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)
“Give me all you’ve got.” I arch my back, sensations sparking through every inch of me. His warm, wet tongue swipes over the indents, soothing the burn.
“Why aren’t you mad?” I’m breathing heavy and desperate for him to move that mouth to my pussy, but it dawns on me that he’s been so fucking bent out of shape over Tyler and not that I’m a Devil or that I have the tattoo. I grasp a hand into his hair, drawing his gaze to mine.
“What?” His brow furrows, lips wet and gleaming, cheeks flushed.
“You’re not mad that I have a Devil tattoo.” I bring my legs together against his colossal frame. Silence, his lips move, but words don’t come out. He’s trying to think of something to say, a lie to placate. Oh my god. I sit up and scoot myself backward away from him. “You already knew?”
“No.” He shakes his head.
“Liar.” I gasp.
A growl climbs up his throat. “I didn’t know all of it.”
Holy shit. “What does that mean?”
My heart freefalls into my stomach.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“We’ve met before…”
An alarm blares into the room, and Callan leaps from the bed, zipping his pants. “Put your clothes back on.”
“What is it?” I hurry off the bed, picking up my discarded top and sweatpants.
He checks his phone, frowning. His glare cuts to me, racking over my attire to make sure I’m covered before he marches to exit the room. My stomach knots I race toward him, grasping his arm. “What is it Callan?”
Grinding his teeth, he holds up his phone. The moving image is of the outside of the compound. The front gate is in focus and there, waiting beyond its walls, a car.
“There are cops at the gate.” He sneers.
CHAPTER 18
COPS AND MONSTERS CALLING
I race out of the room, following behind Callan, barely getting my feet into my sneakers. There’s an influx of activity in the clubhouse as we rush through the halls. Reaching Callan’s office, there’s barely enough space for us to enter. The large bodies of pissed-off bikers fill the room.
“What do you want to do?” Grease asks, looking over at Callan. The alarm stops, but the ringing in my ears doesn’t.
“It’s only one car. Buzz them in.”
“You sure?” Daddy asks.
“Yeah. Monster will be back any minute. We need to get rid of them before he gets here.”
Everyone gathers in the bar. Members I do know, members I don’t, women, and prospects all crowd the room in solidarity: a warning to the two officers entering the space. They have no power here.
One cop jerks his head in greeting, looking sheepish. His partner, however, has bigger balls than most. His outright hatred rolls off him in waves.
“Mr. Cox, we’d like a word in private.” There’s no fear, and that’s a mistake. I’ve seen the demon that lies in waiting behind Callan’s facade. And he’s one scary motherfucker.
“There are no secrets here, gentlemen, have your word.” Callan offers his cocky grin that could melt the panties off a nun.
“Fine.” He pulls out a notebook and pen. “Can you tell us where you were last night?”
A bolt of panic zaps through me. The dead men we left at Ray’s haunt my mind.
“Here, there, can you be more specific?” Callan’s cocky attitude feeds the room.
The officer’s jaw twitches. “Between the hours of two and four in the morning.” That wasn’t the time Ray’s got hit. That was after, when Callan left and came back covered in more blood. Fresh blood.
“That is specific. Why are you asking?”
Exhaling heavily, the officer flicks the notepad open and curls his fingers around a pen. “Just answer the question. The sooner you tell us, the sooner we’re gone.”
“You act like you don’t want to be here.” Callan waves his hand around the room. “Can I get you a drink? Food? Maybe a slut to fuck?”
“Mr. Cox.” He’s losing patience.
“Do your superiors know you’re here?” Callan takes a step toward him, his hands clasped casually against his lower abdomen.
“They sent us. That’s why we’re here and not a detective. Answer the question and we’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Everything okay, officer? You seem blue,” Dodger belts out. The room erupts into laughter. Callan quiets everyone with a shake of his head
“One of ours lost two sons last night,” he bites out, resting his hand on his hip above his gun holster.
Two.
“Someone witnessed you out late last night, Mr. Cox,” the other officer pipes in, though there isn’t enough confidence in his voice for it to be an accusation.
“Really?” Callan looks around his brothers. “Where?”
“At Saint Richard’s,” the angry cop states.
Callan wrinkles his nose. “The boarded-up church used by meth heads?”
“If you can’t explain your whereabouts, we’ll have to take you to the station.” He’s had enough of the bullshit.
“The fuck you are,” Grease rumbles. Violence simmers in the air, ranks closing around Callan. This could end fucking ugly. The last thing I need is to witness the murder of cops.