Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
I lift myself into the seat, nodding to the guy who looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. He grips the steering wheel like it will fall off if he doesn’t and has a prospect badge on his cut.
“He doesn’t have a road name yet, poor baby,” one of the girls hoots.
“Tim, nice but dim.” The other snorts, cracking herself up. Gaining herself a flash of menace from Tim in the rearview.
“Is Tim really your name?” I ask. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Tim.
“All prospects are Tim. To. Initiate. Member.” He nods, turning over the engine. “And you bitches better shut the fuck up, or I’ll make you walk,” he warns and I immediately like him.
Prospects get shit on by the brothers while trying to earn their patch. Getting shit on by drunk women who will be fawning over him when he gets patched in? Yeah, that’s beyond his duty.
“Might get there quicker. Are you going to go or what?” one whines, waving her hand at the road.
“I’m waiting on my VP,” he growls.
The highest-ranking brother always leads. My eyes drift to the man in question, nervous energy bubbling inside me. The symphony of bikes roaring to life warms my chest. It feels like home.
I’d half expected Kitty to mount Callan’s bike and refuse to acknowledge the relief when he pulls away without anyone on the back.
A hushed silence falls over us. As soon as we pull out behind the wall of bikes, I breathe a victory sigh. I did it. They’re taking me to their club.
I’m in.
CHAPTER 6
CLUBHOUSE
We drive for around ten minutes before turning onto a road with a Closed sign beside it. A little farther, a Private Property sign with bullet holes stands in warning. The car finally slows in front of a huge metal gate, staying back from the bikes in front. Unlike our clubhouse, there are watchtowers on either side with men holding assault rifles standing guard. “This a club or a prison?” I jest, giving Kitty a skeptical look over my shoulder.
She types away on her phone, lifting her head once we’re inside and the gates are closing behind us, but it’s Tim who answers. “It’s for the club’s safety. Someone took out our pres a couple weeks back.” His eyes blaze.
Kitty kicks the back of his chair and the car swerves. “Is that her business or club business?” A pink tinge creeps over his cheeks, and his eyes flit to hers in the rearview mirror.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I lie, offering her a soft smile. “Do you know who did it?”
“If we did, they’d be hanging from the gate, minus their insides,” she spews, hate and anger wrapped around her tone. I get it. It’s what’s going to happen to Harley’s killers.
“Way to kill the mood, Tim,” one of the women hisses. Pushing the door open, she climbs out as he brings the Jeep to a stop.
“Thanks for the ride.” I wave behind me as I follow Kitty toward the building. “Sorry to pry.” I cringe, hurrying to keep in step with her.
“A prospect should know better. It’s not your fault, but it’s best not to mention it inside, yeah?”
“Of course.” I squeeze her shoulder. “This place is huge.” I change the subject, taking in the massive gray walls.
“It was a bunch of old factories. The club bought them at an auction and turned them into the home for Sinners.” She stuffs her phone into her pocket as mine vibrates. I know it’s Tyler asking where I am. Again. He’d have an aneurysm if he knew the answer. It’s still hard to process. But here I am.
“You want to get that? There are no calls for visitors allowed inside. So, if it’s important…”
“It’s not.” I shake my head and hand her my purse. I anticipated my phone being confiscated. I already deleted most of my contacts. The ones I did keep, I changed their names.
We enter a foyer, and she hands my purse to an older woman, who is greeted with cheek kisses and ass slaps from the brothers pouring inside. “Rogue, this is Diamond. She takes care of us.”
“Nice to meet you.” Large hoop earrings hang from her drooping earlobes. She has dark red, backcombed hair with strands a good few inches from her scalp and heavy makeup sits in the cracks of her skin.
“You too, darlin’. You can collect this from the closet over there when you’re ready to leave.” She draws out the vowels with a southern twang to her voice.
“Thanks.”
Their clubhouse is way bigger than ours. Security cameras are all over this place. On the outside, it’s a prison. Once inside, it’s more like a hotel—a really nice hotel. Kitty walks me past a kitchen that could rival any restaurant.
“Diamond makes the best chili dogs.” She rubs her stomach and fake drools. “But they’ll have your ass on fire the next day.”