Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Don’t you want to run away like you always do, Torin?”
“I don’t run. I have no reason to,” I lie, letting my voice sound cold. I fucking hate hurting her. I should have begged to take patrols tonight or, hell, even to clean the bathrooms at the club—anything but this.
“I’m eighteen now. You can’t really call me a kid.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It’s mostly mixed with disgust—all directed at myself. “I’m thirty years old, Peaches. You’re still a baby, trying to play at being a woman.”
“Don’t do this, Torin. It’s not what you want.”
“The name is Joker. You need to forget you even know the other name. I believe I’ve told you that before.”
“Why? You told me your name. You once liked me using it. Did you forget? Because I haven’t. I remember that night all the time. Sometimes I wake up remembering how it felt when you kissed me—how you touched me.”
“You need to forget that, too. It will never happen again.”
“I’ve been waiting for you, Torin. One of these days, you’ll push me away to the point I give up on you.”
“One could hope. Go find a kid your own age, Skylar. I’m out of here. Got a date with a twinkie. That’s my kind of woman. They know exactly what they want. They’re not little girls playing at being an adult.”
“I never played with you, Torin, and you’ve always known what I wanted.”
I close my eyes. Ever since our first kiss, Skylar’s not backed down. Every single time I see her, she makes it clear she wants me. The woman has no idea what it costs me each time I turn her down. I’ve tried to lose myself in woman after woman, but it never works. Fuck, maybe that’s why I’ve mostly given up trying. The damn woman has branded me. I can’t get her out of my mind.
“What you want can’t happen, Skylar. Forget it—forget me.”
“Are you that afraid of my father?” she asks, and I shake my head. She has no idea. It’s not her father I’m afraid of at all. It’s her.
“I’m out of here,” I snap, turning to leave.
“You keep pushing me away, you’ll regret it. One day I’ll give another man what is yours and there will be nothing you can do about it. You’re giving up what belongs to you. You’re giving me up without a fight.”
Her words hit me like bullets tearing through my skin and wounding me in ways that can never be healed again. It takes everything in me not to jerk from the impact. Skylar doesn’t understand that my hands are tied. What I’m doing, I’m doing for her. She deserves much more than a broken-down biker that’s too damn dirty and old to touch her. I’ve got nothing to offer her.
Not a damn thing.
That’s the only reason that I walk away. I don’t look back either. I know how I’m hurting her, and I can’t stand to see the pain in her eyes …
Chapter 7
Skylar
One Year Later
“It’s occupied!” I call out when someone pounds on the restroom door. Whoever it is must really, really, have to pee. I almost feel guilty for locking the main door. It’s not like the bathroom doesn’t have four stalls in here. It is probably considered a bitch move. Then again, I’ve been called a bitch often. I don’t mind it. The pounding starts again and this time it’s so harsh that I wouldn’t be surprised if the damn thing doesn’t fly off the hinges soon. I slip my lip-gloss—cherry candy red—back into my clutch, then look at my reflection in the mirror.
I frown, even though I know I look good. My strawberry blonde hair is full of body and blown out to maximize volume. It glistens with glitter, thanks to the spray I put in it, and I love the effect it gives. I wouldn’t wear it everywhere, but here at Swank—the hottest nightclub in Cincinnati, it fits. Besides, I know I can carry off about anything. Sure, I’m curvier than my sister, Thea, but I fucking rock my curves.
Don’t get me wrong. My sister is gorgeous with a capital G. She’s so pretty that she scored a modeling contract, despite the fact that walking a runway is almost impossible for her because of her bad leg. I’m totally different from her. I’m so different, that to look at us, I doubt you would think we were sisters. She takes after my dad with bronze skin, full, curly hair that falls to her mid-back, and is slim and shapely.
I’m her complete opposite. My skin is pale, almost to the point of being too white. The stark contrast from my sister made me ask Mom if my dad was my actual dad or if she cheated. It was a shitty question to ask. I know that, but I’m just the type to ask what I’m thinking. I kind of don’t have a filter. You need to take me as I am, mostly because I never plan on changing for anyone. My hair is another difference from my sister. Mine is short, a little softer, and much thinner than hers—okay, I’m a little jealous of my sister’s tresses. My hair also wants to be a deep auburn like my mother’s. Thanks to my monthly visits to one of the best hairdressers in Ohio, it’s more strawberry blonde and full of waves, not curls. That is, unless I straighten it. I cut it in a choppy bob that I love. It gives me freedom to do whatever I want and doesn’t weigh me down in the heat of summer at the same time.