Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“You will if you’re hired. Compass rule. Girls text Greg when they’re ready to leave the club. No exceptions. All girls. Waitresses, bartenders, dancers. He’s not available, then he sends one of the other guys to escort you to a taxi, car, whatever.”
“A little over the top, isn’t it?”
“Told you. Safest club in the city. That’s why we don’t have trouble. Compass is tight, and if Greg finds out you left with no escort, he’ll have your ass fired. And it won’t matter how good a dancer you are.”
It kind of made me feel better about leaving at two in the morning in the club district, especially Friday and Saturday nights. It was one part of the city that the mounted police often patrolled.
Jacob, who had let me into the club, was leaning up against the wall having a smoke when Bree and I came out. “You get hired, Hijack?”
I rolled my eyes at the nickname. Looks like I’d be stuck with it if I was hired. “Trial Saturday night.”
He tossed his cigarette into the alley. “Good. See you then.”
Bree reached into her purse as she stopped at a silver sports car. With tinted windows and sleek lines, it looked like it cost a fortune. The horn beeped as she pressed the key fob. “Need a ride?”
I was still staring at the car, trying to figure out how on Earth she could afford it. She laughed.
“Parents bought it for me. Twenty-first birthday. I couldn’t refuse because”—she ran her hand over the lip of the roof—“well, it’s sweet as hell.” She slid into the leather seat and started it up. “You need a ride?”
I shook my head. “I have my car.” But it was always a risk whether it would make it to its destination. “Thanks for your help. Have fun Saturday night.”
“Thanks. Later,” Bree called, shut her door then drove off.
I put on my sunglasses, walked to my car and climbed in when a black sports car pulled into the alley and parked. I briefly glanced over and…
Holy shit. It was Killian in the driver seat.
What the hell?
I slammed my door shut and ducked down so fast I hit my head on the gearshift. I rubbed the spot as I kept tucked in next to the steering wheel. Why would he be here on a Wednesday afternoon? The club wasn’t even open. But there’d been someone in the car with him, though I didn’t have a chance to see who it was.
My calf leg cramped, and the car was suffocating with the windows closed from having sat in the sun for two hours. But I didn’t dare pop my head up. How long had it been? Was it long enough to park and go into the club?
I peeked over the dashboard.
Shit. He stood beside his car talking on his phone, his tall, length leaning against the side of it. And Christ, he wore a pair of worn jeans, black belt, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up revealing his tattooed arms.
His clothes hung in crisp clean lines, defining his lean physique. Pure class.
I was having trouble breathing as the sun blazed through the windows, the vinyl also burning my ass. Shit, I was going to pass out if I didn’t do something.
I kept my head down and wiggled the key out of my pocket then inserted it into the ignition and turned it once so the car didn’t turn over, but the air came on. Not air conditioning, I didn’t have that, but hot air.
Unfortunately, the music blasted, too.
Shit.
I scrambled for the volume knob and shut it off then peeked up over the rim of the door.
He was still on the phone but was no longer leaning against his car. He was looking my way and so was Crisis, the guitarist in the band who was by the club door talking to Jacob.
I couldn’t chance staying here.
I had to leave before he recognized me, and the only way was to reverse all the way out of the alley because I couldn’t drive past him.
I glanced up again just as he hung up and put his cell in his back pocket.
Then he headed for my car.
Crap.
Pressing the clutch, I turned the key and jammed the gear shift into reverse. I glanced back through the seats and reversed all the way out of the alley.
When I backed onto the street, I peered out my side window and saw him standing in the middle of the alley staring after my car.
Past
Ireland
“Emmitt. Go. Go. Go,” I shouted from behind him as I blocked the opposing player from getting to him. My brother ran the length of the field, the football dribbling between his feet back and forth.
He was tall like me and athletic and could outrun most of the kids on his team and the opposing one, except me, of course.