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    The Ride: A Short Story
    The Ride: A Short Story
    The Ride: A Short Story
    Ebook43 pages36 minutes

    The Ride: A Short Story

    By Joelle Fraser

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    About this ebook

    What happens when you meet the man of your dreams, and he turns out to be a member of a badass motorcycle club?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoelle Fraser
    Release dateNov 20, 2014
    ISBN9781311104359
    The Ride: A Short Story
    Author

    Joelle Fraser

    Joelle Fraser is an award-winning author of two books, The Territory of Men, and The Forest House. She’s also the publisher of HardRider Press, whose short stories are set in the motorcycle world. www.joellefraser.com

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      Book preview

      The Ride - Joelle Fraser

      The Ride

      A Short Story

      HardRider Series #1

      By Joelle Fraser

      Hard Rider Icon

      Copyright

      The Ride

      A Short Story

      HardRider Series #1

      Copyright ©2014 by Joelle Fraser

      Smashwords Edition

      The characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

      All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

      Cover image design by Pro_ebookcovers.

      Icon of motorcycle copyright jackrust / 123RF Stock Photo, used with permission.

      Author photo by Noah Porter, used with permission.

      Published by HardRider Press

      HardRider Press on Facebook.

      HardRider Logo

      Table of Contents

      The Ride

      Virginia City Excerpt

      About the Author

      The Ride

      Not again.

      Just before midnight, the gearshift on Lily’s ancient Honda Civic quit, again. She pulled over and coasted to a stop.

      Sat there with her head on the steering wheel, thinking shit shit shit.

      She was eight dark, cold miles from her cabin, and five from the Sweet Mountain Inn, where she’d waited tables all night.

      What made it worse: this was her fault. The brake fluid had been leaking for months, but she’d ignored it, not wanting to spend the money, maybe get shafted by the repair shop.

      Outside, it was forty-something degrees, and because her heater didn’t work, she was already cold.

      Even though Lily knew it was empty, she checked the glove box for the can of brake fluid (stashed there just for a time like this). She shook the can as if the liquid would magically appear.

      Then, as if to confirm how screwed she really was—because the signal wouldn’t cooperate in this narrow pocket of the pines—Lily tried her cell. Thinking, maybe her boss could come get her. Annie owned the Sweet Mountain Inn and was probably just closing.

      Nope. No signal. The phone was as worthless as her car.

      This time of night on Highway 44, on a Tuesday in October, not many cars come by. One every half hour. Maybe.

      Lily sighed hard and willed herself not to cry, not to feel the cold, or the ache in her legs from standing all night for the fourth night in a row at the Sweet Mountain. She tried not to think about the half-done research paper due the next day for the snooty teacher half her age, or the bonecold chill of the dark cabin that awaited her.

      She got out the car just to do something. A tall, shadowy wall of pine trees lined the two-lane highway in both directions. Winter came early in these

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