Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The one in front stops so suddenly the man following close behind almost runs into him. His sharp jaw is covered in a ten o'clock shadow. A vicious scar leaves a pale line slashing through it on the left side of his face, making him look dangerous. Unlike the twins, he’s built like an endurance athlete. Muscular, but in a sleeker, more deadly way. The twins could break down a wall, but he's the death lurking in the shadows of your house without you even knowing he's there. Deep hazel eyes under dark brows widen when he sees me. If our eyes weren't so closely locked that there's no doubt who he's looking at, I'd think there was something going on behind me.
The last of the four has a thick, auburn beard. He might be the last one in, but he’s not the least by any means. His jacket is ripped off at the shoulders, baring muscular arms covered in black ink that stretches up and over his neck. A blood red t-shirt is underneath his jacket vest, pulled tight over the kind of V-shaped torso a boxer might have. His black eyes scan over me quickly then case the room. There’s already a gun in his hand.
Oh my God, it's a gun.
Everything goes crazy all at once as more of Vincent’s guards come piling in from the main hall with weapons drawn. “Get them!” my father yells, his voice shrill with fury.
Fast as lightning, the biker with the scar—the one who seemed so deadly—wraps his thick arm around my throat as he presses something hard against the side of my head. I don't need more than one guess to realize what it is. I try to scream, but his arm is too tight.
“One step closer, and the bride fucking gets it,” he snaps.
Oh shit.
4
HARPER
“What’s the fucking plan?” growls the serious twin as they pull me backwards.
I'm so screwed.
Vincent and his men watch us angrily, but they keep their distance. As long as there's a gun to my head, I'm guessing they won't try anything. I hope so, at least.
“Your message has been delivered. Let her go,” my father snarls from safely behind his guards.
“Please,” I whimper. “I don’t know anything about what’s going on. I don’t want to die.”
The biker's hard, chiseled body is flush with mine, and his grip is like iron. He's not choking me hard enough to keep me from breathing, but with his arm wrapped tight over my throat and his gun at my temple, I'm not going anywhere. I have no chance against strength like his.
“Behave yourself, and you'll be back to saying ‘I do’ soon enough, got it?” His low, gravelly voice in my ear might be comforting in another situation, but right now it sends terrified shivers racing down my spine. This is the kind of man who does what he wants and takes what he wants, and right now, that means me. “We don't wanna hurt you, but we're not gonna let your Daddy's goons use us for target practice either.”
My throat works against his tattooed arm as I swallow hard. I shouldn’t trust him, but what choice do I have? “Okay,” I whisper shakily. God, I sound so helpless. If I get out of this, I’m signing up for self-defense classes.
“That’s right, be a good girl,” he whispers, and my stupid body melts.
There must be something wrong with me that the first people I’ve reacted to on this sort of level are criminals. This man has a gun to my head and hearing him call me a good girl is making me all warm and fuzzy.
“You’ll never get away with this.” Vincent is furious, his voice wound tighter than a hangman's noose. “Your dirty fucking biker gang just destroyed millions of dollars’ worth of my property. If you shoot her. What’s stopping me from utterly destroying you?”
The serious twin growls, like a freaking animal, a gun in his hand, aimed right at Vincent. “You don’t want to fuck with us, Mesner. Tell your guys to stand down and she’ll walk away safe and sound. But if anything happens to us, the Eagles won’t stop until this whole fucking place is a pile of rubble. Now, back the fuck off, we're leaving.”
My dress makes it hard to keep up as they drag me down sweeping marble steps towards the lobby. Last week I stepped through those doors for the first time, in awe of the fact that Vincent—my father—owns this whole place. The white marble steps, the glass and chrome railings, and everything plated with gold. Gaudy, sure, but no more so than any of the other temples to greed and vice that this city is based on. Nobody would be impressed by a modest, tasteful casino. I thought all my problems would be solved, and maybe, just maybe, I would finally have a complete family.