Hell's Jury MC 4-Books (EBOOK Bundle)

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FROM ROCKY.
All the things my dad told me about keeping myself safe go right out of my head when I see the three men.
Holy crap! is my first thought.
They’re dead men walking under the heat of the Nevada sun in August on a deserted road, in the middle of the desert, no shirts, no shoes. I don’t immediately realize what they’re about until I’m almost on them and see the shape they’re in - beat up, bloody, one is being supported by the other two, practically dragged as the three men stagger down the road.
I rip by them in my new-to-me 2011 Mercedes SUV and then brake hard and skid to a stop a couple of hundred yards past. I flip into reverse and twist my body as I gun the gas, keeping my eyes on the road behind as I haul ass backwards.
Nothing’s in my thoughts but picking up these guys who’ll die if I don’t help them. I don’t ask myself what they’re doing out in the middle of nowhere. Don’t think about why they’re half-naked. Don’t think of any of the dangerous possibilities. Nope. Once I’m within 20 feet of them, I throw the car in park, flip open the door and jump from the vehicle, racing back to the men who are staggering towards me.
“Oh, my fucking god,” I shriek as I wrap my hands around the waist of one of the men and help him support the guy they’re dragging. “Are you guys okay? What happened? It’s okay. I’m here now. Thank god I was on this road.” I know I’m babbling, not really making a ton of sense. The adrenalin is making me stupid. They’re not really talking at all, but they don’t refuse my help.
Of course, they don’t.
When we reach my car, I yank open the back door and hold it as they load their barely conscious buddy inside, who’s huge. I mean he’s got to be at least 6’6” tall and seriously bulked up. The second man, tall, tattoos and piercings everywhere, dirty blond hair, and brown eyes, circles my car and crawls into the other side.
As I slam the door shut, I turn to face the last man who’s still standing on pavement so hot it has to be burning his bare feet.
“I’m driving,” he rasps as he tries to move me out of the way with his hands to my arms. It’s a weak grip from an otherwise strong man if the holy-hell biceps he has are any indication.
“Like hell you are.” I easily pull out of his grasp by taking a couple of steps back. I look way up past his bruised and bloody bare chest to see his dull brown eyes. Damn, the guy’s tall. I can’t really see his face through the messy beard, the mass of bruises and an eye that’s swollen shut. “You can barely stand. Get in the passenger seat so we can get out of here.”
I hold my ground as he hesitates, then he runs his fingers through his shaggy blood-matted hair before stepping back and moving around the vehicle, getting in the passenger side.
“Trigger, how’s Red doing?” he asks as he settles in. His eyes wash over me when I climb into the driver’s seat and slam the door, turning the AC on high.
“Looks like a fuckin’ lobster, Rocky.”
I glance at Trigger in the rear-view mirror as I move the seat forward to give Red some more space, then shove the SUV into drive. “There are some water bottles in the back. Grab them and hydrate.”
Trigger gropes around behind the seat and comes up with the water, handing two bottles off to Rocky, then guzzles a full one down before uncapping another and forcing it down Red’s throat.
Rocky takes a long swallow of the water, pauses, then another, emptying most of the bottle. “What’s your name, darlin’?”