Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
We’d had that conversation weeks ago.
And no one had spotted him yet.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t around, of course. It just meant he was purposely staying in the shadows.
Honestly, I was pretty sure the Murphy brothers and I were in agreement that we’d rather he was being out in the open with his moves.
The uncertainty was the worst fucking part of the life we lived.
Exhaling hard, I glanced out of my bathroom window, finding Coach sitting on his yoga mat, his feet unnaturally high up on his thighs, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes closed.
Meditating.
If you’d have told me a couple years back that I’d have a member of my club who fucking meditated daily, I’d have laughed.
But here we were.
I liked Coach.
He’d been a solid choice to join our ranks.
Calm, rational, but ready and willing to do what needed to be done. And, well, I had to say, the fucker had a grudge against his COs from the inside, and he took it out in the fucking funniest of ways.
He stole construction materials from their home renovations to work on his own projects.
At the grocery store when he had a CO in the grocery line, he invited everyone else behind the guard to go ahead of him in the line, tying the fucker up for a solid twenty extra minutes.
He’d tossed a dead fish in the open window of a CO’s car parked overnight on the street.
Petty shit.
But entertaining as fuck.
And since Coach was a good, levelheaded guy, I figured that if he was doing petty revenge, the guys likely had it coming.
Still, I couldn’t wrap my head around the meditating. The yoga, yeah, I got it. Clearly that shit worked because he could do some crazy-ass handstand type positions for ages without his arms shaking. But the meditating, I dunno. To each his own, I guess.
Rolling my neck, I made my way toward the freight elevator that would take me to the lower level, wanting to get some caffeine in me before Riff and Raff showed up later with another car full of guns they’d snagged at shows and shit in the south.
This time, they’d be staying with us for a couple of weeks, since they’d been busting their asses for months to build up a solid supply that we had stashed.
We were working on a deal to help supply the Golden Glades chapter with guns that they would in turn ship internationally with a new arms dealer they’d gotten involved with.
It made easy work for us, since we didn’t have to do so many road trips to do drops ourselves. And the money was good.
The only ones really working overtime had been Riff and Raff.
They earned a break.
And it was important for the whole club to be together sometimes so the bond stayed strong.
But, yeah, I had to admit that the two of them, especially when mixed with manwhore Sway, liked to party hard.
It was going to be a late night.
I needed to start pounding caffeine early.
I didn’t expect to be stopped dead in my tracks as I walked toward the common space.
But that was exactly what happened.
Because there was Nyx.
Leaned back on the couch, fresh-faced, hair back, wearing yoga pants and a black tee, with a sleeping baby on her chest.
Really, I’d written off the idea of procreating.
Bad genes and all that shit.
And I’d honestly never got the appeal to babies. Not even after having one in the house.
But seeing one sleeping on Nyx’s chest?
Fuck.
That did something to me.
It wasn’t uncommon for Nyx to be around. She was best friends with Dell and friends with Morgaine. She popped around once in a while, but usually just in passing. Dropping something off, picking something up, or waiting for one of the girls to get ready to head out with her.
I don’t think I’d ever seen her just chilling in the common space, shoes off, with Dell’s corgi Sal asleep at her feet and the club cat glaring at her from the back of the closest couch.
The cat liked the kid.
But hated women.
He was obviously having feelings about what he was seeing.
There’d been no texts from Nyx since that unexpected night in the hotel room. The night when she’d been so fucking close to letting me in just a little bit, telling me what was going on with her.
Her defenses won out, though.
So I gave her what she would accept from me.
A distraction.
When she’d invited me to stay for a bit, I’d tried not to overthink that shit. She was clearly going through some shit and just didn’t want to be alone.
So I sat with her and watched her show about older broads fucking around with dudes or hanging out with each other.
Then she’d passed out.
I’d been almost fucking overwhelmed with the urge to scoot down in the bed, to hook an arm around her, to pull her onto my chest.