Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
I cleaned up, then looked at myself in the mirror. There was no denying Tillie was too good for me. I accepted I was fighting out of my weight class with this woman. She was definitely too good to be with an ex-con. But, as I studied myself, I made a vow. Tillie was going to be happy. She was going to be and feel safe. She was going to have the best life I could possibly give her. Anyone who went against that plan was going to meet my wrath.
Chapter Ten
Tillie
Two Weeks Later…
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. Life was as idyllic as I’d always wanted. Xavier spent almost every waking moment with me. If he was busy with something club-related, he would turn up at random wherever I was and stand around like a schoolboy with a crush. He never intruded and remained in the background unless I invited him over. Like I’d ever leave him standing off to the side by himself. I always welcomed him with open arms and a big, wet, sloppy kiss, which he got the biggest kick out of.
There were only two things making my life less than perfect inside the Kiss of Death MC compound, and I found the irony amusing as fuck. First, I knew Xavier was meeting with Knuckles and several other members of the club to get the rundown on how they were dealing with what Xavier termed “the cartel problem.” I had a suspicion their pest removal involved some permanent solutions, but Xavier didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. Fuckers deserved what they got. As for my house that I barely got to live in, apparently everyone in the area knew about the problems with drug runners. It was why I not only got a bargain price when I purchased it, but why they settled for a lower amount when I said I was paying cash. The guy was just happy to get rid of the place and recoup some of his losses. Xavier told me to let him deal with it. He’d make sure I got my money back and then some. I honestly didn’t care as long as I never had to see that house again.
Secondly, my parents had started blowing up my phone. I hadn’t answered and let my voicemail catch it, but I hadn’t listened to any of the messages yet. I’d barely skimmed the first couple of transcripts of their voicemails, but honestly, they’d been the ones to turn their backs on me. The gist of the whole thing was, one of my parents heard from a friend who heard from a friend and so on, that I was famous or something and wanted to know what their friend had meant. No doubt they were seeing dollar signs. I hated jumping to negative conclusions about my parents, but I knew them too well to think anything else. I hadn’t told Xavier about them calling because I had learned my man well enough to know that he’d go scorched earth if he found out they’d upset me. Which -- I couldn’t lie -- I found sexy as fuck.
I’d kept to myself for the most part. A social butterfly I was not. But Xavier had brought me a new laptop, saying Knight had an extra one he wasn’t using. I had my doubts, but the computer meant I could put my notes into some kind of loose outline for my next book. It had been at the house, and I still hadn’t been back. There was really nothing I wanted there other than the laptop. I was big on saving everything to one cloud service or another in case I needed to work from somewhere other than my own computer, so it was easy to get set up and running. Once I’d gotten started, the words flowed better than they ever had.
Writing days like I’d had the last couple of weeks were the reason I’d wanted to write in the first place. I loved telling stories, but more than anything, I liked having control over my world. Sure, there were times the characters tried to bully me, but I’d simply put them aside and work with another set of characters. I might be a pushover in real life, but I was in control… Right. So, maybe control was an illusion. Or maybe I was just that fucking crazy.
As I looked with satisfaction at my work today, I realized how at ease I was while I was writing. Had I ever truly been comfortable in my own home? The short answer was, not like this.
From my first full day in the compound, I’d been treated like a little sister by the men. The women all seemed really close. Well, the women who were old ladies. The club girls, or club whores, were a different story altogether. I could already tell they were going to test me, and I’d expected it. Kind of like the biker version of Mean Girls.