Blow Softly
Touch Slowly
Fall Gently
Moroad Motorcycle Club series
Wrapped Around Him
For Life
His Crime
Time Owed
Falling For Crazy
Chasing Down Changes
Bantorus Motorcycle Club series
Breathing His Air
Aching To Exhale
Soothing His Madness
Grasping for Freedom
Fighting To Ride
Struggling For Justice
Starving For Vengeance
Living A Beautiful War
Melt My Heart - Anthology
Laying Down His Colors – Bantorus Motorcycle Club
A Hard Body Novel series
Archer
Weston
The Chromes and Wheels Gang series
Biker Babe in Black
Ride Free
Healing Trace
Playing For Hearts series
Wildly
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Modern Love – Anthology
The Sisters of McDougal Ranch series
Chantilly's Cowboy
Val's Rancher
Margot's Lawman
Florentine's Hero
Single Titles
The Sandbar Saga
The Higher You Fly
Suite Cowboy
Hijinks
Resurrecting Charlie's Girl
Betraying the Prince
Double Agent
Breaking Fire Code
Sneak Peek
All Of His Secrets
Book 4, Choices: Tarkio MC series
Available at all retailers
Chapter 1
1980
Rick
A car zoomed past Rick Nolan on Interstate 90, ignoring his thumb. He lowered his hand to his side and kept walking along the side of the highway. The small piece of paper slipped to him in prison instructed him to take Exit 99. From there, he'd need to go two miles south to the address his cellmate, Nate had given him.
It'd taken him four days of hitchhiking to go two hundred miles. The blisters on his feet had popped yesterday, and the raw spots rubbed against the white prison-issued slip-on sneakers given to him upon his release from Montana State Prison.
The hum of traffic approaching behind him grew louder. He stuck out his thumb, putting one foot in front of the other. Beyond the point that if he stopped, he wasn't sure he'd be able to walk again because of the condition of his feet.
He focused on the distance ahead of him. There were only two more exits to go.
A pickup passed him in the right-hand lane. Brake lights flashed, and the vehicle slowed, pulling off to the side of the road, out of the way of traffic. Rick gritted his teeth against the pain encompassing his feet and walked faster.
Going up to the passenger side, he stuck his head in the open window. "Can I get a ride to Missoula?"
"Hop in the back. I'm going as far as the airport. When you want to get out, knock on the window." The older man lifted his chin. "Hunker down. It's getting windy."
He planted his foot on the tire and heaved himself into the bed of the truck. Sweat broke out on his head as pain shot up his legs. Thankful when the driver reentered traffic, and the breeze dried his face, he closed his eyes at the relief of being off his feet, knowing in ten minutes he'd have to find the strength to jump out at his destination.
Fuck, he was tired. He hadn't found time to ground himself on the outside.
For the last seven years, his body had adapted to the prison system schedule. He had no idea how the world had changed and what was waiting for him.
All he could do was follow the directions he'd memorized from the piece of paper he'd flushed in the toilet in his cell before the guards caught him. With his luck, he'd show up at the address and have a gun pointed at his head.
At least then, his suffering would be over. He would no longer feel his damn feet.
The truck shifted, slowing down. Prying his eyes open, he squinted at the passing pine trees lining the landscape. Turning his head, he figured the driver had taken the exit he needed. From the directions, he only had to go two miles. The closer he could get, the less time he had to spend on his feet.
As businesses started lining the road and the truck's speed stayed at a lower limit, he pulled up his knees and put the soles of his feet on the bed of the pickup, getting ready to move.
Catching sight of a street sign, he was close. Only two more blocks to go.
He knocked on the window. By the time the driver pulled to a stop, he was on the street where he needed to be. He pulled himself over the side of the bed and let his body slide down the metal until his feet hit the ground.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered on a hiss of pain.
Not sure he would remain standing once the truck wasn't there to hold on to, he grunted. Digging deep, he let go.
Lifting his gaze, he caught the driver's gaze in the side mirror and lifted his hand in thanks. The truck engine revved. Rick straightened and remained on the side of the road.
His feet pounded, matching his heart rate. In the past, he'd been beaten, close to death, and had always mustered enough strength to survive. Broken bones, lacerations, the skin ripped off his body hadn't killed him. He couldn't let his feet take him out of living.
He had one more thing he wanted to do before he died.
Yet as he stood at the side of the road, his swollen feet, raw and bleeding, he had a deep urge to let his body hit the ground and close his eyes.
He blinked, focusing on the buildings close by. The address Nate gave him was across the street.
Waiting until the break between cars passing in front of him grew longer, allowing him more time, he stepped off the sidewalk and jaywalked across the road. Each step his last.
The one-story building had no sign of people around. The front window to the right of the door was boarded up and painted the same dull yellow as the rest of the place.
He hoped Nate hadn't sent him on a wild goose chase.
Even though he'd spent two years in the same cell as Nate, he'd never allowed himself to trust anyone.
But he had no options.
He had nowhere to go upon release, and when Nate gave him the address, he'd taken the help. His only other option would've been to go to one of the halfway houses offered by the state. He'd rather be homeless than have his freedom stripped away again.
Sweat rolled down his temples. He approached the door, grabbing the frame. Sucking in air, he raised his fist and beat on the wood. If there was nobody about, he was going to lower himself to the ground and stay right here until someone showed.
Raising his hand again, he banged on the door. His vision went in and out. He pressed his forehead against the wood and closed his eyes. He needed water.
The building disappeared in front of him. The pressure against his head went away. Sensing himself falling, he let himself go.
He welcomed the blackness. The peace.