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)
My heart accelerates, pounding, loud and violent. “You know who this belongs to? Tell me,” I demand. A fresh wave of anger and strength pouring into me.
His head jerks. It’s subtle, but there all the same.
I knew it…
He attempts to snatch the patch, but I pull my arm back, clenching my fingers around it. “Don’t.” I warn. My eyes drop to the gun on instinct.
“Rogue.” He grinds his teeth, opening his hand.
“No!” I snap. “Tell me whose the hell this is?” We glare at each other. He’s the first to fold. Blowing out a breath, he pushes his hands through his dark hair and moves around me, heading for the door. “Where are you going?” I ask as he grips the handle. “Callan?” I swallow, picking up my gun. The metal scrapes across the wood of his desk in warning.
“Either use it or put it the fuck down. I won’t have you all emotional walking around my club with a loaded weapon.”
My mouth drops. I dump the gun and pick up an empty coffee mug, launching it across the room. It hits the doorframe, shattering beside him. The asshole doesn’t even flinch.
“You done?” he asks, a bite to his tone.
“You’re a dick.”
He swings open the door and ambles down the narrow hallway. The scent of toast and coffee wafts through the air, making my stomach clench in hunger. I follow him into the bar occupied by members having breakfast. Their attention shifts to our arrival, sensing the energy rolling off us both.
It’s a stark contrast being in here in the morning hours versus in the evening. There’s no music pounding the foundations, instead a TV is on. All the tables are pulled together to create a long breakfast table. I hadn’t noticed before that the walls are painted black with framed photographs of the club members adorning the space opposite the bar.
“What’s going on?” a woman asks. It takes me a second to realize it’s Kitty. She pushes out of a chair, discarding a half-eaten bacon sandwich, and blocks our path, halting our steps with a hand to Callan’s chest.
“Your hair…” I murmur.
She smiles and kicks a leg behind her, twirling a strand around her finger. “Do you like it?” Her hair is now pink and long down her back.
“It’s cute.” I give her a half-hearted smile.
“Everything okay, Pain?” Grease asks, looking between us. He’s bigger up close than he looked in the ring, balancing two plates of food in one of his giant paws. Poor Green has been nursing his battered face ever since the fight. With all eyes directed at us, I feel self-conscious. I must look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backward. Fidgeting with the hem of my top, I avert my gaze only to find Georgina. My stomach drops.
“Yeah, is everything all right?” she croons, leaning against the bar, her black dress matching her black soul. She had the cheek to call me the devil.
Crossing the room in three strides, Callan takes her arm and guides her away, whispering to her. She looks over her shoulder at me, a smile painted on her red lips.
Smug wench. Fuck you.
They disappear from view, leaving me with Kitty and a room full of confused bikers. I scratch at my brow and then cross and uncross my arms, offering Kitty a tight smile. Socializing is the last thing I want to do. I want to follow Callan and demand answers. Maybe I should get out of here and make a run for it. You came for answers.
“I told you not to fuck with her.” Kitty purses her lips, jarring me from my internal battle.
“Screw her. She doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. My mind is a hurricane of turbulent thoughts.
“Can you bitches scoot out of the way? I’m trying to watch the news,” Daddy huffs from across the room.
“To see if you’re on it! The women you keep fucking are getting younger as you get older, you old cunt,” someone belts out.
“Fuck you. I check their IDs before giving them the D.”
“An STD,” Kitty joins in. A bread roll launches toward her, and she catches it in mid-air. She stuffs it in her mouth and gives Daddy a middle finger.
“Still mad your brother won’t let you hop on the Daddy train?” he taunts.
I think I’m going to throw up.
“You okay?” Soft hands stroke down my arm. My eyes flash to Kitty, her pinched features studying me. My face must have paled.
“Fine.” Lie. “Are you?”
“I was looking for you. Cutter wants to see you.”
“Really?” I glance in the direction Callan went and nervously bite my bottom lip.
“Move your asses. Don’t make me get up.” Daddy growls.
“Or what?” Kitty grunts. A glint of silver whizzes past my face, right between the two of us, followed by a soft thump as a knife sinks into the wall beside us.