Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Now they were getting somewhere. “I respect that. So, here’s the deal… Make sure when she’s ridin’ my cock tomorrow mornin’, I don’t see any new bruises on her. I do, it ain’t gonna be me and the asshole who touched her that’ll have a problem. It’ll be me and you.” Crew said that with a hell of a lot more confidence than what he felt. The reality was he would not win against Bulldog but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bluff.
The bar manager straightened. It took a few pounding heartbeats before he said, “Gotta respect a man lookin’ after his ol’ lady.”
“Glad you see it that way. That means we’re on the same page, right?”
“Yeah, we’re on the same fuckin’ page.”
Crew grinned. “Good. Now, I need a fuckin’ beer.”
Bulldog turned and, with a twist of his wrist, caught Hook’s attention before tipping his head toward Crew. “Get this brother a beer.” He turned back to Crew. “It’s on the house.”
“Appreciate that. Good talk.”
Bulldog grunted and lumbered away.
Crew unpuckered his asshole and let his muscles loosen a fraction.
That motherfucker was at least twice his size. He wouldn’t want to be on the man’s bad side. And Crew had been close to stepping over that line.
But he also needed to look after Cabrera.
If that caused him to get thumped, then he’d have to take those knocks like a fucking man. He would simply regret it later. As in, a day, a week or maybe even a month later, depending on how long it took to recover. That was if he didn’t end up dead, but then, if that happened, he’d have no regrets because he would no longer be breathing.
A few minutes later, Hook dropped off a pint glass of draft beer. Before the Demon turned back, the bartender spotted something down the bar. Crew glanced in that direction to see what he noticed.
A biker had elbowed his way up to the bar. The two shared chin lifts before Hook turned and disappeared into the back storage area.
Crew sipped his beer slowly, his eyes locked on the swinging door, and it remained there until Hook came out fisting a disposable cup with a plastic lid similar to the one Cabrera gave him after working there that first night.
Drug dealing right out in the goddamn open. It took some balls and Crew wondered how many other people in the bar knew what was in that cup. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a lot of them. If not most.
Damn Demons sure made it convenient for addicts to get their fix.
Looking for a drug drive-through? Shoot a text to one of the prospects at The Peach Pit and then pop on by. You don’t even need to get out of your car.
Need it delivered? Order it from Pizza Town along with your dinner. Don’t forget to tip!
Now this.
The newcomer didn’t stick around long. Once he scored, he disappeared back into the crowd. Just like fucking take-out. Order at the counter and take it home to enjoy.
The Demons definitely had a system that worked with whatever business they were dealing from.
Cabrera came up behind him, placed a hand on his back and leaned into him. “Did you see that?”
“Sure did.”
“Goes on all night. They’re moving a lot of product.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek like he truly was her ol’ man before moving away and going back behind the bar to drop off empties and serve fresh beers.
It had been a damn surprise to see Crew’s ass sitting at the bar. He was probably there looking for any excuse to pull her.
For the rest of the night, she was extra careful to skirt any grabby hands and if someone tried to tug her into their lap, their fingers got twisted in ways they weren’t supposed to bend.
Hawg Wild’s customers were quickly learning she wasn’t taking their shit. If they pinched her nipple, she pinched theirs back even harder. If they smacked her on the ass, she smacked them right in the face. If they said nasty shit to her, her comebacks were even worse.
They were beginning to respect her. It might be slow, but it was something.
Crew ended up sitting in the bar for hours and nursing each beer dropped off in front of him for so long they ended up flat and warm.
Once the crowd thinned a little and the volume turned down a few notches, he actually left his stool a few times to either go to the restroom or play a couple games of pool.
From what she saw, he could hold his own with a cue stick.
He was even challenged to a dart game. A challenge he accepted and won.
Despite his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and beard—if anything, screamed law enforcement to her—he managed somehow to fit in. He had actually morphed into an ol’ man named Throttle with his attitude, the way he dressed and how he spoke.