’s freaking agenda!

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The sound of gunshots continue, and I clutch my gun in my hand. Maybe I even tremble a little as I watch the rear exit Sarah told me to keep an eye on, praying no one walks out, because…death and all that.

Death doesn’t bother me in the abstract. I can sentence someone to death…but actually causing death with an actual weapon? I haven’t popped that cherry, and I’m not so sure that I want to do it in roller skates.

I’m hiding by a massive, disgusting smelling dumpster also, because it’s that kind of day.

I’m starting to wish I’d at least shot one person in my life so I’d know how to deal with this, but I haven’t. Unlike Sarah, who is a freaking retired assassin. I have teams for a reason, damn it!

I need alcohol to deal with this day.

A few screams sound from inside the warehouse, and the gun rattles in my hand. That’s a lot of gunfire. And she’s only one person. What happens when that army of guys comes out here and decide I’m next in line to die?

Nope. I’m not leaving her. No worries.

I just wish I had picked a different outfit to die in. I can’t even remember what panties I have on, other than they have to be white. My shirt isn’t the best to tell the world this girl was once awesome. And roller skates? Who wants to die in roller skates?

The gunfire stops suddenly, and my heart thumps in my chest as I wait for any sign that tells me Sarah is alive.

Something buzzes against my right breast, and I squeal a little and jump, almost busting my ass in my skates, before I realize—that due to the lack of pockets on this ridiculous outfit—I put my phone in my bra.

I juggle it out, seeing the text is from Sarah.

SARAH: Come on in. I need some help.

I take a deep breath, swallowing down the nervous knot in my throat, prepare to be a badass, and skate like a demon toward the back bay door. An unplanned rebel yell tears from my throat like I’m Tarzan’s female counterpart, as I charge through, skating under the half-closed door.

But I skid sideways and to a halt when my eyes almost fall out of my head, looking around in disbelief at the scene. Sarah is standing before me, clutching her side, and her eyebrows are lifted in quiet mockery.

“I need you to gather all their phones. I’ll be way up front, waiting for the guys to show up. And take all their cash, too. Bring it all to me when you’re finished, Jungle Girl.”

The shaky gun gets lowered to my side as I slowly relax.

I see dead people. No, that’s not a Sixth Sense joke. There’s a lot of dead people in here. Good thing I’m not squeamish.

Tearing my eyes off the remains, I look back at her to see her giving me an exasperated expression. “Now, Maya.”

She turns and walks away, and I put my gun down as I start going from corpse to corpse to pick pockets like a total creep.

I feel like I’m at the ground level and trying to work my way up instead of being born on top.

Sarah pushes a button on a remote as she limps toward the front, and music blasts loudly, scaring the shit out of me as I pick up a phone. I do a total cartoonish skate walk, jazz hands flailing in the air, desperately trying to keep my balance, but an embarrassing scream escapes me when I crash to the ground.