Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I don’t know when she became the sole focus of my thoughts or why, when I decided to purposefully act so coldly toward her, I can’t just cut and run. I know I’m not good for, her but the moment Ivy mentioned taking her on a double date, I was fucking furious. Not at Billie, but whatever asshole was actually daring enough to try with her.
It’s selfish. It makes no sense. I promised myself I was just checking up on her to make sure she was okay, but I’m lying even to myself, and now I don’t know how to slow it down. Even if I might feel a certain way about it, I push those thoughts away because, at the end of the day, I am not what is best for Billie.
My fingers curl into my palms. It doesn’t make it any easier to try and rationalize with me or her what’s best for her.
When she came over that night, I couldn’t contain myself. I went absolutely feral on her, marking every inch of her as mine, and that terrifies me. The way I get lost in her, needing hit after hit after hit. I can’t get her out of my bloodstream, and that’s exactly why I followed her on her date. What if next time it is too much for her? I’m the worst type of influence for her and have so much blood on my hands that, at times, when I touch her… it feels like I’m tainting her in the process. Yet I’m failing miserably at stopping it.
“Looks like it’s about to start,” Hawke notes as he stops at my side. I roll my shoulder because these fucking collared shirts always feel stiff, but our mother insists we look as presentable as possible when we conduct business on her behalf.
Our father always gave us shit for being like little dress-up dolls. I don’t give a fuck. It’s the perk of getting first choice of the stock we receive that makes all the bullshit worth it.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome. If you would please begin to settle in, the auctions will start momentarily,” the auctioneer announces. The lights dim, silhouetting the people in the crowd. I keep a keen eye on the room, watching for anything out of the ordinary.
Anya and Alek want us to take over. They want us to do this right.
And that’s saying a lot, considering my mother and uncle are control freaks.
I recognize most of the attendees since admittance to the auctions are by invitation only. Those invitations are sent only to those who plan to buy. If someone doesn’t bid, they don’t get a second invitation.
We auction off various items, but guns are our biggest business. They bring in the most money. Though the sex auctions are a close second, and the Ivanov siblings work closely with Dutton to conduct them after he took over the business from his father.
A few late arrivals enter, shaking my brother’s hand before finding their seats. I refuse the greeting, leaving my hands in my pockets.
Fuck, I could go for something sweet right now. My fingers twitch around the lollipop I brought with me, desperate to unwrap it and pop it into my mouth. But Anya would beat my ass if she found out I was eating here.
The familiar face of Waylon Striker appears in the doorway. It’s unusual to see the motorcycle club president from Boston not wearing his leathers, but there’s a strict dress code here.
Since he and Eli went into business together, the two have been brokering good deals, however, it doesn’t mean we entirely trust the biker group. I, personally, don’t mind him, but with the shit that happened over killing three of his men, including Posie’s ex… Well, it’s choppy waters. Especially if one of his members find out we’re responsible and come after us.
Whatever. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
He shakes Hawke’s hand, and he’s the only person I bother returning the gesture for.
“Boys.” He nods. “I’m surprised to see you somewhere other than at Eli’s side.”
“He’s taking care of ‘personal business’ at the moment,” Hawke tells him, and I shake my head because my brother never knows when to keep his mouth shut.
“You bring anyone else with you?” I ask because every member is welcome to invite one guest, though they have to be registered with us first so we can personally screen them.
“No, I rode in for this and will ride out after.”
“Our boy here wouldn’t do the wrong thing.” Hawke throws an arm over Waylon’s shoulders and escorts him to his table. I avoid rolling my eyes. My brother’s a psycho, drawing people in with his blinding energy, much like Billie, but then there’s also the side of him not many see—the bloody beast behind the smiling man.