Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
I loved her most of the time. But other times, like this one, I wanted to yell at her. Maybe throw my unopened bag of chips at her. But that would just piss Hyram off, and he’d punch me in my face. And then, William would promptly lose his shit once he finally got home and possibly hospitalize Hyram.
I wouldn’t be responsible for tensions within the clubhouse.
“Both of you fuck off,” I growled, spinning for the stairs and leaving behind both the beer and the bag of chips. But before I could even take one step, the clubhouse doors opened, and William walked inside, followed by Malachi.
I was always an emotional person. My dad always called me a whiny bitch. Growing up, other kids called me a cry baby. And the worst thing was, when I was angry, I was one of those people that cried.
Which happened as soon as I laid my eyes on William. Tears filled my eyes, and one ran down my cheek. My chin wobbled. I clenched and unclenched my fists at my sides, my chest tightening. That familiar feeling of panic constricted my lungs.
“Baby…” William murmured, striding to me so fast, his curls lifted from his forehead a little. I wanted to run, maybe slam a door in his face, but my feet were rooted to the spot.
As soon as his arms wrapped around me, I fell apart all while I clenched his hoodie in my fists. “I hate you,” I cried.
His hand stroked over my dark hair. “I know, baby,” he soothed. “I’m home now, and I’m going to take care of you.” I sniffled when he lifted me. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I clung to him, burying my face in the curve of his neck. He pointed a finger at Thyrie. “He hit a fucking low, and you made it worse. So, thanks for that.”
“Hey—” Hyram started, but William shook his head.
“Don’t, prez,” William growled. “I’ve taught you the fucking signs, and you didn’t see them. I asked you to take care of him, and you failed. Don’t bother us the rest of the day.” With that, he spun for the stairs and tightened his arms around me. “Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you, you hear me? I’m sorry I didn’t stay and take care of you.” He pressed his lips to my temple, holding them there. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
4
William
Chet was a mess. He clearly hadn’t slept if the dark bags beneath his eyes were anything to go by. And his emotions were out of control, which usually only happened when he hit sub drop. I was always around to help him after a scene, and this time, I’d failed him. That was on me. I should have been patient. Should have told Hyram I needed to hold off on taking out Reynold until Chet was okay. But I’d been too worried about whether the Savage Dreams MC and Chet’s father would make a move before I could. It was a chance I hadn’t been willing to take.
But not taking that chance had come at the cost of my husband’s mental health.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I rasped for the umpteenth time as I pushed open the door to our room. He shook his head, hiccupping. I knew he wouldn’t accept my apology for a moment. Chet was one of the softest men I’d ever met, even after everything that had happened to him. Life had tried killing the light inside of him, but it hadn’t worked.
It was up to me now to protect him, yet I was the reason this had happened.
“Let’s take a bath, okay? I know you’re mad at me, but a bath will help, baby.”
He sniffled and lifted his head. “I hate crying when I’m mad,” he croaked.
I lifted a hand to swipe at his cheek as I headed for our bathroom. “I know.” I offered him a rare, soft smile. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re so beautiful when you cry.” Leaning in, I licked up a tear, just because I couldn’t fucking resist. I was addicted to the taste of his tears. “I just don’t like it when you cry for anything other than being impaled on my cock or being so lost in how good I’m making you feel, you have to release all the euphoric feelings in the form of crying.”
He lightly smacked my chest, huffing at me as he narrowed his red-rimmed eyes. “Sweet talking me won’t work.”
I snorted. “I know. I try anyway.” Besides, I knew deep down, it made him feel better. Chet was a slut for praise—specifically, my praise. I’d seen him so angry at me before that he’d decided sleeping downstairs on the couch would be better just so he wouldn’t have to be around me. But a few softly spoken praises had at least warmed him back up to me enough to have him come sleep upstairs in our bed with me.