Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
His old lady, Marnie, giggled from the chair beside him, making the one-year-old little girl on her lap babble happily.
“Only thing I google is torque specs and how to steal your wife,” I shot back, flipping him off over my shoulder.
A loud growl and shout of female laughter trailed me.
I pushed the door open without knocking—Fox never expected us to—and stepped into the room.
Fox’s office was like him—clean, controlled, and intimidating. The place was spotless, built like a fucking exec’s war room with a massive desk, chairs clean enough to perform surgery on, and a big round conference table where we hashed out plans that weren’t always legal.
On the far wall was a bar and a lounge area with a couple of chairs and battered sofas. There was also a side door that led to Maverick’s office, which was a similar setup, but the decor made the differences in personality between the president and the VP very clear. Still, the two were best friends and worked seamlessly as a team to lead the Iron Rogues. There wasn’t a single patch who didn’t respect the hell out of them and trust them with our lives.
Fox stood near the desk, arms crossed over his chest, that signature scowl carved into his face as though he’d been born with it there. Salt-and-pepper scruff on his jaw, tattoos curling down his arms, and a fucking stare—sharp brown eyes, strategic and calculating—that could cut through a man’s soul and sort the guilty from the stupid.
Maverick stood near the door to his adjoining office, sipping black coffee and radiating quiet menace. Although to most, he would appear casual and relaxed, with a typical smirk on his lips as he shoved his dark auburn hair away from his face.
Storm sat on one of the old couches, arms crossed, tattoos coiling down his biceps. His legs were spread, elbows on his knees, and concerned, dark eyes trained on Kane.
I hadn’t noticed the visitor at first. He leaned against the edge of the conference table, dressed similarly to the rest of us. A plain tee, jeans, and a leather cut, except his vest told the world he was the president of the Redline Kings Motorcycle Club. His sharp gaze and lethal edge belied the easy smile he threw my way.
Kane had been a close ally to the Iron Rogues ever since Storm had been a prospect. He’d helped us on numerous occasions, and we’d done the same for him. He’d earned my respect and trust over and over. Though he wasn’t patched into our club, he was family.
“Thought maybe you finally choked on a carburetor,” Maverick said dryly, arching a brow.
“Fuck you, I was elbow deep in my girl,” I muttered. “And she’s got better curves than any of you assholes.”
A smirk stretched across Kane’s face, and he drawled, “Was startin’ to think you’d wrecked that pretty bike of yours.”
I snorted. “If I wreck, it’s intentional. Just more dramatic that way.”
Kane chuckled, sharp and dry. “Good. I need dramatic.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “Sit your ass down, Racer.”
I dropped onto the chair across from him, sprawled out, and put one boot up on the edge of the table just to annoy him. He shot me a look, and I grinned.
“Take your fucking boot off my desk, Racer,” Fox said, voice cool as frost, “or I’ll cut it off at the ankle and nail the damn thing to the wall as a warning.”
I chuckled but slid my foot down. Not because I thought he was serious—mostly. With Fox, you could never be completely sure.
Kane’s easy smile faded. “Shit’s fucked in Florida. Got something that needs your particular skill set.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Which one? My charming personality?”
Maverick snorted at that, and I frowned in mock offense.
“My talent with a stick?”
Storm shook his head, muttering, “Considering your monk-like existence lately, having a hard time believing you’ve got any skill with a stick off the track.”
I shrugged, skipping over the monk comment. It had been a long fucking time since my dick had even twitched for a woman.
“I’d prove it,” I drawled, “but I’m not about to give some chick a reason to think I’m next on the list just to show off my prowess.”
“Next on the list?” Kane asked.
“To fall for his woman,” Maverick explained with a smirk. “Racer’s under the bullshit impression that he’s stronger than the rest of us. Thinks he can’t be tamed by a woman.”
Rolling my eyes, I rested one foot on my opposite knee. “You call me in here to play matchmaker?”
It was Kane who snorted this time. “Not my type, Racer, but I’m flattered.”
“Your loss,” I quipped.
Even Fox cracked a smile at that before his expression became stoic again and he got back to business. “Kane’s got a problem. One that might be bigger than it looks on the surface.”