Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I meet the redhead at the center of the bar and drape my arm over her shoulder, turning her in the direction of the restroom sign hanging over an entryway at the back of the bar. Her hand is on my cock before we even make it five steps.
I sigh inwardly at the double standard. She’s a bar slut which makes her unappealing to me outside of this situation, but on the other hand, I’m grateful she is because it’s exactly what I need at the moment. We won’t exchange numbers; I won’t even tell her my name, and the fucked up part? She probably won’t even ask. I’d be surprised if my dick is the only one she touches tonight.
We round the corner, turning down the dark hallway, and my ears register the sound of the slap before my eyes manage to tell my brain what is going on. I see the waitress’ head swing to the side from the impact and look at the sneer on the face of the asshole that was sitting in the bar earlier; the exact one I’d assumed was her abusive asshole husband.
Fury boils over in my veins; the redhead on my side becomes inconsequential as I stride forward and punch the prick directly in his nose. The blood spray from his face isn’t satisfying enough, so I hit him again, and again. I don’t stop until he’s a whimpering puddle, crouched on the filthy floor.
I hear screaming and turn to comfort the waitress, pissed that she’s upset that I hit him, but when I turn around, it’s the redhead I was with a minute before that’s hysterical. I watch her back as she runs from the hallway. I turn my attention to the waitress who is leaning against the wall with a hand clamped over her injured cheek.
“You okay?” I ask taking slow, measured steps in her direction.
She pulls her eyes from the man on the floor to mine and then back down to him. I see the fear the second it hits her face, and I hold my hands up and take a step back. I’m pissed that she’d be afraid of me too but understanding of the situation.
“I’m not going to hurt you, darlin’.” I drop my hands to my side and attempt a casual, non-threatening pose, which is a chore because of my size and build.
Without taking her eyes from him, she says, “He’ll kill me for sure now.”
She raises her eyes to mine at the growl that came unbidden from deep in my throat. “He won’t have the chance.”
I reach for her and guide her by her elbow to the rear exit off of the dark hallway we’re standing in. She seems dazed, and I look over at her wondering how much damage he caused when he struck her. The cool night air that hits us seems to pull her from her trance.
“Wh… what are you doing?” She asks as the door to the bar and the noise of the jukebox closes behind us.
“Getting you out of here,” I tell her and point to my bike parked near the street. “Get on.” I swing my leg over the seat, hit the kickstand with the back of my boot, and wait impatiently as she stands there looking at me like she’s never seen a man on a bike before.
Chapter 3
Emmalyn
“Get on,” he repeats.
My head is spinning, and my brain can’t even piece together what just happened in the back hallway. I knew the minute that creepy biker grabbed my hand I was going to have to defend my actions to Bobby. I hate working at this bar. It has gotten me hit more times than I care to count.
Bobby insists I work here because he likes having the cash from my tips in his pocket every day. I voiced my opinion once about working in a café or restaurant, because patrons are less grabby when they’re drinking coffee or soda and not beer and hard liquor. That suggestion ended with two black eyes and instructions to never bring it up again. Apparently I’m “decent looking and make more money with the drunk guys.” I also pay dearly for their actions because of the situation I’m thrown in every night.
My entire life is lose/lose at this point. I don’t want to die, and I’m certain that’s exactly what will happen if I stay here. That reasoning is how I justified getting on this motorcycle with a man I know absolutely nothing about and wrapping my arms around his waist as he tore out of the parking lot. I don’t know how long the reprieve from Bobby will last, but I plan to take every single second I can get.
The bike begins to slow, and I pull my cheek from its position on his back. I swipe at the tears running down my face, hoping to be rid of them before he notices. He pulls into the parking lot of a closed gas station and parks in the shadows. I’m trembling uncontrollably as he turns off the ignition and climbs free of the machine.