Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
My head nods against him. “Yours.”
I wake the next morning, stretching my arms wide. I didn’t want to come, but even after last night, which thankfully Wolf slept through, I feel like my windpipes are clear and I can breathe again. Shifting Wicked’s heavy arm off my body and careful not to wake him, I shuffle off the bed and make my way to the windows near Wolf’s bed. The curtains are a basic white, and in the early morning daylight, it actually looks clean. There’s a double bed pushed up against the wall, with the bathroom right beside it. Wolf’s bed is on Wicked’s side, and I peek over to see him snoring, his little mouth parted open. Both of them as bad as each other clearly.
Partially swiping the curtains open, I look directly to the paddock near the shed, where not so long ago bodies were burning. Most of the shed has been burned to ash along with it, no doubt to kill any and all evidence, but it’s the horses in the grass fields that catch my eye. Such a picturesque view, with rich green mountains and fat trees growing naturally. I feel a sense of calm wash over me the longer I’m here.
Closing the curtain, I grab Wicked’s discarded T-shirt off the floor and slip it over my head. It sits around my thighs and has the Wolf Pack MC logo on the front, but it’ll do. I know I’ve most likely got bruises around my throat and the bandage on my neck is going to be questionable. I just hope no one actually questions it. I’m starving, and once Wolf is awake, he will be too.
Running the brush through my hair, I shove on my pair of white fluffy socks and slowly turn the handle to the door. The clubhouse upstairs has multiple doors. The hallway leading down to the stairs is decorated with photographs. Members, families, old photos of men standing near their bikes, and mugshots.
I chuckle when I see Wicked’s, his face straight and unmoving. “Let me tell you, big boy, this would have been your final mugshot had Papa not saved you that night.” I jog down the stairs that lead to the bottom level, hearing the loud screeching of a vacuum and harsh rapping of Eminem. They have good taste whoever they are.
“Ah! No! That’s not what I said. Bitch, are you deaf?”
I slow at the bottom of the stairs, seeing a woman vacuuming near the billiards table. She has her long black hair tied up into a messy pony, a casual Levi’s shirt on, and skinny jeans.
“I’m just saying, Gracie, damn!” the black-haired girl hollers over the vacuum. “If you bite off more than you can chew, don’t be fucking alarmed when you choke!” She continues vacuuming furiously, and I look to the bar, where a girl stands, staring at me with wide brown eyes. She has blonde curly hair that’s wild around her face and soft tanned skin. The kind that only happens during your late teens, if you’re lucky enough to not be met with acne. Which I wasn’t.
The vacuuming girl sighs, banging on the power button and turning to face the blonde with a hand on her hip. “Don’t—” She follows her eyes and stops talking when she sees me. The dark-haired girl is beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, freckles scattered over her cheeks, and curves that hit all the right places. “Oh.”
“Look, I tried to get that fucking stain off the carpet, but—” Another woman enters the room just as someone turns the music off. I’m guessing these are the old ladies.
“Hi…” I test the words out on my tongue. I’ve never had to introduce myself because everyone has always known who I was. It was both a good and a bad thing. A good thing because I didn’t have to waste time with boring introductions, but a bad thing because I never knew if they were being nice to me because they were afraid I’d kill them. Or have someone kill them.
“Morning!” the blonde pipes up first from behind the bar where she’s drying glasses. “Are you Wicked’s old lady?”
I swallow a laugh as I continue my way over. “No, mother of his kid, and ex… I suppose.” I lower myself down onto the barstool, watching all three of them carefully.
“I’m June.” The older one finally stands beside Grace, placing the cleaning bottle down. “Kirby’s old lady, a.k.a. the old one with all the gray hair but devilishly great looks.” The older woman nudges her head toward the dark-haired girl. “And that is Diane. She’s, well… it’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” Diane grumbles, falling onto the stool beside me. She leans back, her eyes coming to mine. “So—since your old man is our president now—thank God for that—does that mean we will see you and that cute child more around the club?”