Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 67324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Rule three,” he snaps. “Don’t talk.”
I snort. “Wow, you’re really stepping it up, aren’t you? Last time I checked it was a free country, so yeah . . .”
He gives me a look that Briella clearly notices because she quickly jumps in between us and says, “Why don’t we look around, settle Waverly in, and stop going at each other’s throats? How does that sound?”
“Fine by me.” I smile sweetly before Mykel moves out of the way and I step inside the house.
It’s a gorgeous home, just as I suspected. It’s filled with beautiful pieces of furniture, warm colors and beautiful old paintings. It’s definitely not a biker’s house, but I think that’s the whole point. Alarick wanted me as far away from that world as possible, and he couldn’t have done a better job at choosing a home that contradicts the biker lifestyle.
“You have a lovely home,” I say, and I mean it.
“Thanks,” Mykel mutters.
That’s the nicest conversation we’ve ever had.
“So, where do I sleep?”
Without a word, Mykel walks to a set of stairs, and we follow him up. We go past a few rooms until finally we reach a door that he pushes open. I step inside after him to see the beautiful space. I mean, wow. I knew this place would have gorgeous rooms but I wasn’t expecting it to look so damned homely and warm.
A huge queen bed sits below a gorgeous big window, with a timber frame. The carpet is a warm brown and there is a bathroom off to the left. To the right there is a sitting area, with a plush sofa and a bookshelf full of books. In the right-hand corner there is a desk, with a gorgeous lamp placed neatly on it.
I seriously cannot believe this house belongs to a biker.
Maybe that’s not a nice judgement, but seriously.
It’s luxury at its finest, and not at all what I would have expected from him.
“This . . . this is my room?” I gasp.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Briella smiles, looking around fondly. “When I was younger, and the guys would all hang out here, I used to love this area. To be fair it was the only one I was allowed in, but it was the best.”
“My parents had the house then,” Mykel says, his voice so much kinder when he talks to Briella. “None of us were allowed to touch anything.”
“That’s true.” Briella laughs. “I remember when I knocked your dad’s old lamp off the desk in the study and he lost it, but the second I started to cry, he felt so bad that he made me cupcakes and told me stories about when he was a kid living in this house. I really liked your dad.”
Mykel smiles at her, and my heart does a strange little flip-flop. He adores her—I can see it so damned clearly now. In fact, I didn’t realize just how obvious it was until this very second. The way his eyes are warm when he looks at her, the way his whole face lights up and softens, the way his big body relaxes.
Mykel is in love with Briella.
Oh my god.
I swallow and quickly try to think of something else to talk about, because this revelation is huge. Massive, even. I had no idea he felt that way about her. Does she know? I’m going to ask her the moment he’s out of this room.
“Where are your parents?” I ask, looking to Mykel.
Immediately, his face hardens again.
What an absolute jerk.
He’s not going to get anywhere with any woman with that attitude.
“None of your business.”
“Mykel,” Briella scoffs. “Don’t be such a dick to her. She’s done nothing wrong to you. You’re better than that.”
He stares at Briella a second, and then he goes quiet and walks out of the room.
Well then, that was enjoyable.
The moment he’s gone, Briella looks to me. “He doesn’t like talking about his parents. Don’t take is personally.”
“Did they die?”
Briella shrugs. “No, but he doesn’t talk much about it. It’s a bit of a mystery, really.”
Very strange, indeed.
“Well, he’s certainly sensitive about it,” I mutter. “You know he’s in love with you, right?”
Briella’s head whips around and her eyes widen, then she puts a finger to her lips and whisper-hisses shhhh.
“So you know?” I say, a little more quietly this time.
“Yes, I know. I’ve known for a while. He told me . . .” She pauses and takes a breath. “. . . the night he was shot.”
“Oh, oh god. I’m so sorry; that must have been horrible.”
“It was. All I could think about was him dying and not being able to tell him how sorry I was that I couldn’t offer the same feelings in return.”
“Did you suspect it?” I ask her.
“I honestly just thought we were great friends. I never realized he wanted more. I feel bad, I couldn’t imagine loving someone that you know is never going to love you back.”