Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 130102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“Cut,” she repeated, tasting it like a piece of hard candy. “Your cut said Shade.”
“Road name.”
“Do all bikers have road names?” She was as curious as Cassie’s girl.
“Some do. Some don’t. Personal choice.” That choice was only given once you became a fully-patched member, but he wasn’t getting into that with her right now. Most likely, not ever.
“If your name isn’t Shawn, why did Cassie introduce you as that?”
He formed all the words in his head first before releasing them and only hoped he got them all right. “To keep the knowledge that the crematorium is owned by an MC limited. Afraid it’ll scare off customers.” So far, the business had made a fuckton of scratch but they weren’t sure if it was because most people weren’t aware the Fury owned it or if because people simply didn’t care. They were the only business within a two hour radius from Manning Grove that provided home euthanasia plus cremation.
It also helped that Cassie kicked ass when dealing with customers, especially when they were wrecked emotionally because they had to put their pet down. Like Chelle had to do with her cat.
But it was smart business to not flaunt it was MC owned. They didn’t hide it about Crazy Pete’s but the bar wasn’t considered a biker bar exclusively. Anyone was welcome as long as they didn’t make trouble.
The town’s folk didn’t care the MC owned The Grove Inn, either, since it had been a rat trap before Trip bought the motel. The town approved of all of the renovations. It went from an eyesore and sketchy to a decent place to stay for tourists, visiting family and business folks alike.
“Makes sense, but why Shawn?”
Yeah, she asked as many fucking questions as Daisy. Only her questions weren’t a demand and not yelled at an ear-piercing level.
He shrugged. “Guessin’ ‘cause it’s close to Shade and she don’t know my real name.”
“Which is?”
“Julian.”
Shade felt her stare rather than saw it. If she had a reaction to his real first name, he missed it because he was too busy picking at the label on his water bottle. She was starting to ask too many fucking questions and his spine was getting tight.
“Does anybody call you that?”
“No.”
“And none of the other guys in your club know your real name?”
“The other guys in my club are my brothers. Know of only one who knows. Judge ran my sheet when I first became a prospect.”
He waited for her to ask what a sheet was but she surprised him when she skipped right over it. His rap sheet was pretty damn clean because he’d always stayed off the grid. Without a real ID and an unknown social security number, law enforcement had a difficult time identifying him when he did get caught. But once his prints were in the system, those minor charges began to build on the fake name he gave the pigs the first time. The same name he gave Judge. Julian Jones.
In truth, he should’ve used a fake first name, too. But his real first name was easy to remember. He just didn’t know how to spell it. Or even sign it.
Anyway, the name he used whenever he got arrested didn’t matter now. He had no plans on getting caught ever again. He hated being physically restrained and hated being contained in a small box even more. He’d already done that for too many fucking years of his life. He was done with that shit. He’d kill anyone who forced that on him again.
“Who’s Judge?”
Jesus fuck, more questions. “Owns Justice Bail Bonds and is our sergeant at arms.”
“What’s that?”
“The man who enforces the club’s rules.” He needed to end this line of questioning. If she didn’t stop digging, he would walk the fuck out and end their deal. “Feelin’ like a quiz, teach, instead of a lesson. Am I here so you can learn about an MC, or to teach a dumb fuck like me to read?”
That had her sitting back in her chair abruptly with her light brown eyes narrowed. “You’re not a dumb fuck.”
“You’ll see.”
“Not being able to read doesn’t make you dumb.”
“Not bein’ able to learn does.”
“Someone already tried to teach you outside of school?”
They were definitely not going there. “Chelle, too many fuckin’ questions. Heard what you said to Daisy about questions. I ain’t a mystery to be solved.”
She twisted in her chair, her denim-covered knee making contact with his. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, but I wanted to teach you to spell your name first. I figured that would be important. I’ll stick to the curriculum, instead.”
Shade closed his eyes, now feeling like a rude dick since she was only trying to help. He just wanted to keep them from falling down a rabbit hole where she tried to find out every detail of his fucking life by asking a million questions.