Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Yes, I love her.
Josie
Two days.
No calls. No texts. No sign of Dean.
I tell myself not to overthink it. He’s fine. This is club business. It’s what he has to do.
But that doesn’t stop my stomach from twisting every time I glance at my phone, every time I hear a bike rumble in the distance and wonder if it’s his.
Justice doesn’t notice—thank God for that. He thinks we are house sitting for Dean and loves that it’s a different space for him. He’s happy enough playing outside, riding his bike up and down the driveway like he’s training for the Tour de France. But me?
I need a damn distraction.
I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I land on Sara’s name.
An hour later, Sara’s on my couch, Honey’s at my kitchen counter pouring drinks, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.
“You did the right thing calling us,” Sara says, pulling her feet up under her. “No sulking allowed.”
“I wasn’t sulking.”
Honey snorts. “Girl, please. You’ve been checking that phone every five minutes.”
I glare at her, but she just grins and hands me a drink. “Here. Alcohol helps.”
I roll my eyes but take it anyway.
Halfway through the second round, my phone buzzes—not with the name I’m hoping for, but with a FaceTime request from my cousin, Danae. She knows Sara from calling before when she’s been over. I’ve told her all about Honey and the Hellions, so I don’t hesitate to answer even during girls’ night.
I accept the call, and her face fills the screen, dark curls framing her sharp features. “There she is! My favorite single mom and her bad influence friends.”
Honey winks. “Damn right.”
Sara leans in. “Hey, D.”
Danae smirks. “Okay, what’s the occasion? Girls’ night, or is Josie Mosie stress-drinking over a certain biker?”
I sigh. “I hate that you know me so well.”
She laughs. “So he’s ghosting you?”
“He’s not ghosting me,” I argue. “He’s just… gone.”
Honey sips her drink. “Club run. Promise you that man ain’t ever gonna ghost her.”
Danae raises a brow. “And he didn’t say when he’d be back?”
I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid for how much this is bothering me. “It’s not like we’re married. He told me from the start he didn’t want to playhouse.”
Sara nudges me. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be worried.”
Honey nods. “And it sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s not coming back.”
Danae tilts her head, studying me. “Do you want him to?”
The question hits harder than I expect, and I don’t answer right away.
Because the truth is… yeah.
I do.
“He said when he comes back, we should move in together,” I drop the bombshell on all of them at once.
Danae smirks. Sara smiles. Honey is like a proud peacock.
“About time,” this comes from Sara.
“He was being patient for Josie,” Honey explains. “Not a doubt in my mind that man wants to put a ring on it.”
“What do you think about that?” Danae asks always concerned for me.
I smile shyly. “I want it. The way he makes me feel safe. Even now, he’s not here, but I feel him around me. I have butterflies just thinking about him. My happiness is with him. To watch him with my son is a dream come true. He is the total package just wrapped up in leather and boots.”
Sara laughs, “best biker husband description ever.”
“As happy as all of you seem to be, I need to find a biker,” Danae jokes as we all relax chatting away.
Time passes and Honey crashes here since her kids are with her brother for the night. I’m thankful for the company. Tonight was a good distraction for the time it lasted, but lying in bed I miss him all over again.
I do not want to live apart. Even if the whole he owns my house thing did freak me out since he didn’t tell me up front, I still want to have my nights in his arms.
Yes, I love him.
Dean “Riffraff” O’Neal has my heart.
Fifteen
Raff
Higher – Chris Stapleton
The second my tires hit town limits; all I can think about is getting home.
Not just home— no, I need to get to Jo.
Justice.
I should’ve checked in. Should’ve sent something, even if it was just a text. But between the club business and the miles stretching behind me, I let time slip. Figured she’d understand.
Now, as I pull up outside her house, that familiar porch light is off, her car nowhere in sight. I begin to worry.
I cut the engine, park in my garage, and drop my bag inside. Maybe she’s out on an errand.
So I wait.
Minutes turn into an hour.
Then another.
No headlights. No sound of Justice’s laughter spilling through the door.
Nothing.
I exhale, jaw tight.
There is no way she moved on.
I call; it goes straight to voicemail. I run the cameras back and can’t figure out where she went. Everything looks okay.
I slam the bottle down on the kitchen table. The burn of the whiskey does nothing to cut through the frustration clawing up my chest. Where is she? What happened?