Whiskey Neat Read Online Lani Lynn Vale (Uncertain Saint’s MC #1)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Contemporary, Dark, MC, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Uncertain Saint's MC Series by Lani Lynn Vale
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Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 78696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
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***

“Well that was thoroughly exhausting,” Lenore said as we walked up her front walk.

I’d been pouring water into her for the last hour, so she was significantly less drunk than she had been when I’d first gotten to her. I had to say, though, the woman sure made a competent drunk. I’d never seen anything like it. If it weren’t for the ‘fucks’ I would’ve never known she was lit.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed, slowing down when I saw the crack in Lenore’s front door.

I could hear Doogan barking wildly from somewhere in the house, and I suddenly had a very bad feeling.

“Lenore,” I said, halting her in her tracks. “Here’s my phone. Call Wolf and Mig.”

Carefully, she took the phone from my hands and stayed exactly where she was.

She scrolled through my contacts as I removed the gun from the holster on my belt.

With a two-handed grip, I kicked the front door open, revealing the massive mess inside.

Lenore’s living room was destroyed.

Her couch was literally ripped to shreds, as if someone unleashed all of their rage upon the unsuspecting piece of furniture.

The paintings that’d been on her wall were shredded and broken.

The movies, every single one of them, were broken into pieces.

Her flat screen was smashed.

The only thing left in the entire room were the lights, which lit up the devastation.

“Oh, God.”

She kept close to my back as I walked throughout the house, finally coming to a stop at the laundry room door where Doogan’s bark was much more pronounced.

I opened it softly and moved just in time for Doogan to barrel out of the doorway and head straight for Lenore.

He didn’t knock her down, though.

He buried his head between her knees and leaned into her, seeking comfort and making sure his mistress was alright.

I was happy that he was alive.

It could’ve been easily the other way.

He could’ve been broken, lying next to the china that was on the kitchen floor.

After a quick check of the laundry room produced a similar state of destruction, I walked out into the living room just in time for Mig and Wolf to enter.

“Good shake up job,” Wolf observed.

I grunted in reply.

“I think this means they didn’t get the message you tried to send,” Mig supplied dryly.

“What message?” Lenore asked with confusion.

I turned my glare on Mig, and I curled my lip in annoyance at his slip

“You fucker.”

“Griffin, don’t call him dirty names because I found out you were bad,” Lenore reprimanded softly. “You need to go ahead and tell me what we’re dealing with since I’m obviously in the middle of it now.”

Mig and Wolf had smiles on their faces about a mile wide, and I tossed them both a glare as I took a hold of Lenore’s hand and started walking her out the door.

“You’ll take care of this, right?” I asked the two men over my shoulder.

They both nodded.

“Good.” I said, walking into Lenore’s room to grab a few stray articles of clothing. Underwear. Bra. Shorts. A shirt. I wasn’t sure if any of it matched, but it’d work for now until I could get to the store tomorrow.

Once done, I went back into the living room to find Lenore was hugging Doogan’s head to her belly while she looked around the room with worry.

“Let’s go.” I said, holding out my hand.

“Doogan?” Lenore asked worriedly. “What about him?”

“I’ll handle him.” Wolf promised.

“Where are we going?” Lenore asked worriedly as I pulled her to my bike.

I stopped at the side of my bike and handed her the helmet I’d bought just a few days before.

She started strapping it on, but kept her eyes on mine, waiting for my answer.

“We’re going to Alabama,” I answered instantly, shoving her shit into the saddle bags next to my extra set that I always kept in there for times like these.

“Now? But I’m hungry!” She said worriedly. “What’s in Alabama?”

I straddled my bike and offered my hand in assistance.

She ignored my hand and mounted behind me, placing her feet on the pegs of the bike and wrapping her hands around my middle.

After shooting off a quick text to my mom, I shoved the phone into my pocket and started the bike.

Proud that she’d be willing to go somewhere with me without me telling her any more details, I tossed a smile over my shoulder and pulled her mouth to mine by a hand at the back of her head.

She grinned when I released her lips.

Then, that smile disappeared moments later when I yelled, “My mother’s in Alabama.”

Chapter 17

You don’t always need a plan. Sometimes you only need balls and a beard…and your momma.

-Lenore to Griffin’s mom

Griffin

“Are you sure your mother wants to meet me?” Lenore asked loudly over the roar of the bike.

I sighed and pulled the bike over, shutting it off at the end of my mother’s driveway. I stared up at the quaint white cabin with the dark red shutters. It was on stilts with the ocean at its back, stretching out for miles.

The setting sun played along the white sand of the beach making it practically glow with the beautiful red and blues covering the sky.

“Yes, I’m sure. She wants to meet you, and she’s excited,” I told her for the fortieth time.

“What’s she cooking?” Lenore continued.

I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t know. I didn’t bother to ask.”

I was bringing Lenore to my mother’s.

Firstly, because my mother wanted to meet the woman that was ‘changing her little boy.’

Secondly, because I wanted to get Lenore away from whatever threat was looming over my right shoulder.

My mom lived in near secrecy off the beaten path in Alabama.

She had a quaint little cottage along a thirty-mile stretch of the coast she shared with a few equally private, long-time residents.

She, as well as the others that lived in this section, had excellent security.

My mother needed it, and not because she was a famous chef.

She needed it because my father was a psycho and liked to show up when we least expected it.

At one point, my pop was a good guy.



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