Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Loving an outlaw biker isn’t easy but I’ll do my part to keep him out of jail as best I can. Even if it means telling a stranger the harassment my ex is giving me no matter how much it embarrasses me.
Before sleep finds me, I reach up and touch the place on my neck where his mouth left proof that I am loved in a language my skin understands. My fingers drift to his cheekbone where Brian’s hand tried and failed to leave any kind of mark that matters. He shifts, murmurs, and goes still again.
He punched my past directly in the face. I’m not going to romanticize that even though I want to. I’m also not going to lie about the part of me that felt seen when he did it. I’m not going to deny the way he was out of control scared me. I will hold both truths in the same palm and call it us. Protect each other. Don’t destroy ourselves in the process. Learn the difference between fury and defense, between justice and a story we don’t want to tell about ourselves later.
When morning comes, it will smell like coffee and paper and ink. I will put on a top that doesn’t show my hickey because we don’t need to make the sheriff’s office a side show. He will wear a clean tee and tuck his temper under. We will walk in together. We will write it down. We will do the next thing.
Tonight, I sleep with my ear over his heartbeat and listen to the sounds of having something hold me that puts me first even when it hurts.
I turn my face into his shoulder and finally, finally, the best day finds its way back, not as a naïve glow, but as a stubborn ember that refuses to go out.
Sixteen
Pretty Boy
I roll in slow and let the motor idle long enough for the room to hear it and settle. Hellions look up the way wolves do when a twig snaps—every head, then the collective exhale when it’s one of ours. I kill the engine. The quiet goes as quickly as it came.
Kristen swings off the back, helmet under her arm, shoulders square. She’s dressed like herself, not like an idea of a biker girl, loose black tee, jeans, boots she’s still breaking in but already walking like she is comfortable in them. She’s got her hair up, a few strands loose at her temples because the ride never listens to anyone’s plan. She looks at the building the way she looked at the bridge the first time on my bike, like she knows it could swallow her or save her, and she’s still deciding which one she’ll let it do.
“You ready?” I ask. Doesn’t matter that the answer’s yes. I like to hear it.
“Ready,” she says, and the little curve at her mouth is brave and real.
I take her hand. Not a show. Not a claim. Something in me that steadies when her fingers are entwined with mine. We step inside and walk into the rolling chorus of “Kellum,” “Brother,” the nods that do more than words. Tripp’s behind the bar pretending he’s a professional; Boomer’s leaning on the end like he’s about to make a bad decision and wants witnesses. Two prospects pop up from a table like they are waiting for a pop quiz.
“Easy,” I say, which is me being polite for back off.
Tripp grins around a toothpick, his eyes locked to Doll. Even after thirty years together, he still can’t get enough of her. I didn’t understand it before. But having Kristen, I get it now. “Kristen,” he greets. “This is her?” he asks me for confirmation knowing that at sermon, I let the club know, she is claimed.
“That’s her,” I smirk proudly, and the room stretches around the sentence, curious and respectful, because these men know the difference between a woman on a Friday and a woman you walk through this door hand in hand with a claim.
“Welcome,” Tripp says to Kristen, and he means it. “Beer? Water? Lemonade outta a bottle that claims to be hard but tastes like a kid’s drink with too much sugar?”
She laughs, the sound clean in this place that’s heard a lot worse. “Water, please.”
He flicks a bottle cap toward the trash and doesn’t watch it land because it always does. “Smart girl,” he says, sliding it across. Then he locks his blue eyes to hers, “thanks, Kristen. Real deal. You took your man’s back and did what every brother wants his ol’ lady to do. When the time came, you called in the calvary and didn’t hesitate to rely on this family. This welcome is so you know this family is yours too. Anything, anytime, we ride out for you as hard as we do for him.” Her face softens and I know his words settle deep in her heart.