Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I spend the morning shopping, wandering around and zoning out, before heading onto the main street for some lunch. After that, I still have a few hours to kill, not wanting to drive back, not wanting to face the harsh reality back home, one that sucks the very soul from me.
So, I do something I usually wouldn’t.
I go into a bar.
It’s a place called Jenny’s with a sign so sun-bleached the name’s almost unreadable. It’s not even three p.m., and it is bustling. I know from the rumors that this is where the Fallen Sons hang sometimes—a neutral zone, not MC property, but close enough to their compound that any other club member would think twice before walking in.
Of course I walk in.
There’s a perpetually sticky layer of something on the floor, and the lights flicker just enough to make you question whether you’re about to get murdered or just forced to karaoke. A row of gorgeous young women occupy the length of the bar; two of them clink glasses as I walk past, and I catch a snicker, but I’m too locked in my own head to care.
I find a bartender up the other end, older, looking like she has seen better days. Her eyes carry the weight of countless stories, etched with lines that speak of long nights and hard truths. I order a whiskey, neat, hoping the familiar burn will ground me, offer a momentary escape from the chaos swirling in my mind.
She pours a double, her hands steady, and charges me for one. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like a lifeline, a reminder that kindness can still be found in unexpected places. For the first time in weeks, I feel a little like myself as I hand a tip over for her kindness, a silent acknowledgment of the connection we’ve shared in this brief exchange. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through me, a comforting presence that eases the tension in my shoulders.
I take a moment to savor it, letting the world fade away, if only for a moment. The bar is a sanctuary, a place where time seems to slow, and I can breathe without the weight of expectation pressing down on me. It’s a fleeting reprieve, but one I cling to, knowing that soon enough, I’ll have to step back into the reality waiting outside these walls.
The third sip hits my stomach like a lit match, and it takes me a minute, but eventually I find myself relaxing. The chatter around me fades out, and I am left wiggling my body side to side to the faint music as I order another drink, then another. I’ve already crossed the line of being able to drive, and yet, I find myself not caring.
“Stalkin’ ain’t in, baby.”
The low voice comes from behind me, rich like honey and so thick it sends shivers down my spine. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips, because I know that voice and oh, the way he just called me baby has my insides doing wicked things.
I don’t turn around. He comes to me instead, sliding onto the stool to my right like he’s been here his whole life. He wears a faded grey hoodie and jeans, a hat twisted backward on his short hair. No cut, no MC colors. Discreet. I bite my lip as his lazy, gorgeous smile fills my vision.
“I hadn’t heard.” I smile. “I was just hoping for a few free drinks.”
Kael grins.
My heart jumps.
“What’re you doin’ in here, drinkin’ alone?”
“Well obviously I was waiting for you to show up so I could act surprised that we ‘accidentally’ ran into each other,” I tease, lightly.
He chuckles. “Your lucky day then.”
“Are you alone?” I ask, twisting to look behind him.
I see four other bikers in a booth by the door, their eyes on me.
“Oh,” I say.
He nods at the bar girls, and they giggle, pouring him a drink without him saying a single word. He has probably slept with every woman in this bar. I scrunch my nose at the thought, hating the little sting of jealousy that washes through me.
I’m married.
He’s single.
End of story.
He pops a peanut from a little glass bowl, chews it with lazy focus, and watches me the whole time. The weight of his stare prickles my skin. He grins. “What’s your poison today? Let me guess, something brown, cheap, and mean as hell?”
I bite my bottom lip with a smile. “And straight. No need for ice.”
He waves the bartender down and orders another round, then leans in close enough that I catch the faint hint of his cologne, something expensive and out of place here. “You always drink this way when you’re alone?” he asks, voice so low and husky I have to take a deep breath to calm myself down.