Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Warden kissed her neck. “I know, baby, I know, and one day soon, I’ll fix it.”
She sunk against him.
He was going to fix the Evil Fuckers MC, but in life, he knew that sometimes the best way to get your revenge was to have the right amount of patience.
****
It wasn’t hard to sneak out of the main clubhouse first thing in the morning. The sun hadn’t quite risen but Rosalie saw where she was going. There was a trash can still glowing from the embers of the fire the night before.
Twenty-one years old and married, possibly even pregnant. It didn’t seem real to her.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to ward off the morning chill. The embers from the fire were still gripping the dress fiercely. There was no point in keeping the wedding dress. He’d completely ruined it when tearing it off her last night. To some women that might have been romantic but not to her. It showed his impatience.
Their wedding night had been a chore. A task.
Tears filled her eyes and she quickly closed them, trying to stop the flow. She was not going to cry. She refused to be so weak. This was not the kind of woman she was.
Taking a deep breath, she gritted her teeth and tried to get herself composed. Her wedding dress as well as Petal’s bridesmaid dress went up in flames, the fabric burning into nothing more than ash. She relished the sight of it. Burn. Fucking burn.
“Women are supposed to want to keep them.”
Why was he here?
Rosalie opened her eyes and turned to see Colt had stepped toward her. She didn’t want to talk to him or see him. He’d not returned to the bedroom yesterday and she’d been so relieved. She’d spent the whole night with Petal, eventually falling asleep on the floor, which hadn’t been comfortable.
At first, she wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about but his gaze was on the trash bin.
“Other women might want to remember their wedding day,” Rosalie said.
She didn’t. She’d spent the day watching her father, keeping an eye on him, making sure he didn’t approach her mother.
“Rosalie—”
“Next Friday, right?” Rosalie asked. She didn’t want to get into a conversation with him. The less they spoke, the better.
“Yes,” he said.
“Where will you want me to be?” she asked.
“My place,” he said.
She pulled out her cell phone. “Type in the address, I’ll save it, and I’ll meet you there. We can do what’s needed, and then wait until it works.”
Colt’s jaw clenched but she didn’t care what he had to say. All she wanted to do was get the hell out of this clubhouse. Her mother had already returned home. She had gotten the text alert late last night. Petal had told Gabrielle to go home and that she would help her.
Rosalie hated that she was a little hurt with her mother, but at the same time, she did understand. Yesterday had already been fraught enough for her. It wasn’t like there was anything her mother could do.
Colt took her cell phone and typed in the details, before handing it back. She quickly saved the address and turned on her heel.
“I hope you know what’s expected of you,” Colt said.
She paused and then turned toward Colt. “What?”
“You’re my wife. You now belong to the Satan’s Death Riders MC.” He took a step toward her. “If any cops, anybody approaches you, wanting to make a deal—”
She couldn’t believe what was happening. Laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she was unable to contain it. She quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. “Seriously, you really don’t believe me, do you?”
He glared.
Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. “I don’t hang out with my dad,” Rosalie said. “I would opt to shovel dog shit than spend time with him. I’ve got no idea what’s expected of me, but I can promise you, if someone comes asking about you, I’ve got nothing to say because other than the fact we’re married, I know nothing about you. I know nothing about any of you.”
She wanted to throw something at him, to hit him, or at least to make him feel an ounce of pain she felt. Last night had been awful.
Did I even want him to be gentle? To make it good? No, she didn’t. She was glad she wasn’t begging him for more orgasms or desperate to have sex with him again.
Staring at him now, she thought back to her hen night, to the woman who’d attempted to stake her claim on him. Would he fuck her now? Would he be nicer to her? She didn’t care. He could fuck whoever he wanted. They were done. The only time she intended to see him or have anything to do with him was Friday, for one fuck, that was it.