Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
My hands cupped her face and…
A banging on the door interrupted me.
I growled against her lips, ready to kill the motherfucker on the other side. My forehead dropped to hers as I panted and tried to regain my control.
“Better not be fucking,” Maverick shouted from the hallway, his voice too damn amused. “Club business, asshole. Brief the prez before you start breeding her.”
“I’m gonna kill him,” I muttered.
Lindsay let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Um…did he say…um. Do you guys always bang on each other’s doors like that?”
I scowled at the door as if it would penetrate the hard surface and burn Maverick to fucking ashes. “Only when we know we’re interrupting something.”
Then my gaze dropped to her stomach for a moment. I decided not to tackle the question she’d been about to ask. Not yet. It would be happening real fucking soon if I had my way, though.
Lindsay giggled again, and I kissed her once more. Fast, rough, and filthy. But over too fast. Just enough to leave her gasping and flushed with intense desire.
“Gotta go talk to Fox.” I straightened and walked toward the door but paused to toss one more demand over my shoulder. “Don’t wander around without me.”
Until she was wearing my property patch, I didn’t want Lindsay running into any of my unattached brothers and giving them the idea that she was available.
When she didn’t say anything, I twisted my head and glared at her. She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but I cut her off. “I mean it, baby.”
After a second, she gave me a reluctant nod, and I lifted my chin in acknowledgment before forcing myself to turn and unlock the door.
Once I was out in the hall, I leaned against the wall for a second, dragging in a breath as I adjusted myself. My dick was as hard as fucking stone, pressing against my zipper as though it was trying to make a jail break. Last thing I needed was to walk into a strategy meeting looking like I was ready to fuck the wall.
“Relax, asshole. Fucking breathe,” I muttered, straightening up and heading for the prez’s office.
Fox sat behind his big, modern desk—one you’d expect to see in the executive's office of a financier on Wall Street—with multiple monitors and nothing out of place. He was a neat freak, but only his wife and our VP could get away with giving him shit about it.
Maverick stood on his left, arms crossed, his face impassive.
Whiskey and Deviant were lounging in the small sitting area on the right side of the office, while Stone sat at the round, wooden conference table on the other side.
“Took you long enough,” Stone muttered.
“Was busy,” I said flatly, dropping onto an empty chair in front of Fox’s desk.
“Yeah, we know,” Deviant said with a shit-eating grin. “Mav filled us in.”
Whiskey smirked. “Bastard’s finally got it bad.”
Fox’s voice cut through the shit, demanding our attention. “Shut the fuck up. I have a wife and kids waiting, and none of you are pretty enough to keep me here longer than necessary.”
The room immediately went quiet.
“Since she’s here, and you look like you’re gonna flip your shit any minute, gonna assume something happened at the hospital?”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Someone tried to snatch Lindsay in the parking lot. Van rolled up, masked pricks jumped out. I shot one of the tires and clipped the frame before they peeled off. Had to fire a few rounds. The hospital will have to report it.”
Stone didn’t even blink, just wrote a note on the legal pad in front of him. “I’ll handle the cops.”
I nodded my thanks. “Asshole is still in a coma. No help there.”
“We should have eyes on him,” Whiskey grunted.
Fox nodded and pulled out his phone, making a call. “Send two prospects to the hospital. Then contact the head of the ICU and let him know that they’re not to leave Vogel’s side until I say otherwise. If the fucker wakes up, I want to know immediately. If anyone tries to get to him, I want them stopped.”
He listened for a couple of beats, grunting a response before ending the call. Then he looked back at me. “You sure he’s the guy?”
“Positive. Every deposit lines up with donation drops,” I confirmed. “And the account he used wasn’t tied to Juniper Grove’s records. All under the radar.”
Deviant nodded. “Pulled his credit report. Paul’s drowning. No real assets, no savings, no investments. He’s overdrawn most months. The withdrawals are cash, and then he’s wiped out.”
“Which makes it more likely he owes somebody,” Whiskey said, rubbing his jaw. “Or he’s paying for something he doesn’t want anyone to know about.”
“He’s still alive, so I think whoever kicked his ass still wants something from him. Putting him in a coma was probably an accident.”