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 nod slowly. “Yeah. I do.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “Thank fuck, because when I picture the rest of my life, you are front and center in every damn scenario, baby. I want you by my side. Hell, at this point I need you.
“Why in the hell should we delay? Life’s too short. It sucks to think about it, but that damn bullet could’ve killed me the other day. I could have left this world without having you in my arms, your sweet cunt on my tongue, and our child not growing in your belly. That’s not acceptable to me at all. I’m not wasting another second without you, Georgia Cutter.”
My heart pounds so hard I swear I can feel it trying to jump out of my chest. “You’re serious,” I whisper. He cups my cheek, thumb brushing along my jaw. “Dead serious. I’m planning our forever, Georgia, and I’m asking to start building it right now.”
I look up at him and realize, terrifyingly, beautifully, that I don’t want to slow down either. “Fine,” I breathe. “But you realize Nana is going to be hell on wheels house shopping for a new rental.”
He chuckles. “Not rental, sweetheart. We’re buying. Putting down roots—for our future kids.”
“You really want kids with me?”
“Definitely.” His hand slides to my stomach, warm and steady. “I can’t wait to see your belly stretched with our child safe inside. I’m already wondering how it will feel to feel him or her kicking against my hand when I touch you like this.”
I shake my head, laughing softly, feeling true joy. “How many kids do you want?”
“As many as you want,” he says. “I just want you happy, baby.” He lowers his head, and when his lips find mine, all my thoughts scatter like dust in sunlight. Just like they have from the moment I met him, everything falls away but Griffin.
20 GRIFTER
We rolled up to Bo Ridley’s place around five in the evening. The sun was starting to move lower into the skyline. It wouldn’t be long until it would disappear behind the mountains. I had three men with me today. None of us wanted to be here, but I needed to make an example of Bo Ridley and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. C and Cowboy had been riding right behind me—side by side. Alex brought up the rear. I know the asshole is probably wondering what’s going on, but he’ll soon find out. I’m hoping to teach him a lesson. He’s been a thorn in my side ever since I heard what he did to my woman. I’m warring with the need to kill him and balancing as the President of the Kings of Anarchy—a club the asshole has been wanting to be a part of for a while. He’d been stupid, when it came to Georgia, and that made him my problem. Still, C said he had been a good prospect and showed great promise. Until then, I’d been planning on cutting him loose. Now I was going to let him learn what happens when you keep harassing Georgia now that she belongs to me. How he reacts after today will give me all the answers I need.
For now, I turn my attention to Bo. The man’s house was in bad shape. It sat like a sad shack at the end of a gravel lane. At one time it was probably a great farmhouse, but that was decades ago. Now, the porch is sagging, The roof is sagging, and the siding has years of dirt lying on it like a second skin. There’s an old truck in the yard, one side on a jack stand. The man looked to be working on his brakes. He stands up, his gaze connecting to mine as he begins wiping his oil—covered hands on an old rag. I watch as he shoves the dirty cloth into the pocket of his jeans. He looks older than I expected. I was told the bastard was fifty. Just looking at him, I’d add about ten years to that. His skin looks like dried-out leather, and his dirty brown shoulder-length hair has gray woven through it like a testament to years that have been anything but good. His face scrunches up in displeasure as he looks at us, and that makes me want to laugh.
“Should I be worried the Kings are on my doorstep?” he grouses. I can tell he’s trying to make his voice brave and rude, it comes out weak and worried—making me smirk.
I cut off the engine and slide off my bike, walking toward him. There’s about four feet of air between me and him. It gives me a front seat to watch the way his chest rises and falls with every breath. I can see the fear he’s trying to hide behind a cocky smirk. It makes me want to laugh. This may be more fun than I thought.