Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
And I fucking love it.
“Hey.” His hair falls over his forehead, wearing nothing but loose jeans unbuttoned at the top. My eyes drag down his torso, and damn—every ridge and hollow brings back exactly how each muscle felt under my tongue. The memories hit harder than they should. I had fun with his body last night, worked him over good.
“Hey, what're you doing today?” I ask, kicking the blanket off. Cool air hits my bare skin, making me hyperaware of every mark he left behind.
His hand wraps around my chin, tilting my head up to face him. The grip makes my pulse jump. His lips skim over mine, barely there, before he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. I hate how my body responds as if he owns it. Maybe he does.
“I gotta go sort through all this shit for the Southland chapter coming in.” He drops onto the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight as he pulls on his combat boots. The casual dismissal stings more than I'll ever admit.
I crawl over to him. “And I can't come?”
“Nah, you're coming. The girls are waiting for you to help them around the kitchen, so get ready.”
I look at the alarm clock that sits on his bedside table. “But it's only seven a.m.!”
“I know.” He smirks. “I woke up early to work out. Get up. We'll have breakfast, then leave.” He pushes off the bed and disappears through the door. I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but it's like we're suddenly playing house. The thought leaves a flutter of butterflies in my belly, but now I'm not sure I want them there. He's going to hurt you.
I squash my thoughts down, but they're right. I need to approach him and see exactly what it is we're doing.
“You cook?” I ask, pulling out a barstool and taking a seat.
He dishes out pancakes, placing them in front of me. I chuckle lightly at him wearing his big bad colours and cooking me pancakes with strawberries, bananas, and maple syrup.
“Someone has to build this masterpiece,” he replies smugly, looking down at his body.
I roll my eyes and tear off a piece of pancake, shoving it in my mouth. The second it hits my tongue, I'm spitting it back onto the plate. “What the fucking fuck is this bullshit?”
His laughter fills the kitchen, deep and unrestrained. “Pancakes, the protein-kind, made with no flour. Just bananas, egg, protein powder, and cinnamon.”
Jesus Christ, it tastes like disappointment wrapped in false advertising. My face twists, nose wrinkling as the aftertaste lingers. He laughs harder, the sound bouncing off the walls.
“That is just, no—” I push the plate away like it personally offended me. “That's appalling.”
“Baby, if you want to keep up with me, you're going to need all the stamina you can get.”
I pick up the disgusting excuse of a pancake and throw it at his face. “My stamina is just fine and fuck you and your stupid-ass pancakes. I'll eat at the clubhouse. Maybe Garret didn't eat all that cake.”
He chuckles again, stuffing an entire one in his mouth. Actually, they need a new name; they bring shame to the pancake community and should be eliminated from our existence. Jesus, that shit was bad.
“Come on, grumpy,” Hella mutters with a smirk, sucking butter from his thumb.
I take his hand and follow him out.
He stops short of the door, turning to give me a once-over.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just make sure you leave with Yana. You, wearing that? You'll start a war.”
Twenty-Nine
Hella
Idon't know which part I'm more afraid of. The part where I have to imagine her with someone else, or the part where I have to tell her that I can't be the man she wants. All of which can wait until Richard is taken care of.
Switching off my bike, I help her off and lead us towards the clubhouse. “Come on, I'll take you to the girls.”
She follows closely. The brothers here are not a problem. Melissa doesn't need to wear a property patch for them to know she's mine, but when the other brothers get here, there will be too many, and any woman not wearing a property patch at a clubhouse is fair game.
After leading her into the kitchen, I leave her there and make my way to Beast, who stands by the pool tables talking with Frost.
“So, what's the plan?” I ask, picking up a cue stick.
Beast leans in close over the table, his voice low and rough like gravel under boots. “Richard's gone, brother. Poof. No one can pin him down. Eastbeach store's shut tight, boarded up like a goddamn tomb, but Westbeach is still running smooth, like nothing's wrong.”
My knuckles go white around the cue stick. Where the fuck is this bastard hiding? The wood creaks under my grip, threatening to splinter. Richard's out there somewhere, breathing air he doesn't deserve, walking around on legs I should've already broken.