Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
He was happy in Hell, as happy as a man could be being tortured. But he couldn’t do any more. Because he was so fucked up now, the only way he could be happy was if he was being tortured. He wasn’t wishing that on any bitch.
Wide eyes, pale skin, and lilacs entered his mind. He pushed the thought away with disgust.
Lucky frowned. “How is there no woman? There were shootings. Explosions,” he said, speaking of some mild shit that had gone down in their LA chapter as though that explained something.
Gage grinned at his brother, clapping him on the arm. “Bro, just because explosions and shootings meant you’ve found the right woman doesn’t mean the same for me. Just means I’ve found a woman. Or that it was a Tuesday.” He spoke with a careful, casual tone, making sure he didn’t betray just how close that particular woman had been to fucking destroying him.
There was no point in talking of almost destructions.
Shit was put to bed.
She was, at least. The sooner he forgot her, the better.
He’d already fucking forgotten her, which was the problem, since the bitch from last night was proving hard—read: impossible—to forget.
Lucky regarded him, peering at him like he was trying to read Gage’s fuckin’ mind or something. He was convinced that “telepathy was purely a matter of concentration.”
“Nope,” Lucky said finally. “There’s a woman.” He shook his head, grimacing, not aware that he’d all but read Gage’s mind that time. “I’ve got a feeling your courtship is gonna make the rest of ours look like a day at the park.”
Gage narrowed his eyes and readied himself to make his point to Lucky with his fist in his face. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
A clap on his back was the one thing that stopped him.
He turned to meet the gray eyes of his president.
“You’re back for good, brother?” Cade asked, the corner of his mouth twitching in what everyone knew was his version of a grin.
Before Gage could answer, the mouthy fuck spoke for him.
“He’s got a woman,” Lucky interjected.
Gage readied his fist once more.
Cade’s eyes widened in shock.
Gage knew arguing with the fuck was pointless. Lucky was just as bad—if not worse—than any of the women around there. A dog with a fuckin’ bone. Gage was sure he’d be pickin’ out wedding china or some shit when he got back.
He’d get the picture soon enough.
When no woman entered the picture.
Especially not a fuckin’ woman who smelled like vanilla and lilac, whose hazel eyes seared into him, whose skin needed to be marked by him.
The woman who made his cock rock-hard at the mere thought of her, even with her bloodied face, shapeless clothing and scrunched-up face as he’d roared away from the hospital.
No, not that woman.
Definitely not the crazy bitch he’d left behind in LA either.
“I need the tow truck,” he said instead of replying to Lucky. He’d pretend to ignore him until the bastard started chasing a butterfly or remembered someone he forgot to kill.
Cade’s eyes widened even more. “A tow truck?”
Gage nodded once.
“Why do you need a tow truck?” Lucky asked, raising a brow. “You haven’t been behind one since you prospected, and you shot the last person who tried to make you do anything regarding work with the garage.”
Gage rolled his eyes. “It was a flesh wound. When the fuck are you gonna let that go?”
Lucky folded his arms. “Right around the time you give me the name of your new sweetheart so I can stalk her on Facebook. And in real life if I’m not satisfied with the amount of pictures she has.” He paused. “Or if she has too many. It’s a slippery slope on social media. Too many consecutive selfies mean she’s a narcissist, but not enough means she doesn’t have a friend in the world and just sits in her room watching makeup tutorials on YouTube.”
Gage ignored him and focused on an excuse as to why he needed the tow truck.
He didn’t do mechanic work. Not when the garage was merely a front for the illegal gun running before the club went legit, and sure as fuck not now that they’d expanded to yuppie fucks—who they ripped off—with too much money and too much concern about image.
He killed people.
Tortured them.
Made them bleed.
Blew things up.
He didn’t change fuckin’ oil.
But there was a wrecked car on the outskirts of town that needed towing and repairing. And no way was anyone else touching it. It was his.
The thought was concrete in his mind without fully realizing it.
Instead of questioning him, Cade nodded once. Fucker knew not to ask questions when it came to Gage. Plausible deniability and all that. “Keys are in the office.”
Gage didn’t waste any time turning on his heel and striding out the door before Lucky could ask to be the best man at his fucking wedding or some shit.