Gunner's Flame Read online

  Gunner’s Flame (Devil’s Outlaws MC 2)

  Lynn Burke

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2019 Lynn Burke

  BIN: 008818-02851

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  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  315 N. Centre St.

  Martinsburg, WV 25404

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Treva Harte

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  Adult Sexual Content

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  Table of Contents

  Gunner’s Flame (Devil’s Outlaws MC 2)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lynn Burke

  Gunner’s Flame (Devil’s Outlaws MC 2)

  Lynn Burke

  Mitch “Gunner” Flannigan rules the Devil’s Outlaws with a firm hand, one trained by his stint in the SEALs and tempered by empathy for other vets. When a curvy redhead in Army fatigues snags his attention -- and puts him in the line of fire -- he’s torn between wanting to bury himself between her lush thighs and helping to ease her return to American soil.

  The recent death of Shelby’s mother and her cousin’s terrorizing only adds to the PTSD hindering her return to civilian life. Flames ignite when she’s thrown into Gunner’s arms, where she also finds safety with someone who understands her struggles.

  Attempts on Gunner’s life threaten their future, but so do the secrets Shelby withholds from him. When those secrets come to light Gunner will have a decision to make. Will he choose to stand with his loyal Outlaw brothers or will he choose the path that crosses them -- and leads him right into her arms?

  Chapter One

  Gunner

  For November, the sun sure as fuck had it in for mankind. D.C.’s peaceful veterans’ march, the third I’d help orchestrate -- and fund with Outlaw’s extortion money from the very men sitting behind desks all throughout the city -- finished up.

  A bunch of my brothers had taken part in the silent walk through our country’s capital, but most had headed back to the compound. Fuckers couldn’t handle the heat radiating off the roads and sidewalks. It wasn’t shit compared to the Afghanistan landscape I’d had the privilege of enjoying during my stint in the SEALS.

  Drac and Brewer, both vets like me, lingered at the American Veterans Disabled for Life Memorial along with a few other dozen people, same as the previous three years. Men, women, some in old uniform, some in civilian clothes, hung around, but picking out those who'd served time was easy when you shared in having seen the horrors of war, too.

  Something about the memorial drew me even though busy streets flanked the triangular area. The ceremonial flame flickered as the water gently flowed over the star-shaped fountain’s edge into the reflecting pool, a great place to reflect, whether I liked my thoughts or not.

  Tinkering with bikes had always been a passion for me, and missing the brotherhood of my SEAL team, I’d ended up prospecting with the Devil’s Outlaws when my contract with the Navy was up. I was a natural leader and climbing the ranks, so when our president stepped down a few years earlier to retire to Florida, I gladly accepted the position I’d been voted into.

  The club was my home, the other Outlaws my brothers. And the fact crooked politicians were hell-bent on war and tossed men’s lives away like stripped bolts rather than offering better for those who returned home with issues? We cashed in on that shit. Kept the club in top shape with enough money to spare for donating to various non-profits to help out other veterans.

  Made me feel good about myself since not much else did.

  Drac whistled under his breath, and I tore my gaze off the reflecting pool’s placid waters. Fatigues and combat boots couldn’t hide the womanly figure Drac stared at. Gorgeous tits, tiny waist, and an ass to cushion a hard pounding stiffened my dick. Bright red hair in a messy bun -- fuck, did I have a thing for redheads -- shoulders hunched, she hesitated at the memorial’s edge, glancing around as though lost. Her gaze landed on us, and she stumbled to a stop, her lips parting.

  “I’m all over that bitch.” Drac made a move toward her, but I grabbed his arm, pulling him up short. “What the hell, Gunner?”

  I stared, my gaze still ensnared by the paleness of her eyes. “She’s all mine.” While I wasn’t one to cockblock one of my brothers from getting pussy, the pixie-like features on her drawn face reeled me in. If the redhead was gonna put out, I’d be first in line.

  Knowing Drac would stay put, I moved across the short distance separating me from the first woman to catch my eye in a while, sidestepping others in my way.

  “You look like you could use some help,” I said, coming to stand in front of her. At six-foot-two, I towered over most women, but the flame-haired beauty didn’t have to crane her neck much to keep our gazes connected. Pale lashes, red at the tips, framed eyes blue as a summer sky, wide and a bit unfocused. Freckles covered her tanned skin, adding an innocent appearance that didn’t match her troubled eyes.

  “G -- got a smoke?” she whispered and swallowed, the pulse in her neck galloping.

  “Gave that shit up a few years back.” My gaze lingered on her naked, plump lips. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Her attempted smile faltered, and she ran her palms down her thighs. “Trying to adjust to being a civilian again. Crowds like this…”

  “Been there.”

  Her gaze snapped up from my leather vest with its patches declaring who I was. “Army?”

  “Navy.”

  She rubbed her naked lips together. My dick twitched in my leathers. “Did you see any action?”

  “Afghanistan.” I held up my hand. “Lost these two fingers, lost my ability to be a SEAL, and got an honorable discharge when my contract expired.” I glanced from one of her pale eyes to the other, trying to read the turmoil inside. “You?”

  She swallowed again and nodded, glancing around.

  I knew when not to pry. “I’m Gunner.” I held out my whole hand, and the touch of her soft grip raced a shot of lust straight to my dick.

  “Shelby.”

  Escaped tendrils of her hair blew over her freckled face in a breeze that held no hint of fall air. “Got a red ’66 Shelby in my
garage at home.”

  A bit of life lightened her gaze. “My father might have had a thing for Mustangs once upon a time.”

  “I like him already,” I said with a grin, finally releasing my hold on her hand.

  “He passed a few years ago.”

  My lips flat-lined, and I shoved my hands in my pockets as the desire to wrap her up in my arms and comfort her made me twitch. I was all about getting pussy, but the emotional connection? I sure as fuck wasn’t looking for that shit since I had enough of my own to deal with. “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced over her shoulder and wrapped her own arms around her midsection, needing that hug my body wanted to offer even if my brain didn’t.

  Deflated but not defeated for possibly hooking up with Shelby in the future, I angled my thoughts toward being her friend. I wasn’t a total douche, after all. “Do you have a support group? They’re great for helping vets like us transition back to civilian life.”

  “No. I just got back home three weeks ago.”

  “There’s lots of groups.I can give you some names and numbers.” I wanted to offer my own but bit my tongue.

  “I have crowd issues.” Her voice small, gaze flitting -- she was similar to many such souls returning from war. “I only came down here to meet my cousin. Otherwise?” She shook her head with a huffed, faked laugh.

  “A therapist, then?”

  She shrugged and glanced over her shoulder as a loud truck rumbled past.

  “It’s safe here,” I said, a part of me softening in ways I’d almost thought long gone from my personality since returning home and joining the Devil’s Outlaws. “Middle of D.C., people here who’ve gone through what you have, myself included, there’s nothing to be –“

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  Instinctively, I grabbed Shelby and threw her to the ground behind the closest cement bench, crowding against her curled up form as a burst of shots sounded close by.

  Screams rang in my ears.

  Shouts erupted.

  The shots grew louder through the rushing heartbeat in my ears. M16, semi-automatic… Close -- not a sniper.

  One of the glass panels erupted from another burst of bullets. Wheels squealing and engine racing from who must have been the drive-by shooter kept me grounded in D.C. rather than flashing back to Afghanistan on the day I’d lost two fingers -- and almost half of my team because I’d failed them.

  I jerked my head around, hearing muffled and ears ringing, as Shelby shook in my arms. Two civilians were down, one staring our way with empty eyes, one holding his shoulder and hollering for help. Others scrambled for cover, shrieking, bent over with arms over their heads as though ducking would protect them from ripping bullets designed and meant to kill.

  Both Drac and Brewer had disappeared.

  Sirens sounded, and I blinked as my hearing came back full force.

  “You okay?” I asked, looking Shelby full in the face mere inches from mine. Eyes wide, she stared at me, her eyes glazed, whimpers pouring from her lips.

  I patted her cheek none too gently. “Hey.”

  She blinked a few times before clenching her eyes shut again as the sirens raced closer.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her lips opened and closed before a whispered, “Yes” escaped.

  “Gunner!” Brewer’s holler lifted my head. He and Drac hurried around the pool from where they must have hidden, faces pale, brows furrowed as people continued to cry out around us. Both held firearms in hand, but the shooter had raced away.

  Another quick glance around the memorial area let me know three others lay on the ground bleeding -- but all moving. “Fuck.” I sat, pulling the woman in my arms. “We’re good!” I hollered, tipping my chin toward those not so lucky.

  Both of my Outlaw brothers obeyed my unspoken command, changing direction for those in need of care while tucking their guns away.

  “You’re okay, Shelby. You’re okay.” I rocked her in my arms -- she clung to me with the fierceness of a frightened child as I continued to murmur to her.

  Cop cars screeched to a halt, and the madness of rushing bodies, hollers mixed together in my head as I fought to keep my fucking cool. The herbal scent of Shelby’s hair gave me something to focus on. What would have normally had my dick hard as a rock soothed me, kept my focus where it needed to be.

  I leaned against the stone bench, refusing to close my eyes because the darkness would bring the horrors of war to life in my mind. Brewer had fought alongside me in Afghanistan, and although he too suffered from PTSD, he helped one of the fallen men with focus and steady hands until EMTs took over.

  His roaming gaze took in the scene before landing on me. Lips pressed tight, he made his way over to us, speaking briefly with a cop before motioning toward us and making his escape. “You okay, Gunner?”

  I nodded. “You?”

  Brewer dipped his head once and tilted his head to get a better look at Shelby, who still clung to me. “The girl?”

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice more rasped than usual from the thousands of smokes I’d inhaled over the years.

  “The fuck, man?” Brewer ran his hands over his dark hair, a heavy sigh lifting his chest. “The fuck.” Blue eyes filled with pain and torment, he gazed around again. “Who the fuck does shit like this? Why?”

  “Fucker needs to die a slow goddamn death,” my VP growled, coming around Brewer and slumping on the bench by my head. Drac hadn’t seen action, but the need for brotherhood, the connection between soldiers, bonded us closer than blood. “Either of you injured?”

  “No,” I said, glancing at the flashing lights around us. “Get a look at the vehicle or shooter?”

  Both of my brothers shook their heads, lips pursed and brows furrowed. While I’d have preferred to get a shot off and kill the fucker myself, I was glad none of us would get too caught up in the police mess sure to follow.

  I patted Shelby’s shoulder. “Hey.”

  A shuddered sigh rippled through her, and I tilted back to look at her face and tipped her chin toward me when she wouldn’t lift her head.

  Tear tracks lined her cheeks, and while the glazed expression had faded from her eyes, the pain and fear remained. “Cops are going to want to talk to us,” I said, wiping one of her tears with my thumb.

  Her head jerked in a nod, but I made no move to get up or release her. Shelby fit perfectly in my arms like she belonged there, and while the circumstances surrounding our meeting sucked in the worst fucking way imaginable, a part of me felt bonded to her in a way we wouldn’t have been otherwise.

  Forget the not wanting to get emotional shit. I’d fallen so damn far down the rabbit hole, I couldn’t see daylight. For the first time in my life, I’d found someone who might just need me as much as I needed her -- and I had no goddamn plans to let her go, although my head and heart warred over that fact.

  Chapter Two

  Shelby

  The coppery scent of blood filled my nose while sweat coated my skin from the desert sun beating down overhead. Screams echoed in my ears. My heart thudded so damn hard in my chest I swore an elephant sat on me, closing off my throat. Silent tears squeezed from between my clenched eyelids as I clutched at the shirt bunched in my hands and fought to keep the nightmares from taking over my head like they had since that day my platoon had been ambushed.

  A waft of subtle, musky cologne trickled through the blood-scented air, and I burrowed my face into a hard, warm chest, seeking out quietness of mind, needing him to erase the memories of war I’d barely gotten a taste of before realizing I hadn’t been cut from the same cloth as my father.

  “You’re okay,” the man’s raspy voice murmured over and over again, the sensation of rocking eventually pulling me back to D.C., my ears filtering the truth of my situation to my scattered brain.

  I focused on breathing, desperate to keep from losing my shit like I’d been doing on a daily basis since returning home to find my fiancé moved out and on with his life. Hav
ing my mother lying in a hospital bed with terminal cancer had been my ticket out of the Army, but besides death, it was the shittiest way to get discharged.

  She’d passed three days earlier, leaving me alone to deal with grief I’d yet to allow myself. Leaving me floundering in life, having lost all sense of belonging.

  I only had one family member left -- my older cousin who was supposed to have met me there at the memorial, and while I’d been on time I hadn’t seen him while chatting with the man holding me.

  Voices buzzed in my ears, but I kept my eyes shut against the police, EMTs, and whoever else scurried around us to see to the wounded.

  Eventually, the man -- Gunner -- pulled back and tilted my head. I forced my eyes open, blinking in the bright sunshine. He said something about cops wanting to talk to us, but I didn’t budge from the comfort of his lap, the feel of his strong arms offering shelter I hadn’t experienced since before the death of my father when I’d been a gangly, young teenager.

  Gunner felt like… home. Something I’d felt had been ripped away from me while overseas. Returning to American soil hadn’t brought that comfort. Sleeping in my childhood bed hadn’t given me the same rest I’d hoped for.

  I closed my eyes again, rested my cheek on his chest, the steady thump of his heart giving me something to focus on. My fingers once more found purchase in his shirt, and I clung to him like a lifeline to sanity that kept my throat-tightening panic at bay.

  Eventually, the cops got around to us, a million questions I couldn’t focus enough to answer -- even after I checked my messages to find my cousin had texted me a few minutes after the shooting saying he couldn’t make it.

  At least he was safe.

  Still shaking with the need to pass out, I declined going to the hospital when someone suggested I go. The thought of beeps and the sickening scent of bleach and death had my stomach heaving, making me feel even worse.