Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Cover it up?
Copper—the fucking dirty Fed—nods, his features somber. “Fine, but you’re taking her? Why, Koyn?”
Koyn practically snarls and he grips my naked thighs hard like I might run away. “You know fucking why.”
Koyn
Blaire. Blaire. Blaire.
When I looked into the girl’s deep brown eyes—the color of how Ellie used to drink her coffee—my mind cracked. Right down the fucking middle. Blood covered her face. She was half naked. And her makeup was running from her tears.
That motherfucker was going to rape her.
Just like his father did my daughter.
Just. Like. Blaire.
I had plans for Putnam’s son. Dark, twisted, nefarious plans. Plans that involved strapping Putnam to a chair so he could watch as I shaved off every inch of his son’s flesh with a dull pocketknife.
But the moment I saw the girl, I wasn’t Koyn.
I was Dad.
Husband.
Protector.
The threat stood between me and Blaire. It had to be eliminated.
She’s not Blaire, though.
I buried my baby girl ten years ago beside her mother in a small cemetery in Pearland, Texas, beneath a willow tree.
“Please let me go,” the girl begs. “Please.”
“It’s not safe,” I practically hiss.
I walk back into the bar area and it’s a fucking bloodbath. We need to just torch the place. When Dragon’s eyes widen, I realize the girl’s still naked.
Fuck.
I jerk her off my shoulder and put her on her feet.
“Don’t move.” My harsh order makes her tremble, but she nods, her bottom lip wobbling. I yank off my cut and toss it on a table so I can pull off my long-sleeved black Henley. “You’re going to put this on.”
She doesn’t fight me as I help dress her in a shirt that falls to her knees, covering enough. I tug my cut back on over my undershirt and then snag her by her elbow.
“Let’s move, girl,” I grunt. “You don’t need to see this shit.”
I haul her outside and she puts on the brakes.
“No! I’m not leaving with you!” she shrieks. “You killed my boyfriend!”
Grabbing both her shoulders, I get in her face. She shrinks back, terror shining in her brown eyes.
“He was assaulting you. Some fucking boyfriend.”
She sobs all the way to the truck. I fling open the back seat door to the truck and toss her inside.
“Buckle in and stay put.”
“Please, mister…”
I slam the truck door and hop in the front. Copper’s stupid country music blares the moment I turn over the engine and I flip the dial until something hard roars through the cab. My adrenaline is flying through my veins like I’m high on coke or some shit. I’m practically shaking with a mix of both raging anger at losing Putnam and relief at rescuing the girl.
Not her.
Not her.
Not her.
Her sobs are loud in the back seat, but I can’t talk to her. Not now. Not like this. Not when I’m seconds away from pulling the girl into my arms, stroking her bloody hair, and promising her Daddy will make it all better.
Not mine.
She’s not mine.
Yet a sense of ownership wraps its sticky tentacles around my heart. The need to protect, all-consuming. This girl looks so much like Blaire it’s fucking with my head. She’s someone’s daughter, though clearly not mine, and doesn’t deserve to be club trash and raped.
The drive out to Animal’s clubhouse flashes by in a blur. I need to get back to my compound, but I’m shaking too fucking badly to drive the four plus hours back. I need a smoke. I need a drink. I need to chase any leads to Putnam.
“Please,” the girl begs.
“You’re safe now.” My words are raspy and cold. So much for reassuring her. “What’s your name?”
“Hadley.”
“Hadley what?”
Silence.
I dart my eyes to the rearview mirror to find her staring at me with mascara streaked cheeks. Defiance gleams in her glare, reminding me so much of Blaire my chest feels like someone punched it. I tear my gaze away from her to focus on the road. By the time we arrive at Animal’s, I’m still trembling with barely contained malevolent energy.
“Why are we here? What are we doing?” she demands the moment I shut off the truck.
“Meeting,” I grunt out. “We’re going to get you cleaned up and some clothes on you. Let’s go.”
She makes no moves to get out, so I hop out of the truck and fling open the back seat door. Hadley can’t be any older than my Blaire was when I last saw her. That thought fucking hurts. Real damn bad. Slender. Frail. Young. This girl got herself mixed up with a bunch of asshole bikers. It’s a good damn thing I showed my ass up when I did.
“What’s your story?” I demand as I grab her arm and drag her from the truck. “Where are your parents?”
She hisses at me. “I don’t have parents.”
Liar.
Her brown eyes flare with the lie just as my daughter’s used to. Only thing is, nowadays, I don’t have patience for this shit.