Read Flame (Ruin Outlaws MC #4) for Free Online

thought escaping to Mexico would feel like a punishment, like I committed a crime and I was being sent to prison. But it isn't at all. I note the building coming up that it's the one facing into the alleyway for our apartment, and I turn into the alley, feeling carefree.
    Logan's bike is still missing, and I frown. I wish he would hurry up already. Especially since I got all this food, and I'm sure he'll be hungry... doing whatever he's doing. I open the front door and head inside, and Damian is back at his desk, on his laptop.
    He looks up at me and waves weakly, which is strange. He's usually more chipper. I guess I shouldn't hold him to my first impression of him. I turn into the kitchen and put the groceries on the counter. I reach for a bag to start unloading it, but something is wrong. I feel like... I'm being watched. Damian is in the other room, I saw him, so it can't be him.
    Hands reach around my body and squeeze me tight. My first thought is it's Logan, but the grip is too tight, too aggressive. I squirm and try to break free, screaming, "Damian!"
    Damian steps into the kitchen, but doesn't look surprised to see me getting manhandled. "Do something!" I shout at him. He looks remorseful and pitiful.
    "I'm sorry," is all he says. A crack makes lights spark behind my eyes and I can't see anything, I feel my body go limp, and my consciousness drift into a deep sleep.
    . . .
    When I come to, I feel claustrophobic. Dry, hot wind and sand scratches at my face, and I squint my eyes to try and see through the bright sunlight. I have no idea how long I've been out, but I recognize where I am. The firing range. Long bands of silver duct tape are coiled around my body like a snake, binding me to what seems to be a forgotten telephone pole.
    I stare down the range where Logan and I were shooting yesterday and try to make out my captors. There's three men. One I can tell is Damian, because he looks like a fucking rat. The other two are unrecognizable to me, especially from this distance. I scream against the wind and squirm, the raw wood against my back cuts through my loose shirt and scratches my skin raw.
    I can still feel the bulge of my gun in my pocket. Why the fuck would I still have that? I guess... there's no reason why they would have thought I'd have a gun. I didn't even have a fucking purse when they grabbed me.
    "What the fuck?" I try and yell. I can tell the two men are talking, but I can't make out their lips from here. When they don't acknowledge my yell, I scream again, even louder.
    They stop talking and look down the range at me. One shields his eyes from the sun with his hand and the other lifts his arms. My jaw drops and my eyes widen. They're going to fucking shoot me. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself... if I hadn't fucking left the room... maybe this wouldn't have happened.
    A loud crack sounds off and a bottle explodes next to me, the shards striking my body and landing at my feet. I shriek in terror from the shock and I hear one of the men laugh. The other one starts walking toward me, and I summon my courage to not look like a slobbering fool when he gets close. I wish I could wipe my fucking face so I wouldn't have makeup smearing down my cheeks.
    He's close enough for me to make out his features, but I still can't recognize him. He's Hispanic and wearing a white suit, a stetson and sunglasses. He shouts at me: "What the fuck do you want?" His accent is thick and full of anger.
    I bite my lip and keep from screaming back. He comes right up to me and grabs my face with his fingers, digging them into my cheeks. He twists my face back and forth. "Fucking crying? What about?"
    I shake my head and try to keep my mouth closed despite the pressure from his grip. "You're Logan's bitch, causing all this trouble," he continues. I fight back tears that are welling up in my eyes and try to shake his grip off me. A yell downrange turns his head, and I spit on the back of his neck. His hand instinctively goes