Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Until Riley showed up and changed my entire fucking life. I've spent the last decade building something bigger and better. And I'm building it on the fucking bones I buried in the goddamn closet. I haven't touched a woman in…fuck, I don't even know. Since before I left the MC.
I watch Shelby long enough to ensure she's getting back to work, and then put her out of my mind, turning back to my goal. The one girl in this bar I do intend to fuck in every position known to man.
She's still reading her book.
Who the fuck comes to a biker bar to read in the back corner?
I slide into the booth across from her, peeping the title of her book. "You're shitting me."
Wide, startled emerald eyes meet mine over the top. They're so goddamn familiar, my heart thumps against my ribcage, rattling me. But I've never seen this girl before. I'd fucking remember her if I had because she's gorgeous. With her dark hair tossed up in a messy bun, every delicate inch of her round face is visible under the dim lights. Tiny freckles march across the bridge of her nose. Her lips are plump and juicy, just begging to be kissed.
And yet…those eyes. It's like I've seen the damn things a thousand times. Like I should know them.
I shake off the feeling, focusing on her book.
"You're in here every night reading the goddamn Wizard of Oz?"
"No." Her dulcet voice washes over me, turning my cock to steel. Fuck. I can't wait to hear it breaking on my name when I'm nine inches deep. "I read that one the first night. I'm currently reading Tiktok of Oz."
"My point remains, princess. You're in the middle of a goddamn bar."
"I'm aware." She shifts her gaze back to her book. "The topless girls kinda give it away."
"Shouldn't you be at home, tucked up in your bed?"
"Shouldn't you be over at the bar, bitching at one of your employees?" she retorts, not even looking up at me this time.
"You know who I am."
"Not a clue," she says cheerfully, "but I've been here for the last three nights. It only took five minutes to figure out you own the place."
"Yeah? What gave it away?"
"Everyone walks on eggshells around you." She flips the page. "I wasn't sure if it was because they were afraid of you or because they didn't want to disappoint you, but now that we've met, mystery officially solved."
The way she says it makes it abundantly clear which she thinks it is. She isn't entirely wrong, either. Fear comes naturally to people when you're rich, famous, and have a reputation for not tolerating bullshit.
But I don't treat my people like shit. They enjoy working here and I take care of them. If I'm an asshole at times, it's for their own safety, and they respect that. Between the rabid fans and the bikers, there's a whole fucking lot to worry about around here. But this girl doesn't seem to have a clue who I am or what kind of problems we've got going on here.
Either she's full of it, or she's one of the few people in Nashville who don't give a fuck about music.
"Memphis Hughes."
She lifts her gaze to mine again, staring levelly. Either she really doesn't know me, or she doesn't give a flying fuck. Interesting. Most women who walk through the doors can't wait to throw themselves at me. This one looks like she'd rather I fuck off away from her table and leave her in peace.
"My name. What's yours?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Jesus Christ." I can't help but grin at the suspicion in her tone. "Are you always this difficult?"
"Maybe."
"Your name, princess. Now," I growl. Clearly, looks are deceiving because this girl looks like heaven but she's a pain in the ass. It's intriguing as hell. That's a problem. I don't want to be intrigued. I don't want to get to know her. I just want to fuck her out of my system and move the fuck along. Simple. Convenient.
I know it's a lie as soon as I think it. There's nothing simple or convenient about what I want from her. If I get my hands on her, there will be no one after me. There will just be me.
Jesus.
"Kylie."
"Last name?"
She hesitates for a split second, a flicker of unease drifting through her eyes. "Byers."
If her last name is Byers, I'm a choir boy.
She's lying. Why?
I'm not sure, but I'd very much like to find out.
"Do you read in biker bars often, Kylie Byers?" I ask, letting her believe I believe her lie for now.
"Only for the last three days. Would you believe my reading spot was a toss-up between this place and the Waffle Casa?" She bats her long lashes at me. "Guess which one has fewer fights?"