Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
We will come after them. They can’t stay in lockdown forever. Then we’ll take their asses out. For that, I can be patient. Because putting the Iron Blood down is only secondary. They’re just the muscle for the whole operation—and I want the head.
I want Papa. And since info isn’t coming from the Iron Blood yet…I’ll get answers out of Cherry, instead.
Whatever it takes to get them.
And sweet Christ, I’ve imagined all the ways. Four days of hurry-up-and-wait gives a man more time to think than is probably good for him. My dick’s been a hot, heavy weight ever since she told me to collect what I owe. Ready at any minute to thicken up and follow through, fed by a steady stream of scenarios running through my brain. Getting those answers while I’m balls-deep, not letting her come until she’s screaming what I want to know. Or making her come so many goddamn times that she’s begging to tell me everything.
But that’s just the good shit in my head. Because there’s also the stupid shit that creeps up. Where she’s not under me begging, but cradled sweetly in my arms. Confiding in me while I’m holding her tight, filling me up with her softness and smiles. The shit that makes my chest ache.
That’s not what I need from her. I just need answers. Just need to get to Papa.
But something more important than him needs doing first.
I roll through Pine Valley just before noon on a Sunday. The town’s about as dead as dead can be—and since Anna’s car isn’t at the Wolf Den, I head for home.
Head for home in a cage.
That’s what I used to call any vehicle that wasn’t a bike. Doesn’t mean the same thing anymore, that’s for fucking sure. But early December ain’t the best time to be riding icy mountain roads between Nevada and central Oregon, so I’m driving Gunner’s truck with my bike strapped to the motorcycle mount in the back.
Anna and I share a farmhouse a few minutes out of town. Pooled our cash and bought it together—though in truth, it’s her house. The previous owner converted the second floor into an apartment that she could rent out, and that’s where I live. But one day, I’ll move out. Anna will stay, because she’s made that farmhouse hers, renovating and decorating the rooms to her liking. To me, it’s just a place to keep my stuff.
And although we bought it together, my name’s not even on the paperwork. Supposedly that’d help protect her from anyone who might ever have a grudge against me or the Hellfire Riders. They wouldn’t have an address.
That didn’t work out too fucking well. Because it was here that Chef got to her. It was in the living room where she was taped naked to a chair.
Because I fell for a sweet smile and sweeter kiss.
My chest’s a thick ugly knot when I pull into the drive. Truth is, I don’t fucking deserve to come back. I should go to Handlebar now, let him settle up.
But I can’t. Because there’s still shit to do.
It’s too late to turn around now, anyway. The truck has only just stopped when Anna’s flying out of the house, leaping down the steps of the front porch with Daisy barking wildly at her heels. She’s on me a second later, throwing herself at me and laughing as her arms squeeze me tight.
Thank fuck. She’s all right.
She’s all right.
I pull back to look down at her elfin face. She looks just like she always does. Like some delicate fairy. But that’s only how she looks. She’s a banshee under all that.
A banshee with tears in her eyes. Happy tears, but the sight of them rips my heart out.
“Aw, pipsqueak. Don’t cry.”
Her laugh is thick and watery as she wipes at her eyes. “I was just so happy to have the house to myself. I’m sad I have to share it again.”
There’s the banshee, making me smile. But fucking hell—she should never have been alone. Daisy’s still barking, and all I can hear and see is her barking in that video while Anna’s bruised and bleeding.
I take Anna’s pointed chin in my hand now, examining her jaw, her mouth. Only the faintest sign of what Chef did to her. But even that faint sign is too fucking much.
She grabs my wrist. “I’m all right,” she says softly. As if she knows that I’m still seeing her hurt.
And she’s quietly telling me that it’s not my fault.
It is. But I won’t upset her more than my fuckup already did. This is my burden to carry. She’s borne enough.
With a boulder lodged in my throat, I nod and let her go.
Her gaze searches my face. “Daisy’s all right, too.”
I know. She’s dancing around my feet. But I can’t even look at her. Both of them are out here and so damn happy to see me. Because they don’t see what I am now. Everything on the outside’s still the same, so they don’t see the ragged hole filled with rot and shame.