Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
I enter the hallway, lock the door behind me, and hang my jacket on the coat rack—or at least I attempt to, until I remember that it fell off the wall last week.
I stall, staring at it in confusion, because I’m sure I didn’t fix it myself, yet there it is. Back on the wall. My instinct warns me about the possibility of an intruder, but no burglar comes to a house in the sticks to hang a broken coat rack.
No one else has the keys, and the whole club was out with us. Who could have possibly…?
I try to pull on the wooden hanger, but it sits on the wall so solidly I could probably lean my whole weight on it with no trouble. A viper coils in my gut, preparing me for the worst as I listen, hearing no sounds beyond the steady tick of my grandfather’s clock which… stopped working about a month ago. I kept wanting to wind it up but it was never a priority. Yet now, its familiar tap is sending shivers down my spine.
There are no unusual smells either, and while at first glance, the house appears normal, knowing that someone stepped inside without my permission makes me feel violated.
As I pass family and club photos framed on the wall, I get goosebumps, because it feels like Roy’s eyes are following me. I don’t believe in ghosts, so I pull out my gun just in case, because this is fucking freaky.
As if this day wasn’t frustrating enough. I’m now glad I hid my extra phone in a pot at the back of the kitchen cupboard, because if whoever’s been here finds it, I’ll be in deep shit. It also meant I couldn’t check in with Road, which made a day that felt like a failure even worse.
I take off the safety and step forward. The intruder who decided to help me with housekeeping might still linger, and if that’s the case, he can be anywhere. The floor creaks under my weight as I peek up the stairs, but when I find only darkness, my feet lead me farther into the first floor. The wall separating me from the living room ends two paces ahead, and I lean my back against it, my heart in my throat as I’m about to peek behind it. My ears still pick up no unusual sounds, but the proof of intrusion is there, and I can’t let my guard down. I’m a member of the Hell’s Butchers MC, and there are more than enough people who want me dead.
I turn the corner, assessing the dark living room. My eyes widen and I take a step back when I spot a shadowy figure in my damn armchair.
When the man gets up with his palms up, I recognize the shape of that damn head. I can’t see the face, since the bright light of the moon shines through the window behind him, but it’s Road. I can even spot where he’s missing half an ear.
A part of me wants to sigh in relief, but there’s another side to this coin.
I have no idea what he’s here to do. Our… arrangement might not be enough to save me if the Vultures have already found out that we sabotaged their supply chain.
“The fuck are you doing here?” It comes out harsher than intended, but it’s been a long day. My fingers tighten around the gun pointed straight at Road’s chest, and I lick sweat from above my lip when my index finger stiffens on the trigger, as if I have early-onset arthritis.
He cocks his head. “Are you… it’s me. What do you think I’m gonna do?” he asks but keeps his hands where I can see them.
I don’t know, Road? Execute me for working against the Vultures? We’re both loyal to our respective clubs and he’s their fucking enforcer. Still, he might not yet know how I spent the day.
It could be a trick, but… I don’t know. His voice seems sincere and I know it intimately after the month we’ve had. I holster my gun, but the stress of discovering someone in the one place I’m at peace doesn’t just disperse because murder’s no longer on the table.
“What are you doing in my house? You can’t be here! I could have come with my uncle, or anyone else, really!” I spread my arms, still disbelieving his audacity. He must have been the one to fix my shit too, which is both sweet and infuriating, because no one asked him to.
He spreads his arms, as if he needs to show me that he is still taller and broader than me, and takes two steps closer around the coffee table. “You ignored me all day, and then I heard you’ve got a black eye. Switch on the damn light!”