Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
He wished he could say he was sorry, but her dismissal was for the best. At least she wouldn’t be clinging to him at parties anymore. Most likely, she’d be moving on to another of his brothers within the week, and he’d be off the hook and forgotten.
Maybe Gator was looking for a new conquest.
Shit, he couldn’t do that to his friend now that he knew Mel had a vindictive side.
She turned with a huff and stomped to her front door, where she yanked it open and flipped him the bird before flouncing inside. Well, she’d made it home, safe and sound. His work here was done, lovely as it had been.
As soon as her door shut, he got the hell out of there. Before he made it to the clubhouse, Zach called with a few favors and errands he needed completed for the club. Zach’s tasks kept Saint busy for the next few hours, and by the time he finally made it to the clubhouse, it was early evening. He’d long moved past antsy and into straight-up agitated with the need to see Beth.
After all that had gone down earlier, he’d expected chaos and commotion at the clubhouse, but enough time must have passed, and the place was calm and quiet.
“Hey, man,” Gator said as Saint reached the bar. “Drink?”
“Hell yes. Whiskey. Lots of it.”
“You got it. Yo! Prospect!” Gator shouted, though he stood behind the bar. “Saint wants some whiskey. Get your ass over here.” He winked at Saint.
“Seriously? The bottle is right in front of you, and he’s all the way across the room.”
Gator shrugged. “It builds character.”
The new prospect, Frisco, because he’d hailed from Northern California, hustled over. “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked Gator, making Saint raise an eyebrow.
Sir? He mouthed.
“Whiskey for my brother here,” he said, pushing the bottle Gator’s way. “One for me too. Don’t be skimpy.”
“You got it.” Frisco rushed around the bar, grabbed the bottle, and then turned away to get glasses.
“You’re fucking unbelievable.”
Gator merely grinned, the psycho.
“So what’d I miss while I was out collecting loan payments?” All in all, it had been an easy afternoon. Everyone he visited paid their loans on time, so no one needed their asses kicked. Normally, Saint would consider that a good day, but he had a restless energy buzzing under his skin that would have gotten worked out if he’d gotten the opportunity to beat the shit out of someone.
“Not much. Prez filled everyone in and warned Beth to be extra vigilant. He mentioned he was thinking of having someone tail her for a bit.” He snorted. “She did not like that, but you know, Prez. He’s feral when it comes to his girls.”
Saint grunted. Of course, she didn’t want a babysitter, but fuck that. He was with Copper on this one. Whatever it took to keep her safe. If it were his choice, he’d keep her hidden away until they were sure this jackass posed no threat. Hidden away in his bed, preferably.
“Copper drive her home?”
“Nope.” Gator shook his head with a smirk as Frisco returned with the whiskeys.
“Thanks, man,” Saint said.
The prospect grinned so wide as he handed Gator his drink. Saint couldn’t keep his laugh at bay. Poor guy wanted in this club so bad he was willing to kiss Gator’s crazy ass.
“Get lost,” Gator said, shooing the prospect with a hand wave.
“Copper didn’t take Beth home?”
Gator shook his head as he tossed back his entire drink in two swallows. “Nah,” he said when he’d finished. “Beth told him she wanted to crash here for a night or two. Said she needed a little break from being at their house.” Gator grabbed the bottle Frisco abandoned and refilled his glass. “Copper nearly blew his top at first, but Shell talked him down as she always does. She reminded him that Beth was used to being on her own and needed some space. Shell told him this way Beth could have fun, have a few drinks, and not worry about driving home.”
“Huh.” So she was somewhere in the clubhouse, planning to spend the night.
Interesting.
His cock sure liked the new knowledge.
“Think she claimed the last room on the left.”
Saint raised an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me because…”
Gator shrugged. “Because you get hard every time she’s around. So does she. Figured you might want to bang it out already.”
Saint nearly choked on his whiskey. “Uh, no, she doesn’t. Pretty sure she doesn’t have a dick, Gator.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Gator asked, waggling his light eyebrows.
Saint reached across the bar and shoved his idiot friend back with a hand on his face. The move sent Gator into a fit of wild laughter.
“All right. We need drinks, and we need them now,” Lindsey announced as she walked from the back hallway of the clubhouse arm in arm with Beth, whose gaze shuttered when she noticed Saint at the bar.