Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
But he patched in anyway.
And he was all in to be a part of their not-quite-outlaw missions.
This takes him down to Phoenix, right into the orbit of Diana Armitage, a beautiful, green-eyed woman with a heart of gold and a scarily honed tendency to sacrifice for pretty much everyone she cares about, and some people she barely knows.
Hugger has been existing. Life has never given him much, now, he expects even less.
Diana lives life to its fullest. And she doesn’t keep it a secret she wants to drag Hugger right along with her.
But Hugger is certain he’s got bad blood. He’s got one foot in Chaos, one foot out. One foot in Diana’s life, one foot out.
Diana and his brothers in Chaos have their work cut out to show Hugger who he is.
That he belongs.
And he’s worthy to be loved.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
BEAT-UP CHAIRS
Big Petey
Denver, Colorado
Not too long ago…
Thursday Night
The bar wasn’t the worst Pete had been in, it wasn’t the best either.
But it was a bar, a busy one, and shit went down in bars, busy, seedy, or neither.
And shit was going down.
That was why he tensed, and Rush, sitting across from him in a back corner booth, tensed with him.
They’d seen the dipshit on the barstool cop a feel of a woman’s ass as she walked by with her friends. They’d seen her negative reaction to that unwanted touch.
And they’d seen how Harlan McCain hadn’t missed either.
Now, Harlan, a bouncer at the bar, was on the move.
Pete knew Harlan also hadn’t missed the man on the barstool had a crew with him.
And that bar had one bouncer.
Harlan.
That didn’t stop the man from walking right up to Barstool and having a few words.
Unsurprisingly, those words didn’t go well.
Even if Harlan appeared to be going about things calmly and rationally, the situation deteriorated. Barstool got off his seat, going right into a two-handed shove on Harlan without the man doing a thing to stop him.
His buds all exited their seats and gathered around.
Harlan went back a step at the shove, but that was it.
Except Harlan kept talking.
Barstool got in his face, and it was clear he wasn’t sharing the weather.
Harlan stayed cool, and when Barstool finally shut up, he kept calm and kept talking with some easily read head and hand motions that indicated Barstool, and his buds, were invited to walk out the front door.
Barstool, either drunk, stupid, or both, took a step back, cocking an arm to throw a punch.
This caused Pete to prepare to move.
It also caused Harlan to dodge, and while dodging, take Barstool by the back neck of his shirt, the back waistband of his jeans and frog-march him right out the front door.
His crew followed, and their set faces and body language shared what they intended to do when this shit went outside.
Pete and Rush instantly slid out of their booth.
Harlan was a big guy. Tall. Built. And the man’s muscle wasn’t lean, it was bulky.
If he knew how to use it, it would pack a mean punch.
If he didn’t, it could slow him down. Make him vulnerable.
But four on one wasn’t good odds for anybody, no matter how they could handle themselves.
This being why Pete and Rush quickly wound their way through the bar to the front door and out of it.
Rush was young, fit, and he knew how to take care of business.
Pete had long since passed his days where he could throw down.
Shit, he had to brace in preparation just to stand up from a chair. His knees were bad. His back ached most days. His neck got stiff easily. Even his hips got to hurting on more than the rare occasion. Cold weather seized him right up. He went through ibuprofen like he owned stock in that shit.
The thought of throwing a punch, or catching one, made his stomach curl into itself.
But this was Harlan.
This was Jackie’s boy.
So Pete would get trounced to dirt if it came to it.
Rush pushed out the door first, Pete followed, and they both stopped in their tracks right outside.
Barstool was flat on his back on the pavement, and he looked like he was out cold.
One of his crew was bent double, his hand to his face, blood streaming through his fingers, hollering, “You broke my nose, asshole!”
Another was on his knees, both hands clutching his junk, a look on his face no man needed translated.
The last was backing off from Harlan, his hands up.
“Well…shit,” Rush whispered.
That said it.
What, it took them half a minute to get out there?
Impressive.
“Banned,” Harlan’s low, rough voice came, his gaze centered on Hands Up.
“You just earned a lawsuit,” Hands Up threatened.
“Got cameras everywhere, man. They caught that genius”—Harlan jerked his head toward the prone man on the pavement—“doing his grab-ass shit in the bar. Caught him refusing to leave when it was made clear he was no longer welcome in this establishment. Caught him shoving me and winding up to land a blow. Out here, caught him doing the same, then that professor”—an additional jerk of the head to the one bleeding—“jumped on my back.” Another jerk in the other direction. “That one tried to pile on. Now, you tell me, what judge is gonna see some assclown grab a woman’s ass, refuse to leave when asked, all four of you throwing down against one guy, and give you that first dime for me protecting myself and the women in the bar, something I’m employed, in part, to do?”
Before Hands Up could speak, Harlan kept at him.
“None of ’em. Trust me on this, I been doin’ it for a while. Now gather your troops and get gone. Don’t come back either. Lifetime ban.”