Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
That alone is enough to bring him down. I threw the extras in for fun.
“I told you what you wanted,” he wheezes as his face turns blue and he tries to push me away, his strength waning.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I changed my mind. See you in hell.”
His choking sounds grow louder as I drop him to the ground. He claws aimlessly at his throat as his body twitches before he finally passes out. His heart will stop, of that I have no doubt. Staring down at him once more, I turn and walk out of the alley without a second glance. Good riddance.
My phone rings just as I get out of the alley and throw a leg over my bike. Pulling it out, I see Muff’s name flashing across the screen. I answer it with a gruff, “What?”
“Don’t even want to ask where the fuck you are.”
“Ain’t any of your concern, brother. What can I do for you?”
“Jackson wants you to check out a job while you’re in town.”
“Flick me an address.”
“Spike ...”
“Later, Muff.”
I hang up the phone before he can get another word in and start my bike. I don’t need his fucking lecture about what I’m doing. If this club was running the way it should be, I wouldn’t have to be doing this shit. The fact is, we have been too lenient on the people who continue to mess around with us, and now we’re overrun by shit.
Jackson isn’t stepping up, but I am.
He wants quiet, peace, a club that keeps on the downlow but when I was running a club, the world knew who we were and they didn’t fuck with us. That’s how it should be. Ain’t no reason for it to be any different. We’re a motorcycle club, not fucking Girl Scouts. If Jackson has a problem, he knows where to find me.
Pulling out onto the street, I make my way toward what I need to do, and then I have places to be.
Places like finding where my woman is because she ain’t answering her phone.
I don’t like her being so far away, but I especially don’t like when she doesn’t answer the phone.
Today, she’ll find out just how much I don’t like it.
IT DOESN’T TAKE ME long to track her down. Something about the bar full of fucking young people in the middle of the town. There is nowhere else that is swarming with college kids. I can practically smell the cheap wine and bad decisions. Pulling my bike up to the front, I get off and toss my jacket on it. I’m not going to wear my colors in and get kicked out before I get the chance to find her.
Moving through the crowd, I get more than one shocked look.
When I was younger, I’d have been all over a place like this.
Hell, I think I fucking came here once with Cheyenne.
A memory I no doubt blocked out.
Shoving through the crowd, I hear her laugh before I see her face. She’s sitting at a booth with the young guy who gave her a tour and a few other students. The table is lined with empty glasses, shots, and beer bottles. They’re hitting it hard. So much for fucking studying. A strange kind of rage washes through me, masked thankfully by my love for her because otherwise I’d burn this fucking place to the ground.
I don’t stop as I approach the table, nor do I stop when she notices me, her eyes widen and her lips part to say something. I reach in, haul her out, and then she’s over my shoulder as I stride toward the bathrooms, not pausing for a second even as her screams trail behind me and her tiny fists pummel into my back.
Moving past the bathroom, I go down the hall to the back exit and kick the door open with my foot. There are a few people lingering in the dark out here but with one swift bark at them, they leave. Ciara is calling my name over and over as she slams her hands over my back, but I don’t pay her an ounce of attention.
I only put her down when I know we’re alone.
“What the hell, Danny,” she cries when her feet hit the ground.
Placing a hand to her chest, I push her up against the cold brick wall and lean in close, my mouth only inches from hers. I can smell the beer and sweet shots on her breath and something about it makes me wild. I don’t like her being where I can’t protect her, where I can’t watch her, where I can’t be there if something happens.
It makes me fucking wild.
“When I call,” I grind out, “you answer.”
Her eyes flash. “If you’re about to tell me you left our children ...”
“They’re with Serenity,” I grate out.