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)
Excusing myself from the conversation I’d been barely listening to with a couple of bikers from Idaho, I cross the parlor and come up behind Margot. Part of her hair’s caught up in a silver clip, the rest flowing down her back. Desperation to sweep her hair to the side and kiss the side of her neck pulses through me. I curl my hands into fists at my sides.
I step closer and her entire body tenses up as if she senses me looming at her back. The same kind of awareness that’s lived in my bones since the first time we touched.
I lean down, close enough to breathe her in. Citrus, vanilla, a hint of incense. “Can I talk to you for a second?” I whisper against her ear.
Her jaw clenches tight enough to crack teeth. “I’m working.”
Please, please, please, let me fix this. “Margot.”
She drops her head and takes a long, slow breath, then turns to face me.
My face must betray how desperate I am for her. The second our eyes meet, her harsh expression softens. Her fury—which I deserve—cracks enough for other feelings to flicker over her face. Confusion. Hurt. Concern.
“Where have you been?” Her soft voice comes edged in steel. Like if I lie or give her some weak-ass excuse, she’ll never give a shit about my whereabouts again.
Damn. I glance around the room full of bikers loudly reminiscing about past road trips and talking about what a shame it is Whisper died so soon. This isn’t the time or place for us to have such a personal conversation. “I’ll explain. Later, I promise.”
She tilts her head and runs her gaze over me again. I pull my shoulders back and try to dial back the desperation.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I blow out a breath, my heart thudding like it’s been trying to claw its way back to her this whole time. “I am now.” I hate how much that sounds like a line when it’s one hundred percent true. Even though a funeral’s going on around us, the second I stepped into her orbit, the heaviness that’s been surrounding me for days lifted.
Why didn’t I just come back the other night and tell her what happened?
“Margot?” her dad calls from the doorway. “They’re about to start.”
She turns and nods. “Okay.”
After he leaves, she reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I have to—”
“I know.”
“We’ll talk later.” She raises her eyebrows as if it’s a question.
“Thank you.”
A small, but genuine smile curves her lips. “I’m happy you’re okay.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. She takes off before I come up with an answer. Should I follow or stay put?
The silence she leaves behind is deafening.
A few seconds later, movement ripples through the room. Everyone starts drifting toward the double doors across the hall.
I need a minute.
I grab a golden cookie off the tray and bite into it. It’s dry and flavorless, like sawdust on my tongue. I pour a cup of coffee to wash down the world’s worst cookie.
Get it together.
I step into the hallway and slip into the viewing room through the back entrance, the one farthest from the casket.
Wrath’s standing against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. I take up the empty space next to him and he turns to nod at me.
I turn my attention to the front of the room where Ulfric’s speaking.
“Whisper was formed by the grit of the gutter and the dust of the highway.” Ulfric glances at the coffin. “Despite his intimidating appearance, he spoke quietly, in a way that commanded your attention and respect. That’s how he got his road name…”
News to me. Since many bikers have a twisted since of humor and hand out road names as jokes, I always assumed it was because Whisper was a loudmouth when he was younger.
“He was a stealthy fucker too,” Wrath whispers to me. “I think that’s actually how he got his road name. Could break into buildings without anyone hearing a thing.”
“Probably not the best thing to mention at his funeral,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.
He snorts. “Give it five minutes. Someone’ll bring it up. Probably Merlin.”
At the podium, Ulfric steps aside to make room for Whisper’s daughter. She sidesteps him, avoiding the embrace he clearly planned to give.
I lean closer to Wrath. “Margot was right about the friction between them.”
“Yeah, he didn’t talk about his family much. I figured there was some tension there.” His gaze scans the room. “That’s the difference between us and a lot of other clubs. They make the club their family and ignore their actual family.”
“Whereas we suck our loved ones into our vortex until there’s no escape?” I question with two innocently raised eyebrows.
Wrath rolls his eyes. “Sure.”
One by one, Wolf Knight brothers step up to say a few words about their ex-president. Then neighbors, friends, and other people who knew him.