Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
His mouth descended on mine and he proceeded to take care of the tension. Twice.
After reluctantly getting out of the shower and doing the best I could with the limited provisions I had I was ready to face the day. No way I was hanging around here, potentially getting Stockholm Syndrome. I was tagging along with Gwen to the store.
Brock’s eyes roamed appreciably over my outfit as I walked out of the bathroom. I was wearing a skintight khaki sleeveless turtleneck jersey dress with tan heels and my hair tumbled in messy waves.
“As much as I love how fuckin’ sexy you look in that outfit, babe, I’m afraid I’m not gonna let you out of this room looking like that. I can’t have you hanging around the clubhouse all day teasing the men and giving them a serious case of blue balls,” he said with a smirk.
I fastened a gold watch on. “I’m not sticking around here—I might catch an STD. I’m going into the store with Gwen,” I informed him. Maybe the bitchy comment wasn’t necessary but I was still pissed at the whole getting dragged here thing.
Brock’s eyes narrowed and he stood.
“You’re not going to the store. You’re not leaving this compound,” he bit out.
I regarded him for a second, cocking my head. “I’m sorry, did you mistake me for someone that you can order around? Because last time I checked this isn’t Saudi Arabia, which means a man does not dictate what a woman can and cannot do,” I said calmly. “On that note, a man certainly does not command another man to practically drag a woman from her home to deposit her in a biker clubhouse then detain her in his room.”
Brock raised an eyebrow, his jaw hard. “Well, that woman didn’t mind it when I was fuckin’ her,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say to that so I picked up my phone to text Gwen.
Brock strode forward to snatch it out of my hands. Luckily I had already sent it. Ha ha.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, reaching for the phone. “Give that back!”
Brock crossed his arms. “I said you’re not going anywhere. It’s not safe.”
“And I said you’re not the boss of me. We’re not together, I’m not your old lady,” I used condescending air quotes. “We have sex. That’s it. You don’t get to play the protective male card when it suits you, then act like an asshole when it all gets a bit rough. We aren’t together so stop acting like it.”
Brock’s face turned hard. “Is that what you want? Just sex? So you can have someone to fuck you every now and then while you wait for Ian to come home?” he asked bitterly.
I was taken aback.
Is that what he thought? I was using him as a human fuck toy to keep me occupied? If only he knew the truth. The fact was I was keeping my distance because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. Afraid of the feelings that threatened to consume me, unlike anything I felt for Ian.
He took my silence as agreement and he shoved the phone back into my hands. “Do what you fuckin’ want. You and your crazy shit aren’t my problem,” he growled. He threw open the door, which a shocked looking Gwen was standing in front of, her hand in the air poised to knock.
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
I didn’t let the pain of the verbal blow show. “Asshole,” I retorted to his back.
Gwen’s face was curious and I didn’t even want to try and explain what happened. All I wanted was to leave before I chased Brock and spilled my heart to him. That would be worse than anything else because then he could trample all over it.
Hours later I wished I had listened to Brock, wished I hadn’t dismissed the danger Gwen was in. Because maybe if I had I wouldn’t have wandered into the back room of our store looking for Gwen, only to find the back door open and no best friend.
When I realized Gwen had been kidnapped I lost my mind. I mainly swore at any biker that happened to be around the clubhouse (where I had been imprisoned) and tried not to cry. I had wanted to steal someone’s gun and break out of this hideous place and look for her myself.
Images of her in that hospital bed after Jimmy attacked her preyed on my mind. At first she had been barely recognizable, her face black and blue, half of her head covered by a bandage. She had a tube in her mouth because she couldn’t breathe on her own. I had stood around helpless while I waited for the most important person in my life to either wake up or fade away. It had been beyond a nightmare. The fact that I faced the prospect again had me terrified, especially since I had the knowledge of what the gang who kidnapped her had done to their last victim—Laurie, Bull’s old lady. Raped her. Stabbed her repeatedly, tattooed her face. Then dropped her off in front of the clubhouse just so the man who loved her could watch her die in the hospital the next day. I tasted bile at the thought of this happening to Gwen.
I recalled the look on Cade’s face when he had arrived at the store after I had alerted the club of the fact she was missing. It was wild, feral, and resigned. Beyond his strong façade was a glimmer of resignation at the prospect Gwen might face the same fate as Laurie.
He had punched the prospect who was meant to be protecting her. Pummeled is a better description. I think he might have killed him had Brock and Lucky not pulled him off him.
“Cool it, brother. Killing this piece of shit isn’t going to get us to Gwen. We’ll do that when we get her back,” Brock had told him evenly.
Cade seemed to shake himself and nodded. He then spat at the prospect’s prone body and stormed out the door. Lucky had followed him. Brock and I had stared at each other for an inordinate amount of time.