Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
My gaze drops to the wedding band on my finger, and my jaw clenches. This is what keeps me up at night, what plagues me: the ring I had to give to the wrong woman.
That fucking price was too high.
“I apologize if my father came off as dismissive.” Junior laughs, interrupting my thoughts. He follows us out the front door and down the steps to their driveway. Over the years, we’d gotten used to Senior’s abruptness yet he always made an excuse for his father’s behavior. I wonder who else he had to go around offering apologies to. It must be fucking exhausting.
“We didn’t expect a dinner invite,” Callan assures him with a grin, slapping him on the shoulder.
Not one to stick around and be coddled with explanations, Pres is already mounting his bike. He, like us, knows Senior is an arrogant asshole who believes his time is more important than anyone else’s.
“It’s a charity gala—missing kids thing. He gets roped into all that shit since Nicolas…” Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, his face twisting.
With no body to find and Senior refusing to let anyone think his son was killed by gangbangers, to the public, Nicolas is still just a missing person.
“Say no more. It was good to see you,” Callan calls out, walking toward me and nudging me as he passes. I hadn’t realized I’d been standing there staring at Michael without saying a word.
Michael frowns at me, and I offer an awkward wave. “See you around.”
“Yeah, see you around.” He turns and makes his way back inside.
“If he could just pay off the zoning commission assholes for the casino, why the fuck did I have to watch an overweight, middle-aged man fuck his drag queen piece on the side for over two hours?” Monster asks, shoving his helmet on.
“Brother, you had to set up the camera and collect it afterward. No one asked you to watch them fuck.” Callan shudders, looking over his shoulder to Pres. Who chuckles, deep and dirty.
“You misunderstand.” Monster shakes his head, straddling his bike and kicking up the kickstand. “I wanted to watch. I just don’t know why we got it on tape if money would have done the job.”
A chorus of laughter booms. “You’re a fucking pervert, and not everyone can be bought—no matter how fucking big your bank account is.” Callan scoffs.
“Anyone notice his fat fingers?” I ask, pulling on my road gloves and straddling my bike.
“He’s a heart attack waiting to happen,” Pres grunts, bringing his bike to life. The rumble makes my dick twitch.
Every. Fucking. Time.
The only thing that gives me the same buzz is fucking. And not just anyone. Fucking a woman who isn’t wearing my ring or on the back of my bike. A woman who cut me off and hates my guts. The woman I can never have but want with every fiber of my being. Fucking Kitty. Why can’t I quit that girl? I know she’s flirting with that prospect to get back at me, and it works. I want to take the fucker apart. Skin him and dip his flesh in acid to erase any remnants of her touch or scent.
I’m not sure if she realizes the fucker is in love with her. I’d recognize that longing anywhere. It’s the same shit that makes my chest pound every time I look at her. The problem is he’s not just any prospect, he’s Green’s little brother, and Pres wants to take a vote to patch him in. It will pass too. He’s earned it. Loyal and hardworking, he has bled for the club and done his time. Once he gets that patch, he’ll become my brother.
Rules change.
Pres better fucking warn him off. If I couldn’t be with Kitty, it will be over my dead body she ends up with another brother.
His dead body too.
“Let’s ride out,” Pres shouts over the reverberating choir of our bikes.
My fists tighten on the handlebars, a wave of anger radiating through me at the images my mind is creating of Tim with Kit. Nope. Not happening.
Callan pulls out behind Pres, and I tail him. As soon as I hit the open road and the breeze washes over me, all that shit flees my head and I allow the fantasy of having her take over. Soaking in the sun at my back, I cruise the winding roads beneath what seems like an endless sky imagining Kit’s legs clutching my thighs, her tits pressed into my back.
Us being free.
No Tim.
No Claire.
No one forbidding it.
No reason it can never happen.
I take my place at the table for church, my thumb stroking over my name etched into the wooden surface bordered by the names of my brothers, those that are here and those that came before—each one contributing to this sacred space, each name engraved into it like an ancient scripture. There’s nothing else in the room. Four white walls, all blank except behind the president’s seat where our club insignia is painted with pride on the stretched canvas.