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)
Closing the space between us, he assesses me, looking over every inch of me. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
Thud.
Gulping, his eyes crease, "did he...?"
"No." I shake my head firmly. "It wasn't that."
"Then what was it?"
"Why were you asking about Nicolas?" Cutter butts in, his brow crashing.
Shit.
"I fucked up," I admit, worrying my lip with my teeth.
"How did you fuck up?" Callan asks.
Dropping my focus to my feet, I squeeze my hands into painful fists, "I mentioned Nicolas coming here that night."
"Fuck." Callan and Cutter say in unison—the word slicing through the air like a blade.
“We need to wake Pres,” Callan informs us, pacing the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry, Callan. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know.” A sob hiccups from my chest.
Jabbing a finger in my direction, he says, “You need to tell me everything that was said. Word for fucking word. Don’t leave anything out.”
My head bobs up and down manically.
Heavy footfalls pound outside the kitchen door drawing our attention. Grease’s hulking frame fills the entire width of the door. Breathing heavily, a slash across his brow, he says, “There are people at the gate.”
The incoming tide envelops me, consuming every inch of my body. A deep sense of dread fills my veins, hardening like ice.
“Who?” Callan asks.
Thud—thud—thud.
“The Carnells.”
CHAPTER 25
HANDS OFF
CUTTER
Memories churn inside me like a choppy ocean, surging and punishing. Hitting Nicolas with the pool ball and seeing the life leave his body as he crashed to the floor created a domino effect. That one stupid moment fucked up my life—and Kit’s.
“Listen really carefully.” Callan braces his hands on Kitty’s shoulders, and her eyes flutter up to his. “Tell me exactly what you said to Michael about Nicolas.”
She gulps, her breaths increasing. Tears prick her eyes. My gaze drops to Callan’s cut dwarfing her. I’ve never known him to allow someone to wear his cut before now. It should be my leather on her back. I hate that she didn’t call me to come for her. I want to be the one she turns to. Every cell in my body aches to scoop her up and run away with her. Protect her. Love her like I should have all this time.
“That we partied once around the time he went missing, and I got in trouble for bringing him back here,” she mumbles. “Michael freaked out and grabbed me. Kept asking when.”
I’m going to fucking kill that son of a bitch. Did he think putting his hands on a King’s of Sin princess wouldn’t have ramifications?
The bruises coloring her jaw glare at me, causing every muscle in my body to coil tight. My mind is a seething cocktail of fury and alcohol—a lethal combination.
“Why the hell are you telling him anything?” Callan implores.
“I don’t know. I drank too much and we were flirting, and it felt weird not mentioning that I knew Nicolas.” She scrubs her eyes with clenched fists then glares at him. “And I didn’t fucking know Cutter killed him,” she whisper yells.
Of course keeping secrets would come back to bite us in the ass. This is my fault. I killed Nicolas, and tonight, I drove her straight into Michael’s fucking arms. I shouldn’t have let Claire anywhere near me tonight. Fuck, this charade should have been done so long ago. Michael’s bruises are visible on her flesh. Everything I’ve caused sits under her skin, soul deep.
“Is there something I need to know?” Grease asks from the doorway, his hulk-like frame as tense as mine.
“No. Get everyone up and ready in case shit turns bad then open the gates,” Callan demands, running a hand through his hair, marching back and forth across the kitchen.
“On it.” Grease nods, disappearing from sight.
“What do you want me to do?” Kitty asks, eyeing her brother anxiously.
“Nothing. Go to your room.” Irritation grinds my jaw at his dismissal of her.
Rolling her eyes, she spits out, “Yeah, because that worked out so great last time.” She steps into his path to stop his pacing. “I’m not a kid, Callan. Perhaps if you stopped lying to me about stuff—”
“It’s not lying. It’s protecting,” he bites out.
“Callan, she’s been through enough. Let’s calm down,” I edge, gaining a glare from them both.
“Do I look protected?” She holds up her wrists. “You forget—I grew up here just like you. I’m as much of a biker brat as you are. But because I have a pussy, I’m treated like I’m not worthy of the club.”
“That’s bullshit,” Callan tuts.
She really is blind to how important she is to the club. She’s the foundation, the soul.
“Is it? Because I’m kept in the dark and you all act like I’m some fragile flower. Can’t know club business, can’t be a brother, can’t fucking date a brother.”
“Let’s not forget why we’re in this mess in the first place. You brought Nicolas here,” Callan retorts, opting for the blame game.