Burn in Hail (The Hail Raisers Book 3)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  Burn

  in

  Hail

  Tate and Hennessy

  Book 3 in the Hail Raisers Series

  Text copyright ©2017 Lani Lynn Vale

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my mom. Thank you for everything you do. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.

  Acknowledgements

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Editors: Kellie Montgomery and Asli Fratarcangeli

  Model: Tyler Halligan

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  What’s next?

  Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale:

  The Freebirds

  Boomtown

  Highway Don’t Care

  Another One Bites the Dust

  Last Day of My Life

  Texas Tornado

  I Don’t Dance

  The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC

  Lights To My Siren

  Halligan To My Axe

  Kevlar To My Vest

  Keys To My Cuffs

  Life To My Flight

  Charge To My Line

  Counter To My Intelligence

  Right To My Wrong

  Code 11- KPD SWAT

  Center Mass

  Double Tap

  Bang Switch

  Execution Style

  Charlie Foxtrot

  Kill Shot

  Coup De Grace

  The Uncertain Saints

  Whiskey Neat

  Jack & Coke

  Vodka On The Rocks

  Bad Apple

  Dirty Mother

  Rusty Nail

  The Kilgore Fire Series

  Shock Advised

  Flash Point

  Oxygen Deprived

  Controlled Burn

  Put Out

  I Like Big Dragons Series

  I Like Big Dragons and I Cannot Lie

  Dragons Need Love, Too

  Oh, My Dragon

  The Dixie Warden Rejects

  Beard Mode

  Fear the Beard

  Son of a Beard

  I’m Only Here for the Beard

  The Beard Made Me Do It

  Beard Up

  For the Love of Beard

  There’s No Crying in Baseball

  Pitch Please

  The Hail Raisers

  Hail No

  Go to Hail

  Burn in Hail

  What the Hail (12-14-17)

  The Hail You Say (1-11-18)

  Hail Mary (2-8-18)

  Blurb

  One look at the sixteen-year-old, prim and proper town goody-two-shoes, Hennessy Hanes, and Tate Casey knows he’s in trouble. He knows he should stay away from the preacher’s daughter, but there’s something about her he’s drawn to, and he can’t resist the pull.

  The more he gets to know her, the more he realizes that something isn’t right. He may not be able put his finger on what it is, but he’s determined to find out what’s going on with the girl with the haunted eyes.

  Tate didn’t anticipate that someone else would be just as determined to keep Hennessy’s nightmare a secret, and he never realizes just how far that person is willing go to keep those skeletons in the closet until it’s too late.

  With the very real threat of jail time hanging over his head, Tate leaves without a backwards glance at the town or the girl. The problem is that out-of-sight doesn’t necessarily mean out of mind, and it’s Tate who’s now haunted by his decision and memories of Hennessy.

  ***

  Hennessy Hanes knows better than anyone not everything is always as it appears to be. After years of being on the receiving end of her squeaky-clean preacher father’s abuse, she seizes an opportunity to leave it all behind and runs.

  Her only regret is that in walking away she loses any chance with the one person who tried to save her.

  ***

  Fast forward ten years, and they’re both back where they started.

  Tate was never a good boy, and it turns out that the man he’s now grown into isn’t all that much better. Anger is a living, breathing part of him, and there’s a court order forcing him to seek help from the one person he’s never forgotten.

  Hennessy never thought she’d see Tate Casey again, and certainly not on her couch. But now it’s her turn to save him, and there are rules she must follow as his psychologist, not to mention a court order instructing her to help him manage his anger. If she doesn’t follow those rules, he’ll end up back in jail.

  Tate Casey has never been a man who followed the rules, and Hennessy is no longer the straight-laced, timid preacher’s daughter she once was.

  His hands may be tied, so it looks like for the first time in Hennessy’s life, she’ll be the one breaking the rules for the chance to finally get what she’s always wanted. Him.

  Chapter 1

  Is it bad to need a beer the moment you walk out of jail? Asking for a friend.

  -Tate’s secret thoughts

  Tate

  “I flipped on my blinker and looked left before I took the final turn that would lead me to my house. When I was fully on my street, I saw what looked like ten or so males gathered around something on the ground in a clearing right off the road.”

  I cleared my throat.

  The woman’s intense stare was almost emasculating.

  I continued. “That clearing belongs to Dr. Foreman. Or did— I don’t know if it does anymore or not since I haven’t been here…” she waved me off. “Anyway, there isn’t usually anyone in that field, so it made me pay attention. And that’s when I saw the silvery blonde hair on the ground.”

  Something switched in my brain.

  My past and present collided, and there wasn’t a single thing that could stop me.

  Not anymore.

  “And can you tell me what happened next?”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “I blacked out.”

  The woman, the one that was currently making my dick hard, dropped her eyes to her papers that were sitting in her lap, and started writing once again.

  Her slim, breakable wrist—that would take nothing for me to wrap my fingers around—moved as she wrote furiously. The delicate charm bracelet that she was wearing jingled each time she moved lower on the paper.

  “When you say you blacked out, can you describe it to me?”

  I shrugged. “Not really. One second I was aware of what was going
on, and the next, nothing.”

  She looked up at me, pursing her lips.

  Jesus Christ.

  She was wearing ruby red lipstick.

  I’d never seen anyone in this town wear red lipstick.

  Hell, hardly anyone looked good in that shit, but this woman? She really pulled it off.

  She had white skin so fine that it looked like a fucking doll’s, and her black hair was such a stark contrast with her skin that it kept drawing my eyes to where they met.

  Right along the line of her collarbone.

  She had the majority of her hair up in some complicated bun looking thing, but there was this one rebellious curl that had escaped the confines and was brushing along her collarbone.

  “When do you remember ‘coming to yourself’?” she questioned.

  She was looking at me over the rim of her cat-eyed purple reading glasses with four rhinestones on each side, waiting for the answer to her question.

  If there was one thing I did not want to do, it was talk to this woman about my ‘anger issues.’

  I didn’t have ‘anger issues.’ I had issues that weren’t solely based on my anger.

  I was one fucked up individual.

  I’d been in the Marines for nearly half my life. My sister had been brutally raped, beaten, and then tried to kill herself four times after. I’d been in an on again, off again, relationship with someone since the beginning of time, and it was almost as if it was expected at this point. But, to be honest, I didn’t find her nearly as attractive as I did when I was younger. Yet, she was easy. What we had was easy.

  Convenient.

  Then there were my parents. My mom was a hooker, and my father was nowhere to be found.

  So yeah, I had fucking issues, and anger wasn’t the only reason for them.

  Being fucked up was the reason.

  It just so happened that the judge that had let me off early for my ‘good behavior’ had mandated that I see a psychologist that could help me work with those ‘issues.’

  “I remember everything from the moment that the first cop shot me in the chest with a fucking sandbag.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Language like that is not needed to tell this story, Mr. Casey.”

  Goddamn, but she sounded like a haughty librarian that was chastising me for talking too loud in the library.

  She dressed like one, that was for sure.

  She was wearing a black blouse that was buttoned up from the top of her collarbone all the way into the high waisted, skin tight, black skirt. A skirt that came down to her knees.

  She was wearing what looked to be stockings, too, but I could neither confirm nor deny that.

  Not without actually checking, anyway.

  “Sorry, Ms. Hanes,” I apologized, trying to make it sound genuine.

  Apparently, I didn’t accomplish it, because she shuffled the papers she was writing on and uncrossed those goddamn legs.

  She placed both high-heeled feet on the floor and stood up to her full height, which was all of five foot four, at most.

  The heels she was wearing, however, made her height lengthen to about five seven, if I had to guess.

  “That’s forty-five minutes,” she said, looking at her watch. “Thursday when you come in, we’ll start where you left off, all right?”

  I shrugged and stood, too.

  Then I walked toward the door without a backwards glance.

  Chapter 2

  I’ve never really been the type of girl that wanted a sugar daddy. Now, if queso daddies were a real thing, I’d for sure need one of those.

  -Hennessy’s secret thoughts

  Hennessy

  This is not good, Hen. Not good. Not good, not good, not good.

  If I repeated that to myself over and over again, maybe I could get it through my thick skull.

  But I knew that me repeating that over and over wouldn’t do any good.

  Not with how I was feeling right then.

  Tate Casey. Tate fucking Casey!

  He was a bruiser of a man. Tall; over six foot five, if not a little more.

  He was tan, muscled, and had a head of dirty blonde hair that looked like he’d just shaved it yesterday.

  Oh, and let’s not forget my current weakness.

  The beard.

  Oh, God. That beard.

  It had a hint of red in it, and if there was one thing in this world I had a weakness for, it was a red beard.

  Why, I didn’t know.

  But I knew that it was one, and I took simple steps to control myself around them.

  Wouldn’t be good for the pastor’s daughter to be caught ogling bearded men. Hennessy Harmony Hanes was not a girl that went for the rough ones, especially a redhead.

  Why?

  Because Momma, God bless her soul, had once had a thing for a redheaded biker before she’d met my daddy, and now Daddy had a vindictive streak against men that looked or acted like him.

  And Tate Casey was that man.

  His arms were lined with tattoos, and it was clear that even while on the inside, Tate hadn’t missed a workout session.

  I wondered if he’d had to lift other men because the weights that they could fit onto one bar likely wouldn’t be enough.

  I looked down at my pad of paper that I’d done nothing but draw the man’s freakin’ tattoos on for the last half an hour, and wondered if he’d notice if I took a picture.

  That would probably be against some psychologist code somewhere. Which I should probably know, but likely slept through that class.

  The man currently staring me down was waiting for me to reply to what he’d just said, but I couldn’t find it in me to tell him what he likely thought I should say.

  You should really work on your anger issues was not something that I wanted to say to the man. Not when I felt that what he’d done was justified.

  I’d seen that girl’s story in the newspaper. I’d read her accounting on what happened, and what Tate Casey had done to save her from that obvious hell.

  I knew, and I didn’t. Freakin’. Care.

  My dad, however…well, he sure did.

  Violence is not the answer, Hennessy.

  He’d said those exact words at the breakfast table the morning I’d read about Tate Casey’s impending incarceration.

  Tate worked for Hail Auto Recovery, and had been on a job one night when he’d come upon a gang of young men raping a girl. After beating the guys responsible for the actual rape to death, he’d then gone and taken out five more of the gang members who were just egging them on, before he was caught and detained by police officers.

  He hadn’t touched the police officers. He’d surrendered willingly, and had done everything asked of him to cooperate with authorities.

  He’d been calm, cool, and collected while also being covered from head to toe with the blood of the men he’d beaten to death.

  This was the second session of a mandatory twenty sessions, and he was about as approachable now as he had been the first meeting.

  “I’ve heard of the Hail Raisers.” I said, acting like I was considering my notes as I did. “Can you tell me more about them?”

  Was that appropriate to ask? I couldn’t tell.

  I was winging it here.

  Literally, I’d never once been this attracted to one of my patients before.

  This was all kinds of screwed up, and if I wasn’t careful, this would cross the line into ‘no-no’ territory.

  I couldn’t help it, though.

  I needed to know more about this man, and if he didn’t tell me, I’d then have to ask people around town.

  They’d, of course, know that he was being seen by me.

  Half the town had been present when he’d arrived at my office over an hour ago due to the town’s Summer Fest Parade passing right past our door.

  If I said something almost as if in passing, surely everyone else would fill
in the blanks without me having to do any asking at all…right?

  Shit.

  This was bad.

  Bad, bad, bad.

  “Hail Raisers?” he feigned ignorance.

  I nodded.

  “The motorcycle club.”

  He huffed out a laugh.

  “We’re not a ‘club,’” he admonished. “Half the men in The Hails’ employ don’t even own a motorcycle. That was just something that was made up one day by some random Joe, and has stuck. Mostly because this fucking town can’t let go of the past.”

  I didn’t correct him or admonish him for the coarse language.

  He seemed to like it when he got a rise out of me.

  “Okay, then tell me about the men in The Hails’ employ,” I amended.

  “We’re just a bunch of like-minded individuals,” he shrugged.

  “Individuals that have all seen prison time.” I filled in the blank.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think any of them but Evander has seen prison time.” He paused. “But I haven’t really heard much about him since I’ve been in the slammer, so it could’ve happened. As for me and Evander? I think we’re just misunderstood.”

  I wanted to laugh.

  I didn’t dare.

  “Misunderstood how?” I persisted.

  He tilted his head to the side.

  “Is your dad coming to interrupt us today?” he asked, changing the subject.

  I frowned and looked at him quizzically. “No, why?”

  His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he was as closed off as one could be without actually getting up and leaving the room.

  He gestured to the window behind me with his chin, and I turned to find my father standing in the inner sanctum of my office, staring at me through the glass window that portioned off one half of my office from where I met with patients.

  “Apparently, he is,” I said, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what he wants.”

  Tate shrugged and put his feet up onto the coffee table that’d been separating our two chairs.

  I got up, making sure that both of my feet were firmly underneath me, before I took a step in my heels.