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)
Brushing the drops from my cheeks, I gulp at the fresh air, willing my heart to slow, and make my way over to the garage.
Cutter approaches Callan, saying something to him while watching me. Callan looks over his shoulder, following his gaze, his jaw flexing. An unknown loneliness grows like a spore inside my chest the more distance he puts between us.
“Rogue.” Monster winks his greeting, coming to stand beside me. “You coming with us?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat when it croaks.
He falls silent, and I meet his gaze, ice creeping up my spine. “It takes a special kind of breed to be who we are. That’s why we all find each other.” He flits his gaze to Callan then back to me. “Our souls are tethered. Under the skin, deep beneath the surface, we’re all part of the same dark flowing river.” My brow furrows, not knowing what to say to that. “You belong with us. Remember that today.” He pats my shoulder and leaves me standing there with my heart made of glass, ready to shatter at any given second.
I make a path to Callan, skimming past brothers mounting their bikes. “I need my gun,” I announce, squaring my shoulders.
Cutter grins at me, nodding his head.
“Did anyone else just get hard?” Dodger booms.
A chorus of agreement makes my eyes roll.
The veins in Callan’s neck bulge, but that’s the only sign he shows of being pissed.
“Take your pick, darlin’,” Daddy calls out, pointing to a steel door at the far right of the garage. I walk to where he’s indicating. “Log whatever she takes.” He nods to a brother I’ve seen around but haven’t had much interaction with.
The brother leads me inside, and my jaw unhinges. Wall-to-wall gun racks fill the room. I do a full circle, taking it all in. From pistols to a rocket launcher, there’s everything you’d need to lead the front line. It’s overkill. And a stark contrast to what the Devils have in their arsenal. This won’t be a war. It’ll be a massacre.
“What’s your weapon, sweetheart?”
I jerk my chin to a row of pistols. “Give me a Glock forty-two and an extra magazine.”
Taking the Glock from the rack, he loads the weapon and checks it over before handing it to me with two spare magazines loaded with bullets. “Just in case.” He grins and does a sweep of my body. “Do you want a vest?” He gestures toward a doorless cabinet with bulletproof vests hanging inside.
“It’s not going to come to that,” I state, stuffing the gun into the back of my pants and covering it with my sweater.
Roaring engines thrum through the garage as I make my way back through. Callan pulls out, coming to a stop just outside the garage door. Reaching behind him, he holds my helmet out with an outstretched arm.
My shoulders sag. I race toward him and take the helmet, placing it on my head. Swinging my leg over the bike, I curl my arms around his waist and clutch his hips with my thighs, taking my rightful place—sitting on my throne. Despite Callan being mad at me, the contact sates the bubbling fear inside me.
The majestic chorus of motorcycles riding together rolls through the compound grounds. The gates open and everyone follows Callan’s lead as we head back to a place I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.
Curling myself tighter around Callan, I try to imagine Tyler being dead. A blossom of sorrow beats in my chest. But it’s not for the memories we shared. It’s more because of Harley. The memories he evokes of her when I’m around him now. In some way, he’s my connection to her.
Time slows as we reach the short road to the Devils’ clubhouse. Cutter, Monster, Dodger, and Grease flank Callan as we approach the gate. Easing to a stop, Callan taps my leg, signaling for me to climb off.
Pulling the helmet from my head, I sweep my leg over and come to stand beside Callan. He lifts his own helmet free and juts his chin to the gate. “Call Bear.”
The sun beats down on us, bright in the sky, but it does nothing to eclipse the darkness emanating from the Kings of Sin brothers.
I move to the intercom as the front door of the club swings open, crashing against the side of the building.
Carver comes waltzing out alone with bigger balls than most. When he gets close enough for us to hear him, he barks out, “Didn’t you take the trash with you last time?”
I look over to Callan as he strides to my side. “Tyler. Where is he?” Callan asks, malice wrapped around each word.
“Busy.”
“Carver, don’t be an idiot.” I plead, trepidation hanging over me like a rain cloud.
“Don’t talk to me about being an idiot, traitor.”
“You can stand there being a dick or you can negotiate,” Callan offers.