Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Jesus, that’s grim. “Sorry.”
“It’s what we do. But I feel better now that I’ve heard your voice.”
Damn that fucks me up. “Me too.”
“Be careful. I know you’re there to watch Griff’s back but—”
“Honestly,” I hope this will ease some of her concern, “it sounds like I’ll be tagging along with Rooster, Shelby, and Molly so the girls can do some dress shopping.”
She breaks into giggles. “How fun for you. Well, tell the girls to send me pics.”
My chest squeezes. No jealousy. Margot knows I belong to her.
“I will.” We talk for a few more minutes, then hang up.
I sit there and stare at the screen.
I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and grab a bottle of water from the stocked fridge.
The ache in my chest won’t go away.
Probably won’t until the next time Margot’s in my arms.
A few nights later, I’m missing home more than ever. This isn’t my kind of city. Too loud, too bright, too many annoying fucking people.
I miss Margot, my club, my bike, the open roads and trees of upstate New York—hell, I even miss Gretel.
The guy Griff is fighting, Mike “Magic” Everson, is every bit the asshole I expected. Every presser he’s made nasty, out of line comments to Griff, trying to get him to throw some punches. Griff’s handled it like a pro. I’m starting to think the club bettin’ so much money on him to win was smart.
At least scaring the shit out of “Magic” and his annoying entourage after the press conferences has been entertaining. For me, anyway.
I told Margot I’d be careful, not that I wouldn’t have a little fun while I’m here.
But it doesn’t fix the pit in my chest that’s been growing since the second I stepped off that plane.
Every slinky, half-naked girl with a fake smile and dead eyes reminds me how far from home I am. How far from her I am.
Margot.
My little lady death.
Tonight, I’m at a diner with most of our crew. Jammed into a booth with everyone. Shelby got wedged between Rooster and me. Griff, Molly, and Remy are packed in tight on the other side.
Under the table, I slide my phone out of my pocket and fire off a quick text.
Me: You up?
It’s almost ten here, but back home it’s later. Doesn’t stop her from texting back three seconds later.
Little Lady Death: On call. You okay?
Fuck. I love that she always asks me that first. Not what are you doing, or where are you. She hasn’t cracked any what stays in Vegas jokes. She trusts me completely.
Me: Miss you.
The dots appear immediately.
Little Lady Death: Miss you too.
Little Lady Death: Where are you?
Me: Out with the whole crew.
Shelby nudges me and peers over my shoulder. “Are you texting Margot?”
“Who else, songbird?”
She holds her phone out and snaps a quick photo of Rooster, herself, and me. She flashes the screen my way.
Jesus, I really do look like a serial killer.
“Would it kill ya to smile?” she teases.
“Would it kill you to warn a guy?”
She taps her fingers over the screen. “There. Sent it to Margot.”
I side-eye her. “She knows she can trust me.” Something worse occurs to me. “Wait, did she ask you to…keep tabs on me?”
“No!” She slaps my arm. “I just know you won’t send her any pics.”
How wrong you are, songbird. I’ve sent Margot dozens of pics while we’ve been here.
Little Lady Death: Cute pic.
I had sent a check-in text to Jezzie and Cain earlier today. Both of the little shits answered back with emojis.
Looking at their messages, one after the other, twists a knife of guilt in my chest. When I get back from Vegas, I need to have my sit-down with Jezzie and have her meet Cain. It’s time.
“Molly, you speak this age range, what the fuck does this mean?” I lean over the table and flash the screen with Jezzie’s straight-faced emoji, dramatic-sigh face, and heart.
Molly flicks her gaze between the screen and my face, her lips forming a small “O.”
That can’t be good.
“My sister’s telling me to fuck off, isn’t she?”
Molly snort-giggles. “No.” She sits up straighter and tosses her long, shiny brown hair over her shoulder, like she’s preparing a presentation. “Given the context of your text to her, I think she’s responding with, ‘I’m exasperated with you checking on me all the time, but I love you.’” She nods, quickly, like she’s confirming her interpretation. “Yup. That’s it.”
I glance at the screen again. Maybe? “What’s the emoji combo for ‘you’re a pain in my ass?’”
Remy leans sideways over Griff. “Eye roll and donkey. You’re lucky. All Molly sends me are middle finger emojis.”
Molly playfully slaps his arm. “Only when you’re being a jerk.”
“So, all the time?” I add, helpful as ever.
Remy laughs but Molly gives me a mild stink eye.
How cute. She doesn’t like anyone else making fun of her big brother.