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)
A small smile lifts the side of my mouth, I hold the keys out and say, “Thanks, Tim. You’re a good one.”
“So are you.”
Climbing into the Jeep, I fiddle with the seat to bring it forward. I glance up, checking my mirror, and find Tim waving me off. I shift into drive and pull up to the gates, my shoulders tense and my back tight. They open straight away, and I breathe out in relief as I sail through the gates without incident.
Once I’m back at the motel, I run into the room, kicking off the heels that were one size too small, and grab my phone, hitting Tyler’s number. It’s five in the morning, but he answers on the fourth ring, his sleepy voice creeping down the line.
“Finally missing me?”
“I need to see you.”
“Good, I need to see you too.” There’s a voice in the background. A woman whispering. “Out,” he barks. I cringe for whoever is being discarded, no doubt without getting her own release.
“Turn your tracker on and I’ll come to you.” I want to tell him no. That I’ll come to him, but if I go back there, he’ll make sure I never leave again.
“Fine.” Ending the call, I turn my tracker on and wait. Once he sees where I am, he’ll call and ream me out, demanding I return home. I round the bed and tug open the dresser drawer pulling out the top rocker patch found on Harley. Sighing, I throw myself back on the bed and close my eyes.
The sun beams through the window, heating the small room. The familiar rumble of a bike jerks me upright. I must have fallen asleep. Grabbing my phone, I check for missed calls and realize I’ve been out for more than a few hours. There are no missed calls. Shoving the patch into my pocket, I jump up. Rushing to the door, Tyler comes into view as he parks his bike across the lot.
I open my door and hiss, “Tyler! Over here!”
He takes his time dismounting and strolls over to me. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Get in here,” I groan, dragging him by the arm, not wanting anyone to see a Devil here.
“You seem pretty comfortable driving into King’s territory with your cut,” I snap, slamming the door behind him.
“You seem pretty fucking comfortable with your set up here.” He walks around the room, tossing clothes onto the bed. “Get your shit together. You’ve played brat long enough.”
“Excuse you?” I grit my teeth. Being in his presence for the first time in weeks only confirms what I already knew: I’ve never really loved Tyler.
He prowls toward me, his eyes menacing as he backs me up against the wall. His hands slam against the plaster on either side of my head, knocking a picture to the carpet with the force.
“I allowed you time. Harley’s death was hard.”
“Murder,” I growl.
“What?” His spittle sprays my face.
“Harley’s murder—or am I still the only one who gives a shit about the circumstances?”
“Is that what you’re doing in this town? Investigating?” His lips press into a white slash across his face.
“Someone has to.” I’m bitter. So fucking bitter.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.” He pushes off the wall and runs his hands through his hair, then points a finger at my suitcase. “Pack your fucking shit or we’re leaving without it.”
“I’m staying.”
“The hell you are. You belong with me. You belong at home.”
“No.” I shake my head, folding my arms, my shoulders pulling back. “I don’t.” Air whooshes out of me as the back of his hand makes contact with my cheek, knocking me to the dirty carpet. Metallic liquid fills my mouth.
Tears spring to my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Fuck him. “Feel like a man now?” I spit the blood, swiping my hand across my lips. I push myself up from the floor, my legs a little shaky. Rearing back, I attempt to punch him, but he grabs my wrist and turns me in his hold, wrapping me against his body, his front to my back.
“As much as I love to dance with you, baby, time is of the essence.” His hot breath puffs over my ear as I thrash to break his hold. “You know I like it when you struggle,” he taunts.
“Fuck you,” I snap.
“We don’t have time. As soon as we get home, though, it’s all we’ll be doing.” Shoving me off him, I collide with the wall, my shoulder smarting from the impact on the already bruised bone.
“Why were you calling Callan Cox?” I wheeze, the air knocked out of me.
He freezes, fists clenched. “How the fuck would you know that?” The room shrinks around him. Wide, furious eyes burn through my face. He rushes me, his fist punching a hole in the wall beside me. “You been cozying up to him?” he sneers.