Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Was he really willing to help her?
Could she trust him enough to do so? He was a member of the Deadly Demon MC. Could any of them be trusted?
As she considered her options, he became impatient.
“All right. Fuck ya, then,” he repeated with another shrug before spinning on his heels and taking off.
With his long legs quickly taking him farther away, she stared at his retreating back.
Shit. He might be her only option. What other choice did she have than the man willing to help? She was a tiny goldfish in a sea of sharks. What power did she have against an outlaw MC?
Absolutely none. And she hated that feeling of helplessness. “Wait!”
His step stuttered and he glanced over his shoulder.
Sloane dragged both hands down her face and softly growled, “Sorry.”
He turned with eyebrows raised. “What?”
“I said I’m sorry!” she shouted.
Did his lips just twitch?
When he returned to where she stood, he towered over her. Probably on purpose.
His deep rumble shot a shiver down her spine and made all the fine hairs on her arms stand at attention. “Listen carefully. Givin’ you two fuckin’ choices and goin’ back inside ain’t one of them.”
Sloane closed her eyes and sucked the chilly night air deep into her lungs, hoping to untwist her stomach. When it failed, she opened her eyes and asked, “What are they?” hoping she didn’t regret it.
“You fuckin’ leave, or you wait while I go back in and look for her.”
The second choice was better than nothing. “If you find her, you’ll bring her directly out to me?”
“Yeah.”
“And not do anything to her?”
His head jerked back. “What the fuck would I do to her?”
Apparently, her lack of an answer was enough of one for him. One his expression made very clear he didn’t appreciate. His growled, “Where’s your fuckin’ car?” was a pretty good indicator, too.
Shit. Was he taking back his offer? “I need your help.” To admit that was painful. Especially when she had no choice.
“Sure don’t act like it.”
“Do you blame me for being suspicious?”
His lips pressed into a slash. That alone was enough of an answer for her, too.
“This,” she swept her arm out, “isn’t my world. It’s yours.”
When his mouth opened, she swore he was about to deny it. Then after a second, it appeared as if he mentally shook himself. “Gonna ask one more time, where’s your car?”
She glanced around the dark yard and after spotting her Honda a few vehicles away, she pointed at it. “Over there.”
He tipped his head in that direction. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not leaving.”
She bet she would’ve heard his teeth grinding if music wasn’t being blasted. “You’re gonna sit in your car with the fuckin’ doors locked while I search, that’s what you’re gonna do.”
That was what she was going to do.
He followed her over to her Accord and when they got there, he handed her the lug wrench. “Keep this close. You need it, you use it. ‘Cept on me. Don’t fuckin’ try that again.”
With a roll of her eyes, she unlocked her doors.
Once she climbed into the driver’s seat, he said, “Lemme see the photo you were gonna show Stubs.”
After pulling her phone from her coat pocket, she found Sadie’s picture and held it out toward him.
He took it, studied the photo for a few moments, then handed it back. “Close the door and lock it.”
He waited and watched while she did. It was almost like he didn’t expect her to listen. Now, where would he get that idea?
After the locks engaged, he pointed at her through the driver’s side window with another strong warning. “You fuckin’ stay put. Do not get out. If someone comes up to your car, don’t even roll down your damn window. You feel unsafe, you leave. Got it?”
“But—”
“You leave,” he repeated firmly. “Ain’t a negotiation.”
Apparently not. “But if I leave, how will I know if you’ve found her?”
Even under his leather vest, she could see his chest expand as he pulled in a breath and held it for a few seconds. When he finally released it—and didn’t implode while doing so—he instructed, “Put this number into your phone. You gotta leave, you text me.”
He rattled off his phone number so quickly, she scrambled to add it to her contacts. Under the name Hatchet, of course.
“Might as well text me that picture, too.”
“Thank you,” she said loud enough for him to hear through the closed window.
With a nod, he tapped a hand on the roof of her car. “Remember: don’t open the door for no one. I’ll be back.”
She only hoped when he returned, he wouldn’t be alone.
Decker understood the woman’s determination, but she was putting herself in danger by stepping into the pit of hell—nicknamed the “Viper’s Den” after the current president—to find her sister. Especially alone.
No woman in her right mind would put herself in that kind of situation unless she was desperate.