Detroit (Shady Valley Henchmen #5) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC Tags Authors: Series: Shady Valley Henchmen Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
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“Shouldn’t we be getting up?” she asked.

“Everyone else is going to be sleeping until at least eleven. Might as well catch up on some sleep too.”

We did then.

But not for long.

We both woke up seemingly in unison, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself from watching her with a small smile tugging at my lips as she rolled onto her back and stretched like a cat before remembering her nudity, and pulling her blanket off the bed to wrap around herself.

“I get the shower first,” she told me, then grabbed clothes, and rushed off to shower.

Alone, I let myself marvel at this turn of events while she showered, then climbed in after her, loving the way the smell of her was all around, and her line of skincare products was on the sink cabinet. And her toothbrush, with it’s baby pink cap, was sitting next to mine in the drawer.

By the time I finished, Everleigh was out of the room, and I made my way downstairs to find she’d already brewed a pot of coffee, the smell filling the downstairs, chasing away the scent of beer and liquor and, it seemed, pizza, judging by all the empty boxes scattered around.

She was standing in the living room, brows pinched as she looked down at a pile of clothing on the floor.

“That’s… three sets of underwear,” she said, glancing over at me as I moved next to her, seeing a pair of pink panties, and a yellow one, along with a pair of black boxers.

“Told you the parties get a little wild here,” I said.

“I underestimated how wild. Ah, out of curiosity, and in no way related to the scene in front of me, do you guys happen to own a carpet cleaner? A fabric steamer? Something to sanitize soft surfaces?”

A chuckle moved through me as I pressed a kiss to her temple on my way to the coffee pot.

“I, ah, I kind of wasn’t, you know, joking,” she said as she followed me, going to put her hands on the island, then thinking better of it at the last second. “We all sit on that couch,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said, passing her a mug, then getting the pumpkin spice creamer I’d gotten her at the store. “I got everything we need to clean this place. It’s all in the hall closet. But I got it. I’m usually who does the clean-up after the parties.”

“This might make me seem like a complete loser, but I kind of… like cleaning and organizing. I wouldn’t mind helping.”

So then we drank our coffee.

Got supplies.

And set to work.

Did we sweep and shimmy to a Taylor Swift soundtrack of her more upbeat songs? We sure did. And I got to watch as she jiggled her ass, and shook her hips, and sang her heart out.

“Hey, watch out for—“ I started to warn as she turned in a circle near the island, not seeing him until it was too late.

And Cat reached out and scratched the shit out of her hand.

“Ow ow ow ow ow,” Everleigh cried out as she all but tossed the roll of paper towels onto the island, making Cat dodge it with a blood-curdling yowl before hopping down.

“Alright. Let me look,” I said, reaching down for her hips, to lift her up onto the counter as I reached for her hand.

The sweet smile she gave me then had that sensation moving through my chest again.

“Not horrible,” I said. “Give me a sec,” I added, turning away to go grab the medical kit.

I squirted some antiseptic on it, then got a bandage covered in triple antibiotic, and wrapped it around.

Finished, I pulled her finger up to press a kiss to the bandage.

“How’s that?” I asked, looking up, and seeing something in her gaze that I couldn’t quite put a finger on, but it made that sensation in my chest intensify.

“Better,” she told me. “That cat needs therapy,” she decided.

“How about I make something for breakfast to make up for him?” I suggested.

“Something… sweet?” she asked.

“Pancakes? French toast? Waffles? What are we talking here?”

“French toast. The answer is always French toast,” she said, beaming at me.

“French toast it is. You stay right here,” I demanded, handing her back her coffee.

So that was where she was perched as I stood next to her, whipping eggs, dipping bread, chopping up some fruit for the side.

We sat and ate breakfast by ourselves, small talking mostly about her mom and sister.

Apparently, Bayleigh had really done a lot of healing once she moved away. She’d started a career, she found a man who worshipped her, and then, recently, she’d gotten pregnant.

Everleigh was excited as fuck to be an aunt to her coming niece.

“Do you want kids?” I asked after she finished gushing about all the clothes and toys she had saved for the baby shower.



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