Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to ask it, but I have no choice. The people are reporting it, and I’m legally bound to do my job.”
“You think I’d actually hurt someone? I’m nothing like him, Harry. Nothing.”
Harry exhales. “I know, but I have to ask the questions. I don’t have a choice.”
The tears keep rolling, and I sit there as Harry asks me formal questions about where I was at the time Nia was taken, and if I have anyone that can vouch for my story. Then, he goes over other ideas, wondering if there is anyone who might be trying to copy my father’s crimes and if I know of anyone.
By the time I leave the station, I’m sobbing so heavily I can’t see straight.
As I move rapidly down the sidewalk, I make the mistake of looking up to see people whispering outside of a local bar, their eyes on me.
“I’m not a fucking killer,” I scream. “I am not my father.”
“Hey.”
A rough, stern voice and a hand on my shoulder has me flinching. I turn to see Wolfe standing behind me, his motorcycle humming on the road. I didn’t even hear it.
“I’m in no mood for you,” I hiccup. “Not right now.”
“Come with me.”
“No,” I sob, angrily swiping my tears away.
“You come with me, or you stay here and let these fuckers talk about you.”
I glance over my shoulder at the people now staring, some of them holding their phones. Fucking assholes. All of them. I know I have no choice. I have to go with Wolfe, because right now, I can’t think of anywhere else to go. I give a small, sharp nod, and when Wolfe indicates that I get onto his bike, I do just that.
Pulling the helmet over my head, I let the tears continue to fall as he gets on in front of me.
Then we’re off, riding away from the prying eyes of the monsters in this town.
The entire ride to the compound passes me by, and I pay very little attention. I wish I could enjoy the fact that I’m flying down a road on the back of a motorcycle with a gorgeous man, but, instead, I’m wondering if I’m going be the number one suspect for a kidnapping I didn’t commit.
As we begin to slow, I let my eyes focus on the large biker compound in front of me. It’s exactly as I would imagine, a large warehouse that has been converted to house the club and support whatever the hell it is they do from here. A large black flag with the club symbol is stretched above an entry way to the warehouse, and there are bikes absolutely everywhere.
Wolfe comes to a stop and gets off the bike, holding it steady so I can climb off, too.
I pull off my helmet, keeping my eyes on the huge space we’re in.
Now that we’re closer, I can see the warehouse is only one part of the space. It is almost a huge U shape, and as we get closer, I can see that one side is what looks like dorms, in the middle is a huge bar area with outdoor seating, and then the warehouse finishes off the other side. This is massive, and if I’m guessing correctly, these bikers live here.
Is this their entire world?
“You live here?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“I don’t, but I spend most of my time here. The other members live here if they choose.”
I make a mental note to learn more about club life, because I can’t deny that I’m somewhat fascinated by it.
As I trail Wolfe beyond the warehouse toward the central area, I notice even more people lounging around. The majority appear to be bikers, yet there are some outsiders and several women barely dressed. My eyes widen at the sight, and I bite my bottom lip to silence any more questions.
“Club whores, Sweetbutts, take your pick on what you want to call ‘em,” Wolfe murmurs, nodding to someone as we pass.
He must have seen the expression on my face without me saying a single word.
“Sweetbutts?” I almost gasp. “What kind of ...”
“Most clubs refer to them as that. They choose to be here.”
Oh.
Well.
My eyes scan the other women in the group, and I notice a lot of them are wearing leather jackets that state they are the property of someone. Property?
“And them?” I can’t help but ask as we move toward the bar.
“They are old ladies, property of a member, family.”
Oh.
“So, they’re married to someone here?” I question.
“Not always, but a member has claimed them and therefore they are respected and taken care of by everyone in the club.”
I definitely am doing more research into clubs. This is somewhat fascinating. A world I have never experienced. It’s interesting. I can’t help but want to learn more about it.