Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
The sound of a live band draws me to the edge of the rally. The sun is setting, and I can just make out the shape of the city skyline in the distance. We’re far enough away from anything that nobody cares about an abandoned airstrip being taken over by outlaws for the weekend. A few men are putting the finishing touches on a huge stack of old pallets assembled into a tower for the bonfire.
The heady scent of barbecue fills my nose as the summer breeze carries it past. I wander closer.
“Want a taste?” One of the guys manning the grills slices off a strip of meat and holds it out to me between his fingers. He’s probably twice my age and has a handlebar mustache big enough to be used for actual handlebars.
I grin and hold out my hand.
“Nope, try again.” He snaps his teeth together and winks.
I hesitate, but when in Rome, right? Careful not to touch his fingers, I lean in and bite down, taking the piece right from his hand. It’s sweet, a little spicy, and practically melts in my mouth.
“Good, right?”
I nod.
His smile gets a little wolfish. “If you think that’s good, I’ve got some more meat for your pretty mouth.”
“Wh—what?” I stare at him, too shocked to know how I’m supposed to react. This might be my first biker rally, but I’ve heard my share of crude comments. Still. Really?
“Shiiiiit, who let you wander around on your own?” A woman with a wild mane of blonde hair and breasts pushed up like they want to be part of the menu smacks him on the arm. “Go on, ignore this old goat and get your ass out of here, honey.”
With a bashful grin, I make my escape before things get even more awkward.
The old runway has been turned into a makeshift racetrack, and a huge crowd has gathered around to watch. Unfortunately, the average biker is way taller than the average me, and the closer I get, the more my view turns into nothing but the backs of an endless sea of leather jackets and vests.
“Need a boost?” The rich voice is so close to my ear that I nearly jump out of my skin.
I whirl around, finding myself face-to-chest with yet another leather jacket. It hangs open, revealing a black T-shirt stretched tight over a muscular chest. The kind you mostly find in photoshopped images and on romance novel covers.
Wetting my lips, I drag my gaze upward until I’m staring right into a pair of mossy green eyes, their corners crinkled in amusement. He’s probably only a few years older than me, with thick brown hair in a wild halo around a rough-cut face. His stubble-shaded jawline is so sharp it could draw blood.
He cocks his head, a teasing smile curving his unreasonably full lips. “Don’t you wanna watch?”
His flirting feels totally different than the barbecue guy’s, but I find myself just as tongue-tied. “Um…”
Great job, Melody. First Red thinks you’re too chatty, now this guy’s going to think you can’t string two words together.
“Who’d you find here?” a second voice asks, deep and gruff. “Doesn’t look like one of our girls.”
The second man’s beard is dense and black, his eyes hidden in shadow. The sides of his head are shaved, and a stray black lock of hair hangs almost low enough to hide the scar cutting through his dark eyebrow. He must’ve left his jacket somewhere, leaving him in a white shirt with the arms cut off. A full sleeve of colorful tattoos winds its way up his left arm and disappears beneath the shirt, making me wonder how far down it goes.
Not all bikers are shockingly handsome, but when they are? This whole dangerous look does more for me than I would’ve expected. Up until recently, my only first-hand experiences were of my father and a few of his friends. Not exactly a good sample size or anyone I’d want to think about like that.
“What do you mean, one of your girls?” I finally find my voice, a little insulted on behalf of the women they’re apparently here with, because the way they’re looking at me doesn’t feel very taken.
The second man laughs. “Put your claws away, baby. Jealousy looks cute on you, but it’s not like that. I just meant you aren’t one of the girls who came with our crew.”
“Oh. I’m not jealous. I don’t even know you,” I scoff.
The man with the green eyes gives me a crooked smile. “Maybe we should fix that. You can call me Mad Dog.” He nods toward his friend. “He’s Rebel.”
One day I’ll meet a biker who just goes by Dave or Mark or something and it’ll blow my mind.
Rebel grins. “What’s your name, honey?”
Is it smart to tell them? I don’t recognize their club logo, but they don’t seem dangerous. Besides, I was told that there’s a strict no violence policy at the rally, and family is allowed tonight. “Melody.”