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)
“Maybe you won’t have a choice.”
He swallows, looking down at his boots. My heart screams for him as my chest cracks.
“Will you give me up?” I murmur, sounding so fragile it sickens me. I may as well take a knife and slice into my arteries—that’s what it will feel like if, after everything, he casts me out.
His gaze snaps to mine, and the intensity almost buckles my knees. He steps into my space, grasping my cheeks, angling my face to his. There’s so much passion written in his eyes that it steals my breath.
“You don’t seem to be listening to me. I’m crazy in love with you, Rogue. There is no giving you up. No choosing between you and him, or you and the club. It’s you and me. Period.” A tremor of energy cracks the sky as his lips crash against mine, absorbing the darkness, filling every crevice with light. With love. With him. The world around us pales into a muted fog.
He swipes his tongue into my mouth, and I groan. I press flush against his body, becoming drunk on his taste. Sniggering penetrates my ears, and I remember where we are. Pulling back, I scrub an errant tear from my eye with the side of my hand and chuckle, sniffling. A group of women look back at us, holding coats over their heads to ward off the rain.
Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, Callan nods toward the SUV. “Should we get out of here?”
“What about Kitty?”
“She’s going to call Tim.”
“Okay.” I nod.
The wind assaults us, picking up the rain that had settled on the ground, whipping it against our clothing. Taking my hand, Callan jogs to the SUV, opens my door, and practically lifts me inside.
Rounding the hood, he slips into his seat and blows into his hands, rubbing them together. Kicking over the engine and flipping on the heat, he pulls out of the space and takes a different route than the way we came.
After a few seconds of silence, I turn to him. “I don’t want to be the cause of a rift between you and your dad,” I admit.
“Rogue, he was out of line, no doubt about it, but we need to give him a little slack. He just woke up from a damn coma and nearly put himself back in one tonight. He and I will be fine.”
“It could have been worse, I suppose,” I muse, picking at a torn fingernail.
“Really?” He chuckles. “How?”
“He could have been the one who killed Harley.”
“You seemed shocked to hear it was her who shot him.”
“Harley was a party girl.” I blow out a breath, soothing over my torn nail with my thumb. “She liked to have fun, was flaky as hell, and was also gentle, loving. She was never into the violent side of the biker life.” I sigh, my gaze turning to the window as we enter a driveway.
“Where are we?” I perk up, looking around.
“My place.”
“What?” I exclaim.
“You didn’t think I lived at the club, right?” An amused smile curls his lips.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought. You haven’t mentioned living anywhere else.”
Turning the engine off, he opens his door and slides out. “You coming or what?” he asks before slamming the door shut.
Hopping out of my side, I look up at the beautiful wooden structure. It looks like a log cabin, but on a street, not secluded in the woods. I peer over at the neighbor’s house about thirty feet away.
“Rogue, move your ass.”
A massive floor-to-ceiling window stretches across the entire front wall. It’s stunning.
“Wait.” I halt my steps. “Are you bringing me here because I’m not allowed at the club?”
Callan rolls his eyes, groaning. “No. Stop overthinking and come inside.” He takes his key out and leads me up the five steps to the front door. It’s a huge black panel with a long silver handle made for a giant. When the door opens, the lights switch on, illuminating the hallway. Oak floors and cream walls offer a warm, homey vibe. “It’s not fully furnished yet, but I’m getting there.” He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, watching me.
“It’s gorgeous. Do you own this place?”
“I hope so,” he says, rattling the keys before placing them in a bowl on top of a table.
As we move farther inside, I become self-conscious of my wet clothes dripping on the hardwood floors. He disappears into a room to the right and returns a second later with towels.
“Thank you.” I take one and pat my hair down. “I love the high ceilings.” I trail my gaze to a giant light fixture of twisted black metal dangling in the center.
“A local artist makes those out of old bike and car parts.” He toes off his boots and slips out of his cut, the shirt beneath completely dry, then moves into the living room. A dark leather, L-shaped couch sits around a coffee table overlooking a fireplace. He turns it on, casting a warm glow through the room.