Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
Instead of going to the fridge and grabbing another can of beer, Newton stands, drops his can in the recycling bin, and leaves the garage.
I have full trust in Kincaid and his ability to pick his team members, but that doesn’t stop that weird feeling of unease at being left in the garage alone with Hemlock. He’s somehow working on a project bike but he makes no noise. There are no clinks of a wrench, no grumbles of irritation, nor any shuffling of his feet when he moves from one side to the other.
The man is paying me no mind, but that doesn’t keep me from feeling like prey with him being an apex predator.
I stand and carry my beer to the sink, pouring all but the one sip I took down the drain.
“Have a good night,” I tell him, knowing he won’t say anything back to me.
I choose to climb on my bike and drive it off the property instead of going inside and facing Beth. I gave her an ultimatum, and with the way she held her head up high when she went inside the clubhouse, I can predict what her decision is going to be.
The fall wind on my face feels amazing, but I know I should’ve been better prepared for a ride rather than the t-shirt I’m wearing. Rides alone are also frowned on, but Kincaid knows all too well just how needed they are at times.
I feel like a hypocrite, riding through the back roads, taking the curves faster than I probably should. How is it fair that I take unnecessary risks right after trying to convince Beth that she should stay safe at all times?
Would she care if I laid my bike over and ended up in the ditch?
I slow to a stop on the side of the road, waiting for a car coming in my direction to pass, before I climb off to stretch my legs. The sight of their taillights illuminating makes me pause, but they continue on around the corner. Most people are helpful. The world hasn’t gone completely to shit yet, although it’s well on its way.
I can’t, however, think that anyone who approaches me or anyone else in the club is safe. We’ve stepped on a lot of toes and killed a lot of bad people. If anything, bad people want vengeance, or they think they can take down the club so they can operate without fear of getting shut down again.
Maybe the new chapter of Cerberus is better than what we’re doing. Most of the missions we go on are activated by American citizens who have had a loved one abducted and sold into sex trafficking. I know it would be ignorant to think that one team could stop all of US sex trafficking. I also know we’re fighting a losing battle, but individual people working to take down groups could definitely put a damper on the trade routes that run all through the US. Maybe this new chapter could aid in greatly reducing the American abductions.
After climbing back on my bike, I head out of town. The idea of going back and watching Beth pack her stuff makes my skin crawl.
I spend hours on my bike, having to stop once for gas before heading back.
By the time I get back to the clubhouse, the sun has been set for hours. I didn’t get a text saying that Beth requested to go back to Texas, and when I get to our room, I breathe a sigh of relief at seeing the form of her body in the bed.
I strip to my boxers and climb in on my side, but I don’t say a word.
I can tell by her breathing that she’s pretending to be asleep, but since she doesn’t say anything, I don’t bother opening my mouth either. I’m just happy she’s still here.
Chapter 30
Beth
He was gone for hours and hours.
At first, I was glad to have the time to myself to think, or overthink as it were, but then the sun set with him still gone.
The night hours crawled on, and he never showed up.
It was late, at least an hour after the last time I looked at the clock at one in the morning, before the bedroom door opened.
I fought every instinct I had to roll over and demand he tell me where he was. My mind had created a million different scenarios of what he could’ve been doing with his time away from me.
But our relationship is fake, right?
What claim do I have on the man that justifies me being privileged to know how he spends his time? Didn’t I just argue that I should be allowed to do what I want, when I want, without having to ask permission?
What I do know is that it hurts more than it should.