Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Rurik was about half a foot shorter than me with a much slimmer build. Ink covered every bit of exposed skin I could see, apart from his face. With a strong jawline, narrow nose, and dark hair that flopped over onto his forehead, he could easily be a model. Instead, he’d chosen to become an underboss, second-in-command to the Pakhan. Didn’t make sense to me, but what the fuck did I know.
“What do you want?” I asked, turning back to the car. I could feel his eyes on me, and it had tension thrumming through my muscles. “Surely, you can just tell Sicle what the fuck is going on and be on your way back to Washington.”
Sicle was Hyram’s road name. His name had something to do with his little sister, Francesca, who was married to Arlo, the mother charter’s road captain. She called Hyram Pickle, for some reason I didn’t understand. And somehow, Sicle had come out of that.
“No, I can’t do that,” Rurik told me. “I need you at that table, Malik, so let’s go.” Reaching forward, he gripped my arm, attempting to turn me away from the car. I yanked my arm out of his grip, baring my teeth at him. I snatched my cigarette from my lips, and my upper lip curled into a sneer.
“Keep your fucking hands off of me.”
Rurik evenly met my gaze, not the least bit intimidated by my size or the rage pulsing through me like a separate, living being. “Chapel, Malik.”
“Fuck you,” I snarled. “I don’t follow your goddamn orders, Rurik.”
Before I could really even register what he was doing, he swung his leg out, knocking me in the back of my knees. I was barely aware of what was happening before I was on my knees in front of him. He knocked my ballcap off my head and wrapped his hand around my throat. My cigarette was long forgotten on the ground as I snarled at him, my body vibrating with the urge to knock his teeth down his mother fucking throat.
“You do starting today,” he told me. I hated every bit of his demeanor. His breathing was steady, and his eyes were still calm as he stared down at me. Not a single bit of his clothing or hair was out of place. His suit was still impeccable, fitted to his slim form like it’d been specially tailored for him. Fuck, maybe it had been. He had more money than he’d ever spend in three lifetimes.
I tried yanking back from him, but he just reached forward with his other hand and gripped my shirt, yanking me closer. He leaned over me until our noses were mere inches apart, his bright blue eyes staring into my dark ones. In that moment, he looked every bit of the man with all the power in the world.
And I fucking hated that it made me tremble the tiniest bit.
“I’ve played your little games long enough, Shadow,” he said, a silk-edged warning weaving through each word he spoke. A shiver raced down my spine. I didn’t miss that he’d used my club name. It was a name that’d been used numerous times since I’d joined the Ghost Born MC, but it was the first time Rurik had used it. And the way he used it was almost like a promise.
A promise that my life was in his hands. A cold, cruel reminder of who I actually belonged to. And it wasn’t this club.
Rurik had owned me from the moment he realized I existed.
“Now, we start playing my games.” Abruptly, he released me, and then, he stomped out my cigarette with his shiny, expensive shoes. I clenched my jaw but kept my mouth shut. “Get up and get inside that chapel.”
With that, he turned and walked off, adjusting his suit jacket as he did so.
2
Rurik
Malik fucking Carter alone was a testament to the patience I held. He knew exactly what buttons to press to irritate me, but I held impeccable control. He would never see me snap. Never see me lash out.
Not at him, anyway.
Not at the man I had plans of making mine. And today was step one of that.
Hyram had gotten word of a neighboring club getting a bit pissy over territory. It happened, especially in this line of work. The Oregon charter of the Ghost Born MC was still a pretty fresh club. They’d only been around about a year, which meant this charter still had to make a name for itself and establish dominance.
But Shaw, the president of the mother charter, was concerned the Oregon charter couldn’t handle this properly without bringing on trouble. Not with Malik and his hotheadedness on board. Had it been up to Shaw and Hyram, Malik would’ve never been part of this club. He ran his mouth too much. Preferred to throw his fists instead of working things out civilly. And he had a problem with authority.