Firetrap: The Soul Scorchers MC (The Scorched Souls Serial-series Book 1) Read Free Page A

mayor’s daughter. I think that should be good enough. Don’t you?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I pivoted and marched from the room, ignoring my dad’s call for me to return.
    Conner knew better. When I was this annoyed, he left me alone.
    Heading to the main house, I checked my cell phone. Thank God for girlfriends. I had five texts from my best friend, Becky, and several more from our little group. They wanted to go for drinks. I was game. Ladies night was always fun. Free drinks for me!
    Boone
    “You want another, Boone, baby?” Celeste cooed, her blue-shadowed eyes flashing with mischief. “This one’s on the house. Just for you. Jack Daniels on the rocks, but only a few rocks .”
    I couldn’t help but grin. She knew what I liked. I downed the drink I’d been cradling and gave her an approving chin lift. Her cheeks darkened and she winked before spinning away, another glass already in hand.
    Celeste was cool people. She’d been working behind the bar at Milton’s for the last decade at least. No one knew her real age. She insisted she was thirty-four, forever. If I had to guess, the real number was closer to forty-five and counting. Her skin had that too-much-sun leathery look, and her abundance of makeup did nothing but enhance her wrinkles. The shimmery blue eye shadow was her trademark. Not the best choice.
    Her body… that was a different story.
    It was rock hard, from training at the gym several hours a day; her body was toned and shapely, and she had the best pair of fake tits I’d ever seen, which made up for any deficiencies. The fact she was funny and allowed us to wear our colors inside the bar didn’t hurt either. She gave an okay blow job too.
    The owner, Rob Milton, who went by his last name, was an old timer who’d traded deep sea fishing for business ownership. He was one of many local business owners who benefited from our club’s protection. A few years back someone had demolished the bar. He’d come to us for help, knowing my dad collected favors by helping others. Like the devil at a crossroads, Bones collected when the person least expected.
    In old man Milton’s case, his open door policy and ability to turn a blind eye to our dealings in his establishment, more than sufficed as payment.
    “So, you think its Hell’s Guardians?” Leg asked, slamming down a straight shot before I could answer. He shifted on the bar stool, moving to accommodate his latest prosthetic; some high-tech upgrade he was sampling.
    Leg, or as his enemies called him, The Leg, had lost his lower left limb in Afghanistan. An IED had stolen his future as a pro baseball catcher. He’d been drafted up to ‘triple A’ before enlisting. He was from a military family and believed serving should be a requirement for every man. Even now, he had no regrets.
    I wouldn’t have been so forgiving, but I respected his desire to put the past behind him, couldn’t fault a man for wanting to move on. 
    His question was the same one we all were pondering and was in reference to our earlier meeting. I didn’t have an answer he’d like. I’d already pissed everyone off. They wanted to go in guns blazing. I had my doubts, unlike the majority, and my father’s ear. Despite his disagreement with my assessment, he kept an open mind and trusted my instincts.
    Why would the Guardians spend so much time, over six years, maybe longer, starting fires to draw attention to our club? It didn’t make sense. They were known for making direct hits on their enemies, not this evasive bullshit. Bones was convinced they were trying to get at us without openly violating the tentative truce we’d agreed to a few years back.
    I didn’t see it. In my opinion, there was something bigger going on, something darker. Maybe I was chasing a boogie man that didn’t exist, but I couldn’t shake my suspicions.
    I’d done a hell of a lot of research after Rita’s death and hadn’t found any connections between Hell’s Guardians and the