Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Honestly, I’d be happy to go once I’m healed. It’s really scary how easily I’d gotten overpowered twice in one day. I mean, I know I’m small…”
“Doesn’t matter. They can teach you how to use that to your advantage.”
“Sounds good. Though I was thinking about, you know, getting a gun too.”
“You want a gun? I got a gun,” I said, going to stand up.
“No. I mean, yes, but no. Not yet. I mean… I’m here. I’m safe, right?”
“Right,” I agreed, nodding. “But if you change your mind, all I gotta do is dig one out of the closet,” I told her.
“That’s oddly reassuring,” she said with a small smile. “Anyway, weren’t we supposed to be discussing… whatever super secret mission you were off on today?” she asked.
Shit.
I almost forgot about that.
So then I gave her the details about Junior, about the plan, all that shit.
“But you’re free to stay here as long as you want,” I assured her, not wanting it to sound like I’d force her back into her apartment when we were sure it was clear of cameras and there were some decent locks on the door.
“I think… I think I might take you up on that offer.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sylvie
I milked it for a full week before my guilt finally won out, and I was insisting that I had to go back to work.
It was Russ, after all, who was taking on the brunt of the work while I was out. And the man already practically worked around the clock. He was going to burn himself out, and then everyone was going to suffer. Especially him.
“My ankle is mostly better,” I said, when Voss and Brooks tried to insist it was still too soon.
“You’re still limping,” Brooks said, gaze sliding to my ankle where I had a lace-up and velcro brace peeking out of my shoe.
“I don’t need to do that much walking,” I said, only half lying. I mean, I typically did walk something like fifteen-thousand steps a day. But if I had to, I could cut that by half. Maybe even a third. And still managed to take some of the workload off of Russ’s shoulders.
“You still wince when you try to reach for anything,” Voss tried.
“Takes ribs four to six weeks minimum to heal up,” Brooks piped in.
“You two are impossible,” I said, shaking my head at them.
I mean, no, I didn’t feel back to normal. I didn’t imagine I would for a while still.
I wasn’t as much of a hideous monster anymore, though. The swelling was pretty much gone, though if I looked too closely, I was sure I could see some puffiness that hadn’t been there before.
The bruising was still epic.
If anything, the yellow and green mixed in with the blue and purple somehow managed to make it all look so much worse.
Makeup was barely touching it.
I figured there was probably some heavy-duty shit that they made that would work, but I didn’t give that much of a damn about it.
I wasn’t going to lie when people asked what had happened to me. Russ or Marshall probably already spread the news around. And that was fine. It wasn’t like I had any guilt in it.
Sure, a part of me was going to struggle a bit with getting those sad eyes from everyone at the house, but I was a trooper. I could manage.
“I’m gonna have a talk with Russ,” Voss declared as we pulled up to Barlowe House.
Apparently, even though my car was fixed—and probably better than it had ever been, thanks to the guys at the club who had worked on it—I was not allowed to drive myself yet. Some bullshit about how my reflexes wouldn’t be as good because of my ribs.
I normally would have smart-mouthed them about how often they had driven with bruised ribs. But, I don’t know, some part of me was enjoying how they were fussing.
It was sweet.
And I hadn’t had a whole lot of sweet in my life.
Also, when the sweet was coming from outlaw bikers who weren’t known for their sweetness, it meant even more.
Sure, Sully was sweet too. But that was kind of just his nature. He was affable and fun.
But Brooks was the super stern boss around the clubhouse. Keeping big, burly, badass bikers on their toes and forcing them to do menial chores.
His kindness meant something.
And Voss? Fuck, the man was all steel eyes and measured strength. He rarely ever smiled or laughed. Let alone showed concern or, heaven forbid, sweetness.
After hearing his story, I got that. Which was why it meant so much that he was giving me all the soft and sweet that he had been.
I mean, Voss’s brand of soft and sweet tended to come with a lot of bluntness, swear words, and being bossy. But I kind of liked that coming from him.