Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Then she went ahead and made me wait five extra minutes while she stood in the front window, petting the damn dog. But she was right. I’d wait as long as I had to for her.
“What are you doing?” she asked when I climbed off my bike as she finally came out.
“We gotta take the SUV if you’re planning on packing half the shit you own,” I told her.
“Panties and a hairbrush is hardly half of what I own,” she said, but made her way toward the SUV. “But you have to promise me to take me out on the bike someday.”
Her on the back of my bike, legs glued to my sides, arms wrapping me up? Yeah, that sounded like fucking heaven.
“Yeah, as soon as we get this shit settled,” I agreed as we got in the car and drove off.
“What’s it like living here?” I asked as we made our way into the building.
“It’s nice enough. Most people mind their business. And try not to be too obnoxious late at night.”
“What’s up?” I asked as we got to the end of her hall and her whole body tightened up.
“It kind of sucks to be afraid to go home,” she admitted, shaking her head as she looked at her door.
“Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” I assured her. “Not while I’m here,” I reminded her.
“I know,” she agreed, exhaling hard. “But still.”
With that, she forced herself forward, unlocking her door, then stepping inside.
Before all the damage, it was purely fucking Nyx. From the green tufted velvet couch to the walls that were painted halfway up a dark gray on the board-and-batten, with the top section wallpapered in a dark, moody botanical print.
The place even smelled like her, like that perfume that was always clinging to her skin, something that was both spicy and sweet somehow at the same time.
When I glanced back at her, her gaze was fixed on something in the living room. Following her gaze, I realized it wasn’t the couch I knew she was really attached to that had been gutted.
No.
It was the coffee table that was busted. And the blood on the floor near it.
Reaching up, I reached around her, grabbing the side of her head, pushing the other side toward me so I could press a kiss to the very outside of the last stitch.
“That bastard,” she grumbled, but she leaned into me.
“I’m gonna get him,” I assured her. “But first I’m gonna go hide all your underwear since you’re not going to be needing it,” I said, scooting away to avoid her slap as she smiled at me.
I looked around the apartment, seeing if there was anything around that might point to who’d been there. Finding nothing, I followed her into her bedroom, finding her loading up a suitcase with clothes. A lot of fucking clothes.
It looked like she planned to be at the clubhouse a good, long while.
Knowing that had a warm, tight sensation moving across my chest.
“Hey, babe,” I called after she finished grabbing shit out of the bathroom drawers.
“Yeah?” she asked, zipping both of her bags up.
“You forgot your hairbrush,” I told her, watching as her lips fell apart in surprise, then amusement.
“Shut up,” she said when she came back out of the bathroom with it, finding me grinning at her.
I wanted to poke, but I was starting to know this woman well enough to know when to keep my mouth shut.
Instead, I grabbed her suitcase, then wrapped an arm around her waist, hauling her into my side.
“Ready to go home?” I asked.
She looked up at me for the barest of seconds, brows pinched, before she gave me a sweet smile.
“Yeah.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nyx
It was on the fourth day that I finally put my foot down.
Literally, actually.
I’d stomped my foot.
Because that was how frustrating Slash could be at times.
Though, to be fair, I was every bit as immovable at times, so I couldn’t even be mad at him when he’d told me he’d called me out of work again.
“I need to work,” I insisted, standing in the bathroom doorway, a frothy toothbrush in my hand, finding myself a little annoyed that he looked so damn good when he was being a pain in the ass.
I mean, I’d always known I liked how the man looked without a shirt on, but because of the previous rules, I’d never really been able to drink him in. We were too busy grabbing at each other to memorize each other’s bodies.
But there he was, lounging in bed with one arm cocked up behind his head, his phone on the mattress at his side, giving me a great view of those abs, that chest, those tattoos, and the stupidly appealing face that was smirking at me in my panties and t-shirt.
“It’s only been a couple of days,” Slash insisted, rolling his eyes at me.