Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
I pull my shades down, rev the throttle of my bike, and shoot a final look at Georgia’s window. I’ll talk to my woman tonight and when I do, she’ll understand exactly who she belongs to.
I take a breath as we ride out onto the street. Engines thunder behind me as the Kings tear down the small road. Wind slaps my face, carrying the cool scent of fall weather and asphalt, That would usually relax me, but not today. Nothing can clear my head. Not the speed. Not the noise. Not even the burn in my shoulder. I can’t stop thinking about her.
Georgia Cutter.
The woman who’d survived a drive by and instead of crying and letting her fear swallow her whole, she’d patched me up, touching me as if I mattered—as if I was precious to her. I’ve been around long enough to know better. You can’t let yourself get attached to others in this world. Feelings for a woman can destroy you—get you killed. Claiming a woman left you open and put them in danger, too. It also gave a woman power to destroy you. I’ve seen it happen way too often.
None of that matters to me now.
Georgia softens the harsh world that I’ve lived in for way too long. She’s sweet and gentle—my complete opposite. Yet as soft as she was, there’s steel running through her too. It’s the quiet kind that’s forged in a fire. It speaks to me and makes my chest burn with the need to possess it, touch her and claim all that she is for my own. I’ve had women in my life—temporary, nameless and part of my lifestyle. Georgia is none of that. She’s the complete opposite and yeah, maybe she’s too good for my world, but I can’t help it. With her, the word mine left my mouth like a vow that was already written somewhere in the hands of time.
I shake my head, gripping the throttle harder. That cop, Davis, thought he knew Georgia. He actually thought he had a right to instruct me as to what my woman needed in her life. My lips curl and a snarl escapes. That fucker doesn’t know shit. What Georgia needs is me. I’m the man who will keep the world at bay for her. I won’t flinch when it turns ugly. I’ll make whatever tries to touch her regret ever entering her orbit. If this damn town wants to whisper about witches and curses, let them. I’ll burn this whole damn place to the ground. They’ll stare at me and know I’m the devil that is coming after them. They’ll never touch her again. Nothing will.
The road curves and I lean into it, my gaze briefly moving to the rolling hills that surround me. My men follow behind me and I give into the burning feeling in my gut that has been there ever since someone shot at me while Georgia was in harm’s way. By tonight, I’d have a plan to deal with the shooter, with Bo Ripley and the town and especially Officer Davis. I’d deal with it all and when the dust settles, I’ll make sure Georgia understands that I’m her man and no one, not this town, not the cops, not fate, a curse, or God Himself will ever take her away from me.
9 GEORGIA
If there was ever a day that I wished the earth would open up and swallow me whole, this would be it—hands down. Why? Because somehow, someway, my grandmother—sweet little Nana, who baked cookies and whose worst habit to date was her bingo addiction had turned into my own personal fashion terrorist.
I stand in my bedroom holding the black dress I’d worn to Mrs. Pennington’s funeral last spring. High neckline, long sleeves, hem to the ankles—perfection. The kind of outfit that screamed don’t even think about touching me, Griffin. You can’t, I’m untouchable. That’s the message I wanted to get across. Nana does not agree. She eyes it like it has personally offended her.
“Good Lord, Georgie, you can’t wear that! You do and you’ll look like you’re headin’ to mourn the Pope, not going out on a date with a man who can melt any woman’s bloomers, not to mention he got himself shot shielding you in your driveway. He’s a hero and a walking wet dream. You cannot wear that. I won’t let you!” she huffs, stomping her foot. Where my Nana got all this energy and I don’t know, but selfishly I’m hoping it disappears before she kills me—or Griffin knocks me up.
“It’s not a date,” I remind her for the third time. “It’s dinner. It’s a dinner that I’m going to grudgingly but since I am, I need to discourage his interest.”
Nana doesn’t reply. Nope. She looks at me like I’m the crazy one, then she hums. That hum makes fear strike me deep in my heart. “Men like that don’t get discouraged, sweet pea. You could wear a burlap sack, and he’s still going to look at you like you’re Sunday dessert.”