Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
“I’ll watch it,” I insisted, and not just because I wanted to spend more time with him. I’d had my fill of rest over the past two days. Just having another human being around to talk to was a relief—the fact that he was a super sexy human made it that much better. “Here, let me get your plate.”
“No, that’s all right, I’ll take it,” he said, so we carried the dishes into the kitchen together. He stood and watched while I loaded the dishwasher. Every time I passed him, I caught his scent. Leather and something strange . . . like paint thinner.
“Is Painter your real name?” I asked, avoiding his eyes.
“Nope, my real name is Levi Brooks,” he said. “But I like to paint, and most guys in the club use a road name, so there you have it.”
“Like, paint houses?”
He laughed. “No, pictures. I’m into art.”
That surprised me. I must’ve shown it on my face, because he gave another low chuckle. “Let me guess, you assumed bikers aren’t sophisticated enough to appreciate art?”
I coughed, looking away. I’d be damned if I’d answer.
“You’re cute when you blush,” he said, reaching over to catch a lock of my hair, tugging on it gently. He called me cute! My heart stopped for an instant, and it was hard to follow the rest of his words. “And yeah, I like art. I do a lot of the custom work down at the body shop. All the gold on my Harley is my own, too. Sometimes I do bigger projects. Usually painting on boards for customers who want portraits of their bikes, believe it or not.”
“Wow,” I said. God, he was so out of my league—hot and talented.
“What about you?” he asked. “What do you do?”
“Well, right now I’m waiting tables,” I told him, wishing I had a more interesting job. “But I’m starting school in the fall, at North Idaho College. And once I get all my prerequisites done, I’m going to study nursing. I like taking care of people.”
“Yeah, I can see that. You’re friends with Jessica, right? London’s niece?”
I nodded.
“You take care of her a lot?” I shrugged, because I took care of her all the time, but he didn’t need to know that. At least, I’d taken care of her until she’d run off to California to live with her mom. She’d been super pissed at London for dragging her out of a party at the Reapers clubhouse, which was my fault in a way.
I was the one who ratted her out.
I’d heard a lot of rumors about those parties, about how wild they were. How a girl could get into trouble. Looking at Painter, I believed those rumors, too—if he crooked his finger at me, I’d come running like a shot.
The thought caught me off guard, and I frowned. Since when did I come running for a guy?
“You okay?” Painter asked.
“Sure,” I said, although I was feeling more than a little off-balance. Not physically, but mentally, because in the past two days I’d gone from being afraid of bikers to really, really liking this particular one.
How many girls did he have waiting for him, back at that clubhouse of his?
I looked up to find him staring at me, his face thoughtful.
“Let’s go see what Puck found for movies,” he said. “And Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“Things aren’t okay, but they will be. You can get through this.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, and to my disgust I felt hot tears filling my eyes. I hated crying, hated the kind of girls who cried. Hated looking and feeling weak, but Painter just pulled me into his arms, holding me tight as sobs started shaking my body.
I missed my mom really bad, and I was scared.
He rubbed my back, whispering softly into my ear, although I had no idea what he was saying. All I knew was that for the first time in forever—maybe years—I felt safe.
• • •
An hour later, that whole “safe” thing had passed.
I was sitting in the living room, huddled in a blanket on the couch as I watched a scarred and twisted man carrying a chainsaw creep up behind an innocent young woman.
He was going to kill her.
I knew this because I’d already watched him kill at least ten other people with his horrible weapon, and the movie wasn’t even halfway over yet.
Why the hell hadn’t I gone upstairs when I had a chance?
Now I couldn’t, of course. Not alone in the darkness of the stairwell—not even if I turned on every light in the damned place. My mind could tell me there wasn’t anyone lying in wait to kill me all it wanted, but my gut knew better—the instant I stuck my feet outside the blanket, they’d get cut off.
This sucked, because I really had to pee.
“You okay?” Painter murmured, leaning down close to me. I jumped, startled, and then he was wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. The saw roared through the sound system, and I closed my eyes tight as the girl started screaming and screaming. Painter’s hand rubbed my shoulder, and he gave me a squeeze. “You want us to turn it off?”