Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
So he sucked it up and lifted his chin in greeting.
Jinx, the giant biker whose physical size was only eclipsed by his personality, chuckled. “Ice cold, man.”
Jack raised an eyebrow as he set the box on the bar. Ice cold? He’d acknowledged Jinx. How was that cold? What did the big man expect him to run over and hug him?
Not Jack’s style. And it never would be.
The guys would either get used to him or kick his ass to the curb.
No big deal.
He stared at Jinx’s retreating back. Seemed like the guy was going to give him a hand hauling booze up from the basement. Jack cracked his neck. Fine, maybe he could put in a little more effort to make friends. And though he’d never admit it out loud, he cared a lot about the club and all the men in it. If they didn’t let him patch in after prospecting, he’d end up back where he’d been before moving to Florida.
Alone.
Totally and completely alone.
No family, no friends, no career.
Nothing.
It had all been taken from him three years ago by a lying, scheming piece of shit he’d once called a friend.
Moving around the country every few months, performing odd jobs for cash, and crashing in shelters for the past few years had taught him one thing—he needed people. No one should or could make it through life entirely on their own.
The problem was he didn’t like people. Never had. Jack had always been the type of guy to have a small crew of trusted friends. He’d never been accused of being a social butterfly.
Homebody, introvert, shy. All those terms had been used to describe him throughout the years. He didn’t need a hoard of people, but a few were necessary for survival. But, along with not liking most people, he no longer trusted a single damn one of them.
An MC full of men who didn’t fit into society’s mold seemed the best fit for his antisocial personality. What he hadn’t expected was the intensely loyal and close-knit family the Handlers were. They pulled him into the fold and tried every damn trick in the book to melt his icy exterior, even siccing their sweet and loving women on him.
Hadn’t worked yet.
Every time he considered opening up, letting them in, or lowering his guard, all he had to do was recall the way his best friend of fifteen years, Dominic, looked the sheriff in the eye and told him Jack had been the one to kidnap a child in a sick vengeance plot.
Dom had the kind of personality that drew people without trying. He oozed charm, always had a girl hanging on his arm, and collected friends like some people collected coins.
Every last person in Jack’s life had believed Dom’s story without question. No one bothered to ask if it was bullshit. Of course, the charismatic and fun-loving Dom wouldn’t have made up the story, let alone been the one to snatch a six-year-old child from the school’s playground.
But Jack? Jack was aloof. He was quiet, grumpy, and standoffish. The kind of man who could easily tip over to the wrong side of the law. At least that’s what his own goddamn sister had said.
After Jack spent ninety days in jail—because no one he’d known could afford a five hundred-thousand-dollar bond—the kidnapped and traumatized child finally spoke. He’d never laid eyes on Jack before, of course, but Dom he knew well. Dom had been the man to destroy the young boy’s youth and had given him lifelong nightmares.
Jack was released from jail with more apologies than he knew what to do with. They didn’t do a damn thing to appease the anger and betrayal not only from Dom but his family as well.
Dom disappeared and still hadn’t been found. Probably living off the grid in Costa Rica with a slew of beach-loving women.
Freedom didn’t erase three months of hell in which every person Jack thought he trusted turned against him. He left town shortly after his release. Why the fuck would he stick around with the sting of all the knives still burning his back?
“Yo, Jack, what the fuck, man?”
Jack jolted and spun around.
Jinx stood there holding a pricy bottle of scotch. “You good? Your head was in the fucking clouds.”
He blinked. “Yeah, sorry.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Just thinking about something,” he mumbled
Jinx’s features softened. “Anytime, Jack, anytime.”
“Huh?”
“Any time you wanna melt that frosty exterior and let us in, we’re ready. And we’re pretty experienced when it comes to dealing with shitty pasts.”
Could he? Could he open up? Let these men in? Trust them?
No. Not yet, but maybe someday.
“I…” He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Understanding crossed Jinx’s expression. “I get that, man. Just know the offer’s out there. Here, bring this to Curly for me. He’s in his office.”