Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I’d stood at her side when she went home again, when terror coated her very pores and she stepped forward anyway.
“No,” I said firmly. “We’re goin’ in. Together. Gotta do somethin’ first.” I pulled her to me, our lips crashing together. I kissed her hungrily, needfully.
The taste of her remained on my lips after I let her go, right up until we made it to the front door. My woman’s kiss gave me strength. Courage.
SIX MONTHS LATER
SARIAH
The water in Positano, Italy was sparkling sapphires. The colorful houses and villas perched on the cliffs looked like they were straight out of a postcard. The cobblestone streets were full of tourists and locals alike.
The curtains blew sea air into our exquisite hotel room. The one with a tub you could swim in and a balcony that looked out onto that incredible water.
We had breakfast there every morning.
“How do you like it here?” I asked Colby.
He was languidly trailing my nipple with his fingertip. Though we’d just finished some excellent sex, my body sizzled in appreciation. And hunger.
“I love the way your skin has tanned from the Italian sun.” His hand moved to my shoulder, trailing over the tan that was a result of a lot of lazy sunbathing with an umbrella drink in my hand.
“I love the way that Italian food has agreed with you.” His hand slid back down, past the swell of my breast to my stomach. My phoenix spanned my torso, from rib to rib.
I wore a bikini at the beach.
If people stared, I didn’t notice. Maybe because Colby noticed them first and did the whole menacing badass thing.
It barely hurt when he touched them now. Which he did, often. I didn’t think that pain would ever entirely go away. It was a part of me now.
His hand landed on my hip which had a bit more of a curve to it now. I’d filled out plenty at home, but I’d indulged a lot in everything Italy had to offer.
You could no longer see my rib bones. My face wasn’t gaunt, all angles. It was full, rounder. I looked … nourished.
“I’m not asking what you like about me in Italy, I’m asking what you like about Italy,” I rolled my eyes at him. I was acting like I was tired of the sweet murmurings, but I was never tired of them. He still gave me fucking butterflies.
Me, Sariah Cardoso, getting butterflies, from her fucking boyfriend.
Or fiancé, as he wanted to be called now that I had a square cut emerald on my fourth finger.
I’d argued against the label, for whatever reason. Maybe because it was habit. Maybe because arguing with him was my favorite form of foreplay. And just maybe, I was still fighting against whatever version of happily ever after we were living.
We’d moved into an amazing home together.
Colby’s parents were back in his life. There had been some hiccups. A lot. Who would’ve thought my parent’s introduction to the life we were living would’ve been the one that went smoothly.
Then again, I’d somewhat prepared them my entire life for me to be shacked up with an outlaw biker, dropping out of college to pave my own way.
Colby’s parents, on the other hand, had raised a son to lead a prosperous life. A safe life. And, up until the gunshot that changed everything, Colby had been on that path.
Their one remaining son was living a dangerous life that they couldn’t understand. It was hard for them to swallow.
But they were trying. Because they loved him. That was plain to see.
His mother was quiet but gentle, small in stature, and stunning. She had more wrinkles and gray hair than a woman her age should have. Trauma and grief aged her. She carried around a gentle grace coupled with enormous sadness.
His father was quiet, stoic, not unlike my own father. He was the one who had taken it the hardest. There had been clipped arguments between the two, tense dinners, but it was getting better.
My shelter finally opened, though it wasn’t exactly a shelter. It had a small section of bedrooms for temporary emergency housing, of course. But we were also working with local landlords—a lot of them happened to wear Sons of Templar cuts—to get women into more permanent housing. And we were working with local businesses to get them jobs and educations.
I had social workers, therapists, manicurists, yoga teachers and lawyers collaborating with my little company.
I also had a whole bunch of help from all the club women, desperate to contribute in whatever way they could. Suffice it to say, The Phoenix Center was doing amazing. I’d put my blood, sweat and tears into it over the past year. I worked seven days a week, staying there until Colby dragged me home, demanding I needed to do things like sleep, eat and fuck him in every room of our house.