Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“You’re not yourself right now, but that’s okay. When you are, we’ll get marri—”
“No.” I yank his ring from my finger and ping it off his chest. “We’re done.”
“You’re angry. I’m going to allow you this little tantrum, but make no mistake, Princess.” He closes in around me, his size dwarfing mine. I don’t balk. I stand my ground. “You belong to me. You will be my wife or you’ll be alone. There’s not a soul walking this earth I’ll allow to have you.” His savagery is what I expected. Too bad I’d rather be alone than imprison myself as his damn wife.
“You’re weak,” I spit out, sneering up at him. It’s dangerous to taunt the devil, but some sick part of me wants him to lose it—wants the punishment he can dish out.
Rough fingers pinch my jawline as he drags my face toward his. “What did you just fucking say?” His glare is lethal, but the emptiness in my eyes wins out. A growl climbs up his throat as he pushes me away. “Don’t do anything stupid, Princess.”
I manage to catch myself before I stumble, putting space between us. “Bye, Ty.”
“See you real soon, babe.”
I turn on my heel and walk away, pulling the photo from my pocket. The crease down the middle is already wearing down. I’ve obsessively stared at it non-stop for two weeks. That crooked smile is more familiar to me now than my own.
Callan ‘Pain’ Cox.
Inhaling a steady breath, I whisper, “Time to meet in person, King.”
CHAPTER 5
MEET THE KING
I sit at the bar, nursing the same glass of wine I’ve had since I came in an hour ago. My mood shifts as a chorus of giggles pours in from the door. A group of women walk in, dressed in outfits that would make a hooker blush. One pulls away and heads for the jukebox.
“Ray, bring us a jug and a round of shots. We’re celebrating,” a blonde orders the bartender, her red nails tapping against the bar top. She gives me a once-over before dismissing me as nonthreatening.
“I’ll bring it over, Maggie.” She follows her friends to a table in the center of the room, swaying her hips as she walks. They’re all fake. Fake blonde hair. Fake tits. Collagen lips. They look like triplets straight from the pages of Playboy. Another group files in as some old rock song croons from the speakers. Trepidation thunders in my chest as a sea of bikers fills the bar, Kings of Sin patches adorning their chests. The enemy. Her killers.
This is what I came here for. I imagined this moment. The reality? I’m facing a pack of wolves, holding my breath and hoping they don’t catch my scent. I’ve been coming in here every night for a week, but this is the first time any King members have shown up, barring a couple of old timers who came in yesterday to watch a game.
“What’cha drinking, sweet-ass?” My palms begin to sweat. A man leans on the bar next to me, his eyes on my tits as if the fabric of my shirt is nonexistent.
Sweet-ass? Really? I’ve been around the club my whole life. Being on the other side of things is different. I’m an outsider. No one would ever call me that at home, not without catching a right hook from me or a blade from Tyler. “I’m fine, thanks.” I hold up my glass, showing him it’s full. I’m polite but keep my voice steady and confident. Show weakness, and he’ll bite.
“Yes, you are fine.” The filthy grin is criminal. A cheeky glint lights his eyes. He’s handsome. Age lines crinkle around his eyes, showing a life of either laughter or scowling. Probably both. Black oil covers his hands, his knuckles healing with old scabs.
“Leave her alone, Dodger.” A petite girl with a bright-blue pixie cut smacks his arm as she passes, taking his beer bottle with her.
“Maybe she wants company,” he calls after, his gaze never leaving me.
“Not your company,” she hollers back. I watch her over my shoulder. Her ass sways in a pair of shorts complete with tights and tennis shoes. She’s the only other woman in here dressed as casual as I am in my jeans and a tee.
“What do you say, sweetheart?” he asks with a husky groan.
I slap my hand on my thigh and scoot forward on my stool. “I say, I need to pee.”
White teeth beam at me from his broadening smile. “I can get on board with that.”
Ew.
I pick up my glass and slip from the stool, making a quick getaway to the ladies’ room. His chuckle chases me through the throng of people.
I push open the door, stuttering in my step at the blue-haired girl standing in front of a mirror, applying lipstick. It breaks in half against her mouth drawing a line down her chin.