Tartlet (Turf Wars #4) Read Online Bella Jewel

Categories Genre: Biker, Contemporary, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Turf Wars Series by Bella Jewel
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Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 63139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
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I don’t knock, hell, I don’t even pause.

I shove that door open, letting it swing so hard it bounces off the door stopper and flies back at me. I stop it with my hand. Not quite the entrance I had planned, but things could be worse. It could have hit me in the face. I push it back open again, gently this time, and see Remy sitting in the bed with a gorgeous blond woman. The two of them are fully clothed, I made it just in time it would appear.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Remy demands.

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Nope, this isn’t happening. You—” I point to the girl “—get your shit and leave.”

She shakes her head in confusion, looking to Remy. “Remy, who is this?”

“She’s nobody.”

“I’m not nobody,” I say. “He’s only telling you that because he’s mad. He’s also only fucking you because he’s mad. The choice is yours, love. Leave, or I’ll make you leave.”

She scrunches her face in horror. “Make her go away.”

“Aw, you see, that’s not going to happen. I’m not leaving.”

I sit myself down on the end of the bed and flash Remy a smile that very clearly makes his blood boil, because he stands and charges angrily toward the door. “Let’s go.”

His little girl toy stands and rushes after him.

“No, Remy, you’re not doing this,” I call, standing.

“Fuck off, Gabriella. Go home, I don’t want you here.”

“Yeah,” she calls out. “Just leave us alone.”

Oh.

Bitch, please.

“Nope,” I yell out, picking up one of Remy’s large shoes and rushing out the door after them.

They’re at the top of the stairs.

I throw the shoe, planning on making him at least turn around and acknowledge me, but my plan doesn’t go ... well ... to plan.

The shoe, meant to hit Remy, actually hits the woman right in the back of the head. The problem with this is, she’s just about to take a step and the shoe throws her off balance and she topples. She just ... topples.

My mouth drops open as she squeals, her body tumbling down the stairs, legs flying everywhere, body bouncing off each step.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Somehow, during her fall, and I have no idea how it’s even possible, her foot gets stuck between the railing and the wall, and she comes to a stop, one leg up in the air, the other flailing around as she tries to get out. She’s screeching for Remy, who is well on his way, and I can do nothing but stand there, hand pressed to my mouth, trying to smother a laugh.

But I get to it quickly, rushing down to help.

She’s not wearing any panties, which is glaringly obvious when she kicks her free foot around, putting herself on display as she does.

“Jesus,” I say, my voice way too high for the seriousness of this situation. “Stop kicking.”

“She’s fuckin’ stuck, Gabriella,” Remy barks.

“I can see that, Remy, but she also has no panties on and if you think I’m getting too close with that thing flapping around, you’re wrong.”

“Remy,” she squeals again. “Remy!”

“Listen, love,” I say. “Stop moving. Close your damn legs and stay still so we can get your foot out.”

She stops moving, realizing she’s showing her cooter to the entire world. So many things come to my mind right now, some exceptionally good Tik Tok songs I’ve seen lately, but I choose that moment not to say them. I don’t think she’d appreciate it. Even though she has stopped moving, her skirt is so short that she’s still on display. I roll my eyes and go to the linen closet and get a towel, bringing it back and tossing it over her.

She glares at me.

“Hey, don’t glare at me. I’m trying to help.”

“You pushed me down the stairs,” she screams at me. “You fucking psycho.”

“Firstly,” I say as I point a finger into the air, “I didn’t push you. I threw a shoe meant for Remy, and it hit you. Secondly, stop screaming. We’re trying to help.”

“I’m tryin’ to help,” Remy growls. “You’re sittin’ there running your mouth. Get over here.”

Jesus.

So dramatic.

I shuffle as close as I can get to the wall and her foot. How in the ever-loving hell did her foot get stuck here? Like seriously, how?

Her ankle bone is stopping her foot from just sliding back through. She must have hit it hard to get it in there in the first place. I do feel a little bad since that’ll probably hurt tomorrow.

“I’m goin’ to pull the railing as hard as I can, try to move it a little, you’re goin’ to jerk her foot out,” Remy orders.

I nod.

He pulls the railing.

I jerk her foot.

It works.

She’s free.

She tosses the towel, scurries to her feet, and then turns to glare at us. “You’re a fucking mental person,” she screams.


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