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)
Was I danger to him? Did I mean enough to be dangerous?
But then again, he might be as lost in thought as I was. Sure, he had a lot to think about, how his grand plan of leaving his past behind in the coffin that lay in his cemetery at home was shot to shit now.
“You need to sleep,” he said by way of greeting, his husky voice carrying over the room.
Immediately the chill of that voice, of the emptiness prickled against my arms and I rubbed them. “As much as the possibility seems ridiculous under the circumstances, yes,” I agreed.
I could fall asleep in all different and dangerous circumstances, it was necessary. You snatched sleep when you could in my line of work, because you couldn’t be sure when you’d get it again. It wasn’t New York that never slept, it was the story. It was war. Suffering.
I glanced around at the common room and the worn and tattered sofas scattered around the place.
“I’m guessing this is serving as my accommodations for the foreseeable future?” I asked. I’d slept in worse.
“Fuck no,” Liam clipped. “You’re sleepin’ in my room.”
My entire body went ramrod straight. “No way in hell is that happening,” I hissed. “I’d rather risk getting whatever undiscovered STD lives on these sofas.”
He was across the room in a flash, gripping my upper arm firm enough so I couldn’t squirm out of his grasp, but not hard enough to hurt.
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” he said, pulling me across the room.
I fought him as he did so, but my protests were weak from the upcoming adrenaline crash and the very presence of his touch. My muscles melted and it was all I could do to let him drag me down the hall.
“I’m not sleeping in a room with you, Liam,” I said as he walked me into the room I’d showered in.
He regarded me, face hard. “I’m not sleepin’ here. I’ll crash somewhere else.” He looked to the door.
I followed his gaze. There was a padlock on the outside.
I gaped thinking about why that had to be there.
He took my pause as opportunity and began to walk out.
Without a fricking word, he was just going to walk out.
“You’re really going to keep me prisoner here?” I asked his back.
He didn’t turn. “I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” I hissed. “You could walk out of here right now, drive back to the family who’ve been mourning your death for almost fifteen years.”
He didn’t move, but I watched his large form stiffen. I glared at the grim reaper on his back and it taunted me with its unyielding stare.
“My club is my family now.”
And then he walked out.
The click of the lock against the door echoed in my brain.
Not as loud, nor as painful as the words he’d spoken.
I’d been in all sorts of situations as a journalist. I’d even been held prisoner before. By people much worse than this. I’d seen my photographer shot in the face right before my eyes. A piece of his skull cut my cheek.
I still had the scar.
I had been eighty percent sure I wasn’t going to make it out alive.
And this time, I didn’t think Liam would hurt me. Certainly not kill me.
No, Liam would never hurt me.
This Jagger character...I didn’t know him. I didn’t know what he’d do to me.
Jagger
He didn’t sleep. Not a fucking wink.
How the fuck could he sleep when she was there? Right there, behind that door he’d been staring at the entire night. After locking her inside the room.
He’d gone to the bar to retrieve a bottle of Jack.
Then he’d sank down to the floor opposite his door and stared at it. He didn’t need to do so, he knew that she couldn’t escape. His window had bars on it, all of them did now since the attack.
And the lock would hold fast with even Hades putting his weight on it. Caroline wasn’t even a buck fifty soaking wet. He didn’t doubt her strength or resilience, but she still wouldn’t get out.
He half expected her to try. To scream. As most bitches would when faced with the fact they were imprisoned within a motorcycle club that had discovered they were a rat. Imprisoned with a man they’d once known. Once mourned. He couldn’t think of the words she’d spoken in church. Couldn’t think of that empty deadness in her voice.
So he thought about her screaming for rescue.
But there was nothing but silence from the other side of the door.
That silence told him a lot of things.
That she was smart. But he already knew that. She would always go on about how smart he was, the places he would go with such utter confidence. But she had something about her that was more than intelligence. It didn’t surprise him she was a reporter. It fucking enraged him that she was a reporter that did things like risk her life going undercover at a fucking MC. If this was any other MC, even a fucking other chapter, she would’ve been dead.