Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 135792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
He kissed the top of Liv’s head, and the soft smile emerging on that roguish face made it look cute for a change, not hot and dangerous. Their fingers entwined, and Liv’s breathing evened within seconds, as if Knox’s tenderness had been the magic touch he’d needed.
Chapter 32
Liv
It had been a week since Knox’s brush with death, but while Liv had been working his ass off at the junkyard, he seemed to have hit a wall, because Frank refused to work him “to death”, as he’d put it. It was all a bit dramatic, and since cash for the surgery wouldn’t magically appear under Liv’s pillow, he decided to look for a second job elsewhere.
Problem was, while his and Knox’s mugshots weren’t widely publicized beyond California, there was no guarantee that showing his face in town might not result in some true crime fan recognizing and reporting him.
So he kissed Knox goodbye, got into the car—which Frank begrudgingly updated with new licence plates—and headed off to the former airport owned by the motorcycle club.
Whatever work he might get there, he wouldn’t need a social security number.
It was Friday, and despite it being still early in the evening, the loud music and multitude of vehicles parked by the compound suggested a party was already on. Liv had already passed Cyborg’s jacket back to him through Dex, but his favorite denim one with an American flag on the back was far too flimsy for the cold weather. Knox insisted Liv should wear the one Liv had gotten him, since it was so cozy. While the garment was snugger on him than it was on Knox, Liv couldn’t deny the offer in this weather. It also came with Knox’s scent—a win in Liv’s book. And kept him from looking like a hobo, which couldn’t be said about most of his outfits as of late, since he worked all the time and wore Knox’s old oversized and ripped coat over his denim jacket. Then again, Knox did talk a lot about finding Liv hot in sweatpants, so clouds, silver linings and all that.
He glanced into the side mirror of his car and slicked back his hair, which had gotten a bit long since the escape from California. Ezra had been merciful enough to trim the sides for him, so he didn’t look unkempt. A bunch of bikers would hardly expect him to look as though he arrived for a job interview, but he needed to put his best foot forward.
He tried out three smiles, eventually settling on the first, and headed to the front of the hangar, where the music was the loudest. Despite it being a bitterly cold evening, plenty of people stood in groups, chatting in clouds of vapor and cigarette smoke, but he ignored them and headed straight into the club’s bar.
A wall of hot air scented with booze, sweat, and pine air freshener met him as soon as he entered, unusually self-conscious of the few people who bothered glancing his way. He wasn’t used to being ignored. Around their hometown, and especially at the trailer park, everyone knew who Liver Polk was. Every single person knew someone he dated, or even partied and/or hooked up with him themself in the past. But here?
Here, Liv was yet another guy in need of cash and attention. Just a set of arms that might prove useful if he showed his worth. And while he looked good and had a bedpost full of notches to prove it, the girls present were all over guys in leather cuts, presumably members of the MC.
Not that he’d come here to flirt.
The drama following his and Knox’s first date had been more than enough of a wake-up call to make him swear off women, but it was always nice to bask in the glow of approval, and how many of the guys around here could possibly give him that? For them, he was yet another man to compete with for pussy, cash, and social standing.
He’d already started saving every buck he and Knox could spare—which wasn’t much—but for the sake of mingling, he’d have to get a beer here. A bit of liquid courage never hurt anyone, though it wasn’t like him to need it.
He’d never realized how much he craved this recognition until now. Until he didn’t have it. None of the girls knew he was a great race car driver, or that he could do a one-armed handstand.
Then again, he was Liver Polk. He was not about to let insecurity creep in just because he was in a new place. So he was dirt poor. It had never stopped him before.
“You’re a new face,” the bartender said, watching him as she wiped a glass dry. With smudged pink around her deep brown eyes, she looked almost theatrical, despite the mundane outfit of a tank top and jeans. The old Liv would have started flirting just. About. Now.