Axle (Redline Kings MC #2)

Chapter 1

ASHLYNN

I was nearly finished with an illustration for a social media challenge to draw a beach scene in your style when the light shifted through the blinds. It caught the edge of my tablet screen, making me blink.

Crap.

I’d meant to stop a while ago, but I’d gotten too focused on the texture of the sand and completely lost track of time.

After setting the tablet aside, I leaned back and stretched, cracking my neck. My stomach growled, and I took that as my cue to break for lunch.

After padding into the kitchen to make a sandwich, I grabbed my laptop and settled on the floor in front of the coffee table.

Taking a big bite, I activated my VPN and opened my secure browser.

Then I headed to the dark website for an information broker I’d worked with before to see if they had a job for me.

Their site was a digital fortress with multifactor tokens and masked routing protocols. Half the work was just logging in, but it was worth navigating the maze because the privacy kept me safe and the jobs gave me the flexibility I needed to pursue my dream of becoming a professional illustrator.

The courier gigs I picked up were anonymous, but I still didn’t take any that were illegal.

Which was why this particular broker was my favorite—they dealt in information, not product.

So I didn’t need to worry about moving drugs or guns without being aware of what was in the package when I accepted an assignment from them.

I took another bite of my sandwich while I watched as the onion layers peeled back and the familiar login screen loaded. Using my code name and cryptographic handshake, I got in. And grinned when I saw a new job offer posted to my account.

Whoa.

One that paid way more than usual.

Ten thousand dollars for a simple courier run. It was enough to cover me for the next four or five months, which made it both suspicious and tempting.

I skimmed the details. The need for secrecy and speed made me feel a little better about the amount offered. The only thing that gave me pause was the drop-off location—a remote boatyard east of Tallahassee.

The pickup spot sealed it, though. I’d been to the same building several times before, so I knew they dealt in tech of some kind.

And had gobs of money, judging by their mirrored glass and steel headquarters that had a ridiculous amount of marble inside and a sculpture in the middle of the lobby that probably cost more than my car.

Reminding myself that I’d never had an issue with a job for this broker, I accepted the offer, gave them a timeframe for when I expected to arrive at the boatyard, and got ready to head out.

My nerves eased a little as I walked in like I belonged, bypassed the elevator bank, and headed straight for the front desk. The receptionist’s smile was polite but impersonal. “How can I help you today?”

I kept my voice low. “Pickup code nine-seven-six.”

My lack of greeting didn’t bother her. She just tapped the glass countertop and requested, “Scan in here, please.”

I reached into my jacket and pulled out my burner phone. I kept it in a locker at a gym across town from my house. I didn’t even work out there, but the manager was happy to let me use the locker as long as I slipped him fifty bucks every month.

I pulled up the QR code sent by the broker and held the screen over the embedded scanner. The device beeped once.

The receptionist turned, crouched beneath the desk, and came back up with a slim, brown-paper-wrapped package. There was no label or markings of any kind.

“Thanks.” I accepted it from her and walked out.

Keeping my focus on the ten grand, I didn’t hesitate as I hopped in my car and turned toward the outskirts of the city, heading straight for the drop.

Traffic was light, so I reached the boatyard fifteen minutes early. Being ahead of schedule gave me time to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

I cruised past the entrance once, taking note of the long chain-link fence and the wide gate standing open. There was no security booth or cameras I could see. Just open access to anyone who wandered in.

At the corner, I made a slow turn and looped back, scanning my rearview and side mirrors.

Nobody was behind me, but I still parked half a block away and walked in.

Fishing nets hung like cobwebs from rusting cranes.

A few hulking boat hulls sat propped on blocks, their paint flaking in strips.

Shadows pooled under the skeletal frame of a half-collapsed warehouse at the far end.

I picked a spot with a clear view of the gate and warehouse door. The package was clutched in my hands, and my burner phone was in easy reach.

I waited for the person described in the posting—red cap and asking for directions to Redline Speedway.

Five minutes passed. Ten.

A low hum eventually cut through the quiet. I turned my head and spotted a black sedan idling across the lot, windows tinted too dark to see inside. My fingers curled around the package.

Then a white panel van rolled in through the open gate, crawling forward at a snail’s pace. There was no license plate on the front or markings on the sides.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

The van eased to a stop near the warehouse. The driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out. The sun glinted off something in his ear—a headset of some kind.

His gaze locked on me immediately.

“Ashlynn Bahr!” His voice carried, sharp and certain.

My breath caught. I had never used my real name on a job.

Movement flickered at the edge of my vision.

Men stepped out from between the rusting boat hulls and the shadows of the warehouse. They fanned out with practiced ease, boots silent on the cracked asphalt, their weapons angled low, fingers near the triggers.

My pulse spiked as the first man took a step closer, his eyes hard. “Hand over the ledger.”

“The what?” I asked, my voice steady even as my knees felt like they were about to give out.

“Don’t play dumb.” He nodded to one of his men. “Search her.”

I backed up a step, my grip tightening on the package. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Funny,” he shot back. “You have exactly the right face.”

My gaze darted around, looking for gaps. There weren’t many.

Another step, and they’d be close enough to grab me.

I shifted my weight, let my gaze flick past the leader as though I’d heard something behind him. His head turned. That half second was all I needed.

I lunged sideways and kicked hard at a stack of crates leaning against the warehouse wall. They went crashing down, and someone shouted, “Shit!”

I ran.

Gunfire erupted, sharp cracks echoing off the steel and concrete. Splinters and bits of asphalt spat up at my heels. I ducked into the derelict warehouse, weaving between rusted barrels and collapsed scaffolding.

My breathing was uneven, and my pulse was loud in my ears.

I needed my hands free if I was going to have a chance at getting away, but I couldn’t leave the package in the hands of these guys.

That was when I spotted the duffel bag slumped behind an overturned trash can. I crouched, yanked the zipper open, and froze. Bundles of cash filled it, neat stacks bound with crisp bank straps.

If this was my payment, then the person in the red ball cap was probably in deep trouble. But I didn’t have time to worry about them when the boots pounding on the pavement were getting closer.

I shoved the package into the bag, zipped it shut, and slung it over my shoulder.

Another burst of gunfire rang out, closer this time. I bolted toward the far side of the warehouse, my gaze scanning for anything that could get me out of here alive.

I darted through the maze of shadows until I spotted a narrow strip of daylight spilling in from a side door.

Heart hammering, I pressed against the wall and edged closer, peeking through the crack. There was a motorcycle parked beside a dented metal dumpster. And in a stroke of luck I’d forever be grateful for, the key dangled from the ignition.

I’d only driven a dirt bike once before. But that didn’t matter when my life was on the line.

Quickly, I yanked my phone from my pocket and dropped it on the ground, smashing it with my foot. I didn’t want to have anything that could potentially be used to track me.

I shoved through the door, sprinted the few yards to the bike, and swung a leg over the seat.

I snagged the leather jacket off the handlebar and put it on.

It was too big for me, but at least the sturdy material would offer some protection if I crashed.

Then I grabbed the helmet from the other side and slammed it on my head.

My hands shook as I gripped the bars, jamming the key forward.

The engine roared to life, loud enough to draw every set of eyes my way.

Desperation coursing through my veins, I twisted the throttle and lurched forward, the sudden surge nearly throwing me off the seat. I overcorrected, swerved hard, then straightened out with my teeth clenched. The duffel thumped against my hip.

Shouts rang out behind me. Another round of gunfire snapped through the air, one bullet pinging off the dumpster I’d just passed.

“C’mon. Go, go, go,” I mumbled as I gunned the engine.

Every bump in the asphalt jolted up my spine. The lot blurred past me, and my focus narrowed to the road ahead while I held on to the handlebars for dear life.

I had no plan. Nowhere safe to go. My mind was pure adrenaline and panic.

As I made an awkward turn onto the road, the instructions from the job posting popped into my head.

Redline Speedway was public. Crowded on race days. And nearby enough that if these guys really wanted me dead, they’d have to try it in front of hundreds of people.

I leaned forward, the wind clawing at the leather jacket I’d put on as I twisted the throttle harder. My only shot was to lose them in the noise and chaos of the track before they caught me.

With them on my tail, I blew through the speedway’s security barrier, the splintered arm of the gate smacking the pavement behind me. Shouts erupted, but I didn’t slow. The track loomed ahead, cars slicing by in a deadly blur I was about to ride straight into.