Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like the music takes over. I’m no longer me, but I’ve become part of the music itself. That probably sounds… weird.”
“Ain’t weird, but interestin’. I like how you gave yourself up to me the same way you give yourself to your music. That right there is…”
This conversation had headed into unfamiliar territory. When the fuck did he ever talk about feelings with anyone?
Never, that was when.
Even as a bartender, when customers rambled on about their problems, he only listened with half an ear. If they were lucky.
He normally didn’t give a fuck if Jimmy-John’s wife, Betty-Jo, was leaving his ass and he was crying in his damn beer. He handed them a cocktail napkin for their tears, a bowl of peanuts and advice that was short and sweet. “There’s plenty of other pussy out there, go find another snatch. No woman was worth cryin’ over. Nut up and go nut in someone else.”
Simple? Fuck yeah.
Effective? He didn’t give a fuck if it was or wasn’t.
“Is?” she prodded with one of her dark eyebrows raised, drawing his attention back to her.
“Is a huge fuckin’ compliment. But it ain’t just me. It’s you, too. Allowin’ yourself to let go and give yourself to me like that.”
“That doesn’t happen all the time?”
Fuck no, it didn’t. Her not knowing that was proof she hadn’t had a lot of sexual partners.
That said, when he normally had sex, it rarely was an “experience.” It was only two bodies slapping together until the ultimate goal was achieved. That was it.
That wasn’t what happened with Syn.
He should actually be freaked the fuck out about that.
He was heading in that direction, so he needed to abandon this line of conversation. He could do it in one of two ways. Kick her the fuck out of his bed and apartment, or change the topic.
He didn’t want to do his normal go-to for scraping off a woman—at least, not yet—so he went with the second option. “Where you from?”
She frowned, most likely from the sudden topic change. Instantly, he saw her walls slide back up and lock into place. Fuck.
“Nowhere. You saw I live in a bus.”
She wasn’t born in that fucking bus, though. “No home base?”
“That’s home.”
For fuck’s sake, she was back to being difficult. Maybe he could chip away at that wall. “Where’d you grow up?”
She hesitated. “I was born in West Virginia.”
“You grew up there?”
“Yes.”
“Your parents still there? Family?”
She hesitated again. “No.”
She went from Chatty Cathy to one word answers. Frustrating as fuck.
“Nothin’ left for you in West Virginia, then?” Her longer hesitation this time made him tip his head up again and really look at her. “Nothin’ left for you there? No family? Nothin’?”
Before he could ask more questions, she came up with a way to divert him off their current path of conversation by using his own tactic. “How about you? How did you end up in an MC? Did you always live in this town?”
He normally didn’t talk about his past or his personal business, especially to women who landed in his bed. But maybe if he answered some of her questions, she’d answer more of his. It was worth a shot.
“Fuck no. Only came here because I did time in a county prison not far from here and my cellmate at the time convinced me to join a club that was just startin’ out. Rook. From the garage, remember?”
“So, you weren’t raised around bikers or anything? You became one not knowing anything about the life?”
Sort of. “Knew about the life. In truth, growin’ up, I wasn’t a big fan of bikers.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because of the shit my so-called ‘stepdad’ put my mother through. My uncle, my mom’s brother, was a total dick, too.”
“They were both bikers?”
He did not miss when she relaxed against him and was back to talking more, now that she wasn’t the focus. Imagine that.
“Yeah. They belonged to the same club and both of them used her. Only used our place as a crash pad when they weren’t on the road doin’ whatever the fuck they were doin’. No good, mostly. Only time those assholes showed up was when they were outta scratch. Or when Smokey wanted an easy lay. Funny how those motherfuckers magically appear around the same time my mother got her monthly checks. Then, a few days later, they’d hop on their sleds and disappear again for long stretches. Sometimes months at a time. One time, we didn’t see them for a whole year straight.” Dodge had hoped neither would show back up.
Unfortunately, they did. It was hard to kill roaches. Though, eventually someone must have been successful. Dodge wished he could buy whoever took those fuckers out a beer. Or two. Hell, a whole damn case.
“Was your mom upset they’d desert her like that? They’d take her money and run? And not stick around to help out or anything?”