Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I take in the three of them waiting for me the second I walk into the house. The fact that they’re wearing black isn’t unusual, but the fact that they’re lounging around the living room while an assortment of black ski masks dots the coffee table is a bit off.
Lennox, the practical joker with the massive beard and the shiny bald head, my brother who hides his past scars behind a veil of humor, looks pleased as a freaking punch with his arse at the moment. I have no doubt that he’s done something arse-tacular, which is like spectacular, but also not spectacular because it’s really idiotic arsery.
The twins, Atlas and Orion, who are actual biological twins, and they look like it, have diabolical twin sparkles in their eyes. We’re all big, all four of us, and honestly, the amount of testosterone in the room is absolutely stifling at the moment. I need someone to confess what they’ve done and get the anticipation over with before I choke on the air of male machismo.
I cross my arms and eye the big man-beasts in the room one by one. “Alright. Who’s going to tell me what you’ve all done and how we’re going to undo it? Because I’m sure that it isn’t good.”
“You’d be wrong about that,” Lennox says proudly, crossing his big arms over his tight-fitting black long-sleeved shirt. “We don’t need to tell you. You can just come down to the basement and see for yourself.”
“Oh shit. That sounds bad. That sounds really, really bad.” I’m taken back to that night last year when Alden kidnapped Azalea and took her down to his basement. Okay, so we might have helped. Without Granny knowing. “Please don’t tell me you did what I think you did.”
If my brothers went to Ayana’s house and kidnapped her after I texted my—SOS, we’re fucking busted—text to the group chat before I left the house to blow off steam and figure out what the hell I was going to do next, it’s going to bring the entire club down on us. And no matter what Ayana said about her dad being a good guy under all the scary layers and the club not being one of those bad clubs—and god, they actually kind of sound a little like us, minus the part where they actively try to take down all the dicks and pricks of the world—they’re not going to be paying us a nice social visit. They’ll be coming to get Ayana back, and they’ll be coming down hard to fuck our shit up.
Holy mother of pineapples.
Without stopping to make further conversation, because the more time we waste, the more we are fucked with a capital FUCKING fucked, fucked hard, fucking we are so beyond fucked, I race my ass straight down to the basement.
It’s unfinished and musty down here. The walls are framed, but that’s it. Just bald studs without insulation. The floor is concrete, and it’s been that way for a good long while. The soil obviously wasn’t the best, or whoever poured it did a shit job because there are big cracks running throughout. There are also the basic two bulbs hanging from a socket and no windows. You know, it basically looks like the perfect place to take someone if you’re going to torture them and make them disappear.
It is why the girl sitting in the middle of the room, gagged with a strip of white fabric, and tied to a basic metal and wood chair with a thick yellow rope around her hands, waist, knees, and ankles, looks so freaked out. Her blue eyes are bugging out of her pretty face, and her blonde hair is a wild mess around her shoulders.
My brothers pound down the steps after me and stop right behind me. All but Lennox, who has the nerve to circle around in front and wave his hands at the girl like she’s some sort of magic trick. “Ta-da!” he cries, pride underlining his tone.
If she’s a magic trick, she’s a trick gone really fucking wrong. Honestly, if I had a stick right now, it would be shoved up Lennox’s arse in short order.
I can barely control my surly breathing. I feel like the only mean beast right about now, and if anyone is throwing a lot of bad chemicals into the air, it’s me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Mmmphhhh mmmm!” The sentiment is echoed from behind the gag.
“Me? I’m just trying to fix things. I wanted to help. You’re the one who has his dingleberries in a twist.”
“Ha, dingleberries.” I remember this isn’t a time for jokes, and Lennox isn’t going to distract me by being funny, so I turn to the twins and point my fingers at them. As in both index fingers, because that’s what you do when you have double freaking trouble to deal with. “No, not ha. It’s not funny. And you two went along with this plan and helped?”