Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
But no one upstairs listened to the prayers of men with the reaper on their backs. And at their heels.
Caroline
“Holy shit,” Gwen, the beautiful, fashionable woman declared from across the table.
“Holy fuck,” Amy, the equally beautiful, red-haired, equally fashionable woman corrected from beside her.
“That’s like more dramatic than all of our stories put together,” Mia declared. She was slightly older than the rest of the women, but also jaw-droppingly stunning. She was also a total fricking lightweight. And hilarious.
“Too fucking right it is,” Bex, the heavily tattooed and sober woman beside her agreed.
“Are you okay?” Lily asked, she was the quietest of them all, Lauren after that, but it was easy to seem quiet with Amy, Mia, and Gwen at the table.
We were in the ‘girls room’ in the Sons of Templar clubhouse. Apparently it was a new addition since the club had undergone some serious renovations of late. They’d likely been preparing for this exact event, and Gwen had decided that in addition to rooms safe in war they’d get rooms safe from ‘men.’
It was so different from the rest of the club it was laughable. It had a small bar, complete with a blender for margaritas—which we were drinking right now—pure white walls, dusty pink sofas on either side of the room, and a long white chic table with multiple chairs the same fabric and color as the sofas. Wedding pictures were framed on the walls.
It was ridiculous and awesome at the same time.
I nodded to Lily’s question. “I’m okay for the first time in sixteen years.” I paused. “Shit, does that make me an asshole for saying this now?”
Amy reached over and squeezed my hand. “Kind of,” she agreed, winking. “But you’ve got to be at least a little bit of an asshole in order to survive this life.”
Would I survive this life?
Would I stay long enough to survive it after the war?
“I still can’t believe you got Cade to do this,” Macy said, staring around in wonder. “Seriously. I’m getting Hansen to give us one.” She eyed me. “We need one, right?”
We.
She was speaking like I was one of them. Like I was going to stay.
I wanted to stay.
I really fricking wanted to stay and be a part of this family. I wanted to help Macy convince the ultra-masculine Hansen to build a fricking girl cave in a motorcycle club. I wanted to yell at Blake for asking me about things stuck up a woman’s vagina. I wanted to clear out Claw while playing poker. I wanted to watch Macy’s boys grow into mini badasses.
But I did not want to have to watch Liam go out every day, wondering if he would come home. It was one thing trying to imagine the horror of what life would be like without him if he didn’t. But I didn’t have to imagine that. I’d lived it. For fourteen freaking years. And I’d thought it was hard then. I thought it would destroy me. But it didn’t. Not properly. This, this would destroy me. I wasn’t strong enough for this life.
It was that simple.
But I had to lie for now.
Because I couldn’t speak the truth. I could barely think it.
I smiled at Macy. “Yeah, right.”
After multiple margaritas for those of us who didn’t have children to look after, each of the women had gone—with an escort of course—home to presumably have one last night of peace.
I was now at the bar that wasn’t sleek and full of cocktail making implements. It was old, wooden, scattered with rings, and only had beer or hard liquor. I was okay with that.
The opening of a door caught my eye.
The men filtered out from ‘church’ with forlorn faces, with masks of soldiers I’d seen countless times. Men preparing for death.
Each of the men split off to find the women that made up their hope.
The women around me moved to go to the men who needed something living before they ventured to find death.
I stayed put.
He found me.
I didn’t know if I was Liam’s hope. I didn’t know what I was to Liam. What I was to Jagger. I was a girl from the past, a foreign woman in the present.
“Please,” I said, not even caring that the word came out as a pathetic beg.
Liam didn’t look up from where he was sliding two handguns into shoulder holsters. “I’ve got to go.” I didn’t even know where he was going right now, because from what I’d gathered, it wasn’t happening until tomorrow.
I moved forward, clutching his wrists. “You don’t have to do anything,” I said. “You’ve got a choice. A choice not to run into another war that you might not come back from. One where death is final.”
He sighed. Eyes met mine. They were hard. Resolved. They were Jagger’s eyes. I supposed I shouldn’t have jerked with such surprise, he was Jagger now. I’d just been experiencing too much Liam. I was living in the past.