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Guts & Glory – Hunter (In the Shadows Security #3)
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When what should be a simple assignment becomes a whole lot more…
For Hunter, what should be an easy job of finding another veteran’s long-lost brother has turned up nothing but dead ends. Even worse, it uncovered problems his team thought had long since been buried. Down to his last lead, he tracks down a woman who has his protective instincts kicking in for reasons he can’t fully understand. While her expressive dark eyes and generous curves catch his attention, it’s her fiery temper that holds it.
Back in her hometown, hiding from a man who almost destroyed her life, Frankie’s thrown off guard when a bossy bearded stranger shows up looking for information on the biker she’d rather forget. And he’s not taking no for an answer. With more to protect than herself now, she knows firsthand what can happen when you place your trust in the wrong person, but something about the former Green Beret has her not only letting him into her home but also her heart.
Hunter’s determined to complete his mission and keep Frankie safe—no matter the cost. Though he didn’t expect that cost to also involve his heart.
Note: Hunter is the third book of the Guts & Glory series, a six-book spin-off from my Dirty Angels MC series. While it’s recommended to read both series in order, each book can be read as a stand-alone. As with all my books, this has an HEA, no cliffhanger or cheating.
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Hunter stared at the older man on the other side of the thick, shatter-proof glass.
Orange wasn’t his color.
He had deep lines on his face, especially around his greyish-blue eyes, and the bottom half was covered in a long salt-and-pepper beard that matched his shaggy hair.
Jewel, Diamond and Jag’s father. Diesel and Slade’s “father-in-law.”
Doing life without parole in SCI Greene for a couple counts of murder. One of those “victims” being Slade’s father, Buzz.
And Buzz was the reason Hunter was here, sitting on the other side of that fucking glass. Because Slade asked Hunter’s boss, Diesel, to track down a possible sibling. One no one knew about, but Rocky might have info on.
But maybe not.
The man giving him the eyeball might not know shit. All this could’ve been a play to see his grandchildren. Because that had been the “payment” to get Rocky to talk. He wanted Diamond and Slade to bring their son, Hudson, and Diesel and a currently pregnant Jewel to bring their girls, Violet and Indigo, to a max security prison to meet their granddaddy.
They all agreed to it, though reluctantly, since a state correctional institution wasn’t any place young children should be.
Now, Rocky sat back in his bolted down metal chair, his heavily tattooed arms crossed over his chest, looking like the cat who ate the goddamn canary.
And still, Hunter had shit to go on.
Good thing a thick glass partition and a cinder block wall separated them. Because, at this very moment, Hunter felt like gutting Rocky from dick to throat just like the man did to Buzz.
Not that Buzz hadn’t deserved it. He most certainly fucking had.
But Hunter was weary of this wild goose chase that began because of a few words Rocky had uttered to Crow many months ago. And then Crow had mentioned it to his Dirty Angels MC brother, Slade.
Who let that info fester.
Now the DAMC member wanted to see if what Buzz had uttered in his last few moments of life was true. That Slade had another brother out there somewhere, another product from Buzz’s sperm.
And if he existed, Slade wanted to find him.
Why? Hunter couldn’t care less. He was getting paid to find this long-lost brother, so that was what he would do.
If it didn’t kill him first.
He was good at what he did, which was finding people. But this case, this job, was enough for him to throw in the towel and go get a fucking job cleaning toilets.
And he hated cleaning toilets.
That’s why he hired a cleaning lady to come in twice a month to do just that.
But here he sat—again—in a small, enclosed room trying to get Rocky to shake some memory loose that might help him with this “case.”
Because what he had to go on was basically bullshit.
No fucking name.
No fucking birthdate.
All Rocky said to Crow was Buzz mentioned a son during his last moments of breathing and he didn’t think that son was Slade. Why Rocky thought that, Hunter didn’t fucking know.
But one thing Hunter wasn’t, was a quitter.
He was going to do his fucking best to find this possible second offspring Buzz put on this Earth.
Unfortunately, the only thing Hunter had was Buzz’s real name and the fact that Buzz knew he had a son. Buzz didn’t know Slade existed. At least, Slade didn’t think so.
Hunter scrubbed a hand over his hair, surprised he had any left to do so. Which really pissed him off, because he wanted to keep it. Especially since there was nothing better than a woman pulling on his hair when he was eating her pussy and making her come.
Something Rocky hadn’t gotten to do in decades.
That was one good reason Hunter needed to stay on this side of the glass instead of being on Rocky’s side. The other was, he hated tight spaces. And prison was full of them.
“Let me just say, I’m fucking glad I’m on this side instead of that one,” Hunter muttered.
“An’ lemme just say, with the shit you probably done in your life, you should be sittin’ on this fuckin’ side. You probably done more than I ever fuckin’ did. Just got fuckin’ lucky, boy.”
True fucking that.
But that’s where he and Rocky were different. While, yes, he would have fucking trussed Buzz up like a freshly killed deer and gutted him, Hunter would’ve gotten rid of all the evidence and not gotten caught.
Rocky and Doc had been out of their fucking minds when they wreaked havoc on the rival MC, the Shadow Warriors, so they weren’t careful when they did it.
“You talk to Doc?” Hunter asked him.
Hunter sighed when Rocky didn’t continue. “And?”
“Doc’s got old timer’s. Doesn’t remember shit.”
Hunter knew about the diagnosis. Diesel had visited his grandfather hoping to get some details about Buzz from him. Unfortunately, D had no luck and said Doc had no memory of even what he ate for breakfast. Even so, Hunter was hoping the old man would have an occasional sliver of clarity. Apparently not.