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)
Taking long strides through the dark, he weaved around the cars and bikes parked every which fucking way. He didn’t know what he’d find once he got back to where she’d been parked. She hadn’t texted him, so he assumed she was still on the property waiting.
Totally fucking reckless.
He shouldn’t even be helping her. Doing so could put a target on his back. But he couldn’t in good conscience let her get hurt. Or worse.
He was still a cop at his very core. He was supposed to protect and assist the public. That was what he was paid for.
As a federal task force member, the government was paying him to help shut down the Demons’ drug trafficking operation. While that was his focus, that didn’t mean he wore blinders.
He’d been standing in the kitchen listening to the conversation around him, hoping to glean some information about their meth operation, when he saw her peer into the room.
After being on this damn property for more than twenty-four hours straight—ever since he showed up Friday night with the two requested beer kegs—he immediately recognized that the woman—whatever her name was—didn’t belong.
She stood out like a porcupine at a nudist convention.
It was easy to tell she was out of her element in the way she was dressed, the way she was put together. Hell, her whole vibe proved she didn’t belong there.
If that wasn’t enough, her attempting to hide the lug wrench behind her leg sounded the warning bells in Decker’s head immediately.
But unlike everyone else standing around that kitchen bullshitting about bullshit, his mind was clear after twenty-four hours of partying. Not only because as a prospect he was required to be at the patched members beck and call, but because there was absolutely no fucking way he was going to be deep in enemy territory while not one-hundred-percent sober.
To stay that way, he didn’t inhale the pot when the joint or pipe was passed to him, didn’t snort the lines of coke when handed the rolled-up dollar bill and didn’t ingest more than a few sips of beer. He faked it all.
To survive the weekend, he had stored water and food in the ’98 Ford Ranger 4x4 that Crew snagged for him to use as his undercover vehicle when he couldn’t ride his assigned Harley.
Every time he went outside to piss—because he’d be damned if he’d step foot in one of the two bathrooms in that house, just the smell alone as he passed by made him want to gag—he’d head over to the truck to hydrate and eat a protein bar to keep up his energy.
So far, so good. No one suspected a thing. Mostly because no one paid much attention to the prospects. Just like their women, newbies were invisible unless they made a scene or were needed for something specific. Like changing out a keg, or throwing more tires on the bonfire out back, or changing a CD in the stereo system.
Yep, fucking CDs. Decker hadn’t seen a compact disc in years. The last time he saw one, it was being used for a drink coaster.
Besides that, he’d seen some crazy shit since he’d arrived last night. Some he was tempted to step in and stop, others he wished he hadn’t seen, and plenty he wanted to avoid. He’d slip away quietly before he got pulled into any of those situations.
So far, this weekend had been quite eye opening, but not unexpected.
Then she showed up. The woman searching for her sister, for who knew what reason.
Like her name, he should’ve asked. Maybe it was better he didn’t. She seemed to be a pain in the ass and he needed to avoid trouble like her, someone who might blow his cover or at least shine a spotlight on him and make him appear suspicious to the club’s members.
A muttered, “Fuck,” escaped him when he didn’t see her sitting in the Honda sedan.
She went against his damn orders and left her vehicle. He glanced around. Or did someone pull her from the vehicle?
He tilted his head and tried to hear over his thumping heartbeat for a woman in distress. Nothing but music, along with distant voices and laughter, filled his ears.
But, of course, his cop brain went immediately to the worst case scenario. Her being dragged from the car, tied up and gagged, raped and then left in the surrounding woods. Maybe even left for dead.
Because, yeah, he’d seen some things in his career. Some good, some bad, but it was mostly the tragic and unthinkable that stuck with him.
When he reached her car, he peered through the windows into the dark interior to find her lying on the back seat.
For fuck’s sake! He debated whether he should be relieved or pissed.
He pounded on the window and yelled, “What the fuck!” making the wide-eyed woman jump and slap a hand to her chest.