Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Two trips?” he said, looking properly disgruntled. “That’s quitter talk. There’s a reason I bench four-fifty.”
“To compensate for your stubbornness?” Violet teased, walking over to peek into the bags.
“To impress you, obviously,” he retorted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He winked at Violet, and the gesture transformed his entire face from intimidating to almost boyish. “Did it work?”
“Always does,” she replied with a laugh that sounded so free, so unburdened it made my chest ache.
In one smooth motion, Riot pulled Violet into his arms, engulfing her completely in a bear hug that lifted her feet off the ground. She melted against him, her hand coming up to rest on his cheek with such casual intimacy I had to look away, feeling like I was intruding on a private moment.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had held me like that, like I was precious, like they’d always keep me safe. The casual affection between Violet and Riot stirred something in me I’d thought was long dead. Not just desire for a partner, though God knew it had been years since I’d felt wanted in that way, but for that evident security. The knowing that someone had your back, completely and without question.
I glanced at my girls, still engaged with Caleb. Zelda was actually smiling now, a sight so rare these past few years that it made my throat tight. Kira had edged closer to the boy, her perpetual wariness easing just a fraction. They deserved a life where smiles weren’t rare, where they didn’t have to be constantly on guard.
“Sorry,” Violet said, returning to my side after Riot set her down. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes bright. “He always insists on doing everything in one go.”
“It’s nice,” I said softly, meaning more than just Riot’s determination with the groceries.
Violet seemed to understand. “It wasn’t always like this,” she admitted. “Trust takes time to build. For both of you.” She nodded toward Riot, who was now unpacking the groceries with the same intensity he’d carried them with. “He’s a good man. They all are, in their own rough ways.” I knew what she meant. I’d been wary of the idea of MC members being the security, but the men I’d met so far had been nothing but kind to both of us.
I watched as Riot noticed the kids and made his way over, offering Caleb a fist bump before nodding politely to my girls. He didn’t crowd them or try to engage beyond that simple acknowledgment and a kind smile. He respected their space.
Maybe this strange alliance between bikers and abused women wasn’t as contradictory as I’d first thought. Maybe sometimes safety came in unexpected packages. I didn’t know if I could trust these men -- trust was a luxury I hadn’t been able to afford for a long time -- but seeing Violet with Riot, seeing how she’d built a life here from the ruins of her old one, gave me something I hadn’t felt in years. Hope. Fragile and tenuous, but there all the same. And for now, that was enough to get through one more day. One step at a time.
Chapter Two
Tiny
I ducked my head and turned slightly sideways as I stepped through the door of the large warehouse, a habit born from years of door frames too small for me. The club had renovated the structure several months ago because the club’s old ladies demanded the place be secured for their new project. The shelter only accepted horribly abused women deemed high risk for retaliatory violence from their abusers. We’d started calling the shelter Haven. The girls all did their best to make it a haven. It also meant men my size weren’t exactly welcome.
I smelled fresh coffee when I stepped inside, a stark contrast to the exhaust fumes that clung to my leather and clothes. Inside, the few conversations stuttered to silence as heads turned my way. The newer people stared at me with wide eyes and a touch of fear. I was used to it. Nearly seven feet tall, shoulders wide as a doorway, with a Mohawk and a beard you could lose a small animal in, I never entered a room without changing its atmosphere.
Violet spotted me from across the common area and waved me over with an enthusiastic smile. I moved carefully, each step measured, making myself as predictable as possible. Prison taught me how to move without threatening, how to exist in a space where sudden movements could get you shanked. Also taught me how to use my size to every advantage I could. Here, those same skills served a different purpose.
“Tiny, I’m glad you could make it,” Violet said, her voice warm but pitched just loud enough that others nearby could hear. Deliberate. Showing them I was expected and approved of. Safe.