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)
Murphy rubs his hands together like he’s conjuring an evil leprechaun. “Can’t wait to roast his ass over that fuckin’ reality show. Goddamn embarrassing.”
“He was just trying to make some coin,” Wrath drawls, stroking his chin. “Not all of us have pots o’ gold stashed in our wee ginger beards.”
Laughter erupts around the table. Even Murphy cracks up.
“Okay, fair.” Murphy lifts his hands in surrender. “Hell, I probably would’ve done it too when I was his age.”
“All right, simmer down.” Rock knocks his knuckles against the table and glances at Wrath. “Why do you want us there?”
“We need to tag team Griff at the party,” Wrath suggests.
Birch raises his hand. “Uh, I don’t swing that way.”
“No need to take Rav’s place in the saying-stupid-shit department just because he’s not here,” Wrath warns, dismissing him and returning to his original point. “I’m sure Griff plans to train at Sully’s gym but I want him at Furious. At least part-time. Get my gym a little shout-out on fight night. Dex, Jigsaw, Rooster, suss out what else he needs.”
“He’ll need more than two people with him in Vegas,” Rooster says. “Those fighters roll deep. He’s new to that scene. The guy he’s going up against is trash. They’ll definitely try to fuck with him at the press conferences and stuff. Rattle him before the fight.”
Wrath knocks his fists together. “I’d love a motherfucker to test me.”
“We don’t need anyone getting arrested in Vegas,” Rock warns.
Wrath’s mouth slides into a smirk. “They’d have to catch me first.”
“You are incredibly fast for such a big fucker,” Z says.
“So.” Wrath’s gaze drifts down the table. “Who’s ready to do some damage in Vegas?”
His eyes stop on me, one eyebrow raised. Pretty sure that’s not a question.
“Fuck, yeah. I already said I’m in.”
Dex shakes his head. “I hate Vegas. I already told you, I’ll watch the bar for Remy while he’s gone.”
Wrath nods. “Make sure you tell him that.”
Bricks leans forward. “I’ll cover CB for you.”
“Thanks,” Dex says.
“As much as I’d like to support the kid,” Grinder says. “I’m not comfortable leaving Serena and Lincoln for that long.” He hurries to add, “For something that’s not strictly club-related.”
“Understandable.” Wrath nods.
“If I can do something else to help out here, I will,” Grinder offers.
Rooster lifts his hand, catching Wrath’s attention. “You already know Shelby and I are in.”
A chorus of ooooos goes around the table.
“Planning to get hitched there?” Dex asks.
“Nooo,” Rooster says slowly, barely hiding his irritation. “Shelby still wants to get married here.” He grits his teeth. “Although, there’s apparently talk about having a second ‘public’ wedding in Tennessee.”
Say what? “Talk with who?” I ask.
He cocks his head at me, pure sarcasm in his eyes. “Who do you think?”
“Dawson?” I raise my eyebrows. “What the fuck does he care where you get married?”
“I’m assuming for the publicity,” Grinder says in a dry tone.
“Indeed,” Rooster agrees.
“Uh.” Wrath leans forward. “You realize if you have an event like that in Tennessee, Deadbranch and National will expect an invite.”
Rooster nods slowly. “You know Dawson. He doesn’t care. He’s met a lot of those guys. Likes ‘em.”
Hustler lets out a belly laugh. “He probably thinks hanging with bikers gives him street cred.”
“That part,” Rooster agrees, pointing at Hustler. “I don’t give a fuck. He’s paying for whatever party happens in Tennessee.”
I open my mouth to ask if letting Dawson bankroll his wedding makes him feel like a cuck—then snap it shut. That’s a question to needle him with when we’re alone.
Rooster thinks Dawson’s harmless. No doubt the guy’s boosted Shelby’s career and thrown me a few fat stacks of cash to run security on tour. But I still don’t completely trust the guy. He ever does anything to mess with Rooster and Shelby, or hurts her in any way, I’m throwing his poser country-boy ass straight into the nearest wood chipper.
“It’s not a ‘real’ wedding,” Rooster says, curling his fingers into air quotes. “Just a big party. The part that matters is happening in New York with club and family only.”
Z nods with approval. “You tryin’ to plan this ‘party’ close to National, so we’re not making two runs down south in one year?”
Rooster side-eyes him. “Uh, sure, Prez.”
Wrath slides a sneaky gaze Rock’s way. “Hopefully, it’ll be the last run we’re making to Mississippi for our National meeting.”
Rock glares at him. “Bite your motherfucking tongue.”
“What?” Wrath raises two innocent blond eyebrows. “Who said anything about New York? We could be riding to Virginia instead.”
Dex ducks his head, his shoulders shaking. “What’s wrong, Prez? The other day you were fine with it.”
“Fine is a stretch,” Rock says. “It’s the timeline that I object to. We’re not ready to take over that responsibility, yet.”
“Why not?” Grinder frowns. “We got plenty of places for people to stay. And if you don’t want ‘em here, there are more than enough hotels in the area. Campgrounds. We can figure it out.”