Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“Does your back feel any better?” he asked as his big hands kneaded the curve of my spine. He knew right where it hurt. I nodded, burying my face in his warmth.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He chuckled at my shyness.
“So polite. I wonder if you will be so polite next time.”
“Next time?”
He squeezed me.
“Yes. I want to try something new,” he said, grabbing my ass. I blushed furiously but didn’t argue. It wasn’t the first time he had mentioned it. And after some of the things he’d done with my body, I was intrigued.
I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. The man might not have been a total player in the past few years, but he definitely knew what he was doing. I found that instead of being jealous of the women who came before me, I was grateful. They’d made Hunter into a well-oiled sex machine. One who was tender and caring, too.
So I just nodded and snuggled down deeper under the covers. I would just close my eyes for a little bit. When I woke up, it was near dawn and Hunter was nowhere to be found.
There was a note on the pillow beside me.
Had to run to headquarters. Another fight. Back in time for lunch if you are free.
I smiled and stretched. I would go visit Gran for breakfast before hitting the books. Then I would see my boyfriend, although I needed a better name for Hunter. There was nothing ‘boyish’ about him.
He was a manfriend, I decided. Which was funny because that was what Gran called him anyway. ‘Go and see your manfriend’ was what she had said in the early days of our relationship. Back when I was embarrassed and confused. She had known from the get-go that there was something special between Hunter and me.
Gran always did have the best ideas.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mason
Broken tables everywhere. Chairs that looked like sticks of kindling. Blood. Vomit. More blood.
The Hell Raisers had come to the Mason Jar in full effect last night and it showed. It looked like a goddamn hurricane had blown in. And Jaken had been on his own to handle it. I’d come as fast as I could, leaving my wife and sleeping children at five a.m. to ride hell for leather across the county for the second time in the last month.
The fucked up thing was, the fight was still going on.
There were at least twenty guys who were in varying states on unconsciousness. But at least ten were still swinging at each other, and us, even though they were barely on their feet.
A couple of the Untouchables were in the mix, acting no better than the damned Hell Raisers. I shook my head at Jaken as he ducked under a punch and took a guy down with a half tackle. The guy moaned and then slumped to the floor. One down, only nine or so to go, I thought with an eye roll. Jaken wasn’t officially in the club, not yet, but he was my people. And he didn’t back away from a fight.
I raised a hand to him, then brought a bucket of wet rags over to Doc, who was attempting to staunch the bleeding on a couple of the more fucked up guys lying all over the floor. I watched as he took out a skin stapler and put someone’s split cheek back together.
“That’s going to leave a scar,” I remarked. Doc raised an eyebrow at me.
“Working with what I got.” He squinted down at the rough looking biker. “It might improve things, anyway.”
I laughed and walked away, grabbing a mop and a bucket. Jaken was dragging men to one side of the room so we could start cleaning the floor on the other.
No matter how well we cleaned it, there was no way in hell I was going to be able to reopen the Jar. Not today. Probably not for weeks. That wasn’t the end of the world for Michelle and me, but a lot of my employees lived on tips. I was going to have to figure something out. Quick.
“Fuck me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hunter exclaimed from behind me. “My guys did this?”
“Mostly. Though a couple of locals got into the mix. A few of our guys, too.”
“Oh, yeah. I see a few familiar dipshits,” he said, looking around the room at the piles of bodies. “Where can we get you new chairs and tables?”
I looked at him, then back at the bar.
“There is a big restaurant supply store in Fulton, but I doubt they have enough to fill the place.”
“Well, let me get some of the crew and head over there when they open. Name?”
I told him the place and he started texting. Hunter meant business. I suddenly felt hopeful that we might be able to reopen in a few days, after all. I could cover salary and approximate tips for that long without too much trouble.