Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to give you any warnings here, Robin, if that’s what you’re trying to get me to do.”
“No warnings. I promise. I guess I just really want to know who I am. If I’m a good person. What I’m capable of. You know, all of the important stuff.”
“It’ll come to you,” he said.
“And if it doesn’t?” she asked, repeating the same broken record. She felt all she kept doing was going around in circles, coming back to the same original problem.
“Then like your dad, I’ll be here to help you out.”
She sighed. “I’m starving.” She’d hoped for at least one memory. Not a bunch of nonsensical words that meant absolutely nothing to her. “Can we go get something to eat?”
“Of course.” He pulled away from the high school.
“So you’re the president of the Twisted Monsters MC?” she asked.
“I am.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do.”
“Do you do bad things?”
“I’m going to wait to see if you remember anything.”
“I don’t mind. I won’t tell anyone.” She frowned. “O’Klaren.”
Preacher tensed up.
“Why do I know that name?” she asked. The word itself didn’t exactly evoke any other feeling than contempt and hatred.
“He was an old problem. You don’t have to worry about him anymore. The last time he was seen, he was heading out with some woman younger than him.”
“Oh. I have no idea what that was. It entered my head. I guess I better get used to all of these things happening.”
“You’re not alone. You’ll always have us.”
“I know. Thank you.”
****
The days turned to weeks, and Robin continued her physical therapy. Preacher received regular updates from her therapist on how she was progressing. She also liked to talk to the therapist about random memories she was having. Most of the time, they didn’t mean anything. She recalled falling off her bike the other day, and Bishop being the one to carry her home. What she didn’t remember was how pissed Bishop had been with her when they were kids. He’d shoved the wheel of his bike into hers, forcing her off and nearly breaking her arm. Instead, she’d gotten a cut that required stitches. They’d only been kids at the time, but he’d been pissed.
Late Saturday night, he sat in the office at one of the titty clubs he owned. He stared down at the facts and figures but he didn’t see anything. He had a lead he intended to follow the moment he dealt with a current problem. One of the girls was offering free services on the side. The men, they were after the cheap pussy, and well, Preacher didn’t allow that kind of action in his club. There was another service the woman could use, and he wasn’t about to have this establishment dragged through the dirt because of a greedy whore.
The women had lodged a complaint. There were a lot of powerful and rich men who visited the establishment, which he’d placed in a rather sought-after area in the city. He rarely came to the city. Most of his businesses were taken care of by a select group of people he trusted. He only came when there needed to be muscle, and with his search for Robin, everything else had fallen by the wayside in his pursuit of finding the woman he loved. Tapping his fingers on the desk, he waited for Grave to get him the woman responsible for slowing him down.
Frost stood in the corner, waiting, while Rider was on the sofa, looking through a magazine.
“You have to give the bitch credit,” Rider said. “She’s got some balls to break our rules.”
“It doesn’t give her balls. It makes her fucking stupid,” Frost said.
The door opened and Preacher stared at a semi-clad woman. Her tits were hanging out and it looked like her panties had been pushed to one side.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked, growling at each of them.
Preacher raised his brow, sitting back in his chair and staring at the woman who dared to make him wait.
“She had one customer fucking her and was blowing another.” Grave put a piece of paper on the table. “She makes them pay upfront by check.”
“Check, that’s a rather old payment method.”
“Yeah, well, they can’t click a button and keep their payment once it’s done.”
“They can still stop checks, and they can even be writing you a duff one,” Preacher said. “Give me a damn good reason why you’re breaking my rules or Grave here is going to start breaking bones.”
“Wait? What?” Since she’d entered the office, she finally looked afraid.
“Darla, is it?”
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
“Oh, it’s nothing to me. I’m just wondering why you think you can steal from me without any repercussions. It takes someone with a big old set of balls to even contemplate doing that, and yet, here we are and you’re shaking. Scared.”