Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
His juts his jaw out, irritated I’m talking.
“At first, it was amusing, then she pulled Tyler’s gun from his hip and fucking shot me.”
“Tyler didn’t try to stop her?” Callan asks.
“It happened fast. I think he was as shocked as I was.”
“This doesn’t make sense.” I shake my head, trying to work through my muddled thoughts. Harley would never be taken on a run or to a meet. “Shocked that she shot you or that she was there?” I ask, my brow crashing.
“I’m done answering your questions, bitch. Get the fuck out of my room while I still allow you too.”
“Dad,” Callan warns, a deep reverberation rattling his chest. “Rogue is my ol’ lady.”
“No, she’s a fucking Devil cunt,” he grits out, straining against the words as the vein in his neck bulges.
Callan breathes deep, slamming his hand on the cabinet by his dad’s bed. “Don’t fucking call her that again. She’s one of us.”
“I decide who’s one of us. A bitch who turns her back on her club can’t be trusted.”
I blanch, my mouth gaping. “My club let me down—not the other way around. You know nothing about me,” I bite out.
“I know you were Tyler’s ol’ lady.”
I jerk my head toward Kitty, who pales.
“He would have found out anyway,” she defends. It was bad enough we told him I was the sister of the girl who shot him and a Devil. I could have done without him knowing about Tyler.
“And your sister shot me. Is it a coincidence you’ve snaked your way into my club—into my son’s bed?” The vein in his forehead throbs, beating in time with the pulse in his temple.
“You’re out of line. She helped our club,” Callan seethes, pacing the side of the bed.
“How—by sewing up Cutter?” Jericho scoffs. “She needed to play the role.”
“And giving me an alibi for a murder charge?” Callan barks back. “Did she have to do that?”
“She took a beating from a cop too,” Kitty pipes in. I hate that my character is under scrutiny, but he’s right. It does look suspicious.
“I won’t lie and say going to your club wasn’t to get answers to questions I had about my sister. But my friendships and feelings toward Callan are real. My loyalty is to the Kings, and I’ve proven that.”
“You can bat those lashes and shake that ass all you want to get my brothers cheering for more, but I’m not buying it.” He waves a hand at me.
Callan freezes, gravity rooting him to the spot. He glares at his father and knots coil my gut.
“You’re right,” I interject. “Hopefully, in time, you’ll see for yourself who I am.”
“I know who you are,” he sneers, his voice ice-cold. “Your loyalty badge is permanently written in your flesh. Now, crawl back to your Devil pit and pray I show mercy on you when I come for your boyfriend’s head.”
“Dad,” Callan and Kitty bark in unison.
“Enough,” Callan finishes, his tone laced with threat.
My hackles rise. I want to smack that conceited glower right off Jericho’s face. Leaning into his space, I smile. Men like him hate it when they can’t figure a woman out. “The last man who came for me no longer has a pulse. Do your worst, but don’t expect a quick kill.”
“Are you threatening me?” He rages, surging forward. “Ahh, fuck!” he shouts, folding over himself, clutching his abdomen and chest.
“Daddy!” Kitty cries out.
“Just calm the fuck down,” Callan roars, pushing him back on the bed.
Ripping the IV needle from my hand, I head for the door, calling over my shoulder before I slam it shut, “It’s not a threat. It’s a warning.”
CHAPTER 11
STORM
“Rogue!” Callan calls from behind me. I don’t stop. Moving with purpose, I catch the exit door as it starts to close, slipping through the sliver of space.
“Are you okay?” an older man asks, startling me. He’s hunched against a wall in a hospital gown, a walking stick holding him up.
“I honestly don’t know.” I laugh without joy. I take off running, navigating the halls in a haze of rage and almost colliding with a nurse. I don’t stop moving until I see the entrance. The doors open, and I get a few feet outside before Callan grasps my arm and spins me to face him, heat in his cheeks.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t run off again,” he puffs out. The wind howls, whipping against our bodies.
“I wasn’t running off,” I snap, struggling to reel my bitterness in. I’m so agitated, my bones are vibrating beneath my skin. “I just wasn’t sticking around to be insulted and threatened,” I spit out.
“He needs time,” Callan says. Whether he’s trying to convince me or himself, I’m not sure.
“And what if he never comes around?”
“He will.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
The sky weeps, the lashing of rain soaking us through. Thunder booms as the moon glows through a break in the clouds, mother nature mimicking the pain storming inside me.