Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
"You want me to leave."
It's not a question, but I answer it anyway. "No, Savannah. That's not what I want. I wanna keep you forever. But I'm done sharing, ya understand? I'm done bein’ your dirty little secret. I don't like it. I never did. But if you're movin’ on, then I'm movin’ on too."
I pick up her hand again. Show her the ring. Her ring. The one she took off the last time we met up and then put it right back on when she got home.
Like I don't mean anything to her.
I'm just a hookup.
She's listening to me, I can tell by the way her nose crinkles up. She's thinking.
Do I believe she loves this senator's son more than me?
Fuck no. I don't even think she likes him.
But she will run back to that family money—to the mansion, and the land, and the horses, and the cattle, and the security of it all.
Yeah, she will.
And I just can’t stand for that.
Because I can't give her that. Ever. I'll never be able to give her that. So either she wants me, or she wants her lifestyle.
If she chose the life, I wouldn't even hate her for it. I mean, I hope she does. Because picturing Savanah Ashby living in my new trailer is pretty much the saddest thing I can think of right now.
She doesn't deserve this. She deserves better.
And to be quite frank about shit, she's way too good for me. She's knows it, I know it, Cash knows it. That's why he gave me that warning.
"You want me to walk away, don't you, Legion?"
I'm too busy dyin’ over the way she says my name to respond, so she just keeps going.
"Don't even bother denying it. I can see it all over your face. You wouldn't even know what to do with me if I was truly yours. Only yours."
She's not wrong.
"But I'm gonna have my say," she continues. "If you get to throw your midnight rides in my face, then I get to throw my love in yours.”
Love.
Such a small word for the thing that's been killing me since I was fourteen.
"I love you," she says again, stepping closer. "I've loved you since I was twelve years old singing in that silo. I loved you when I was fifteen and gave you the most precious thing I had to offer. I loved you through four years of college, and three years of silence. Through engagement photos and charity galas and every single fucking Instagram post."
I don't move. Can't.
"I'll give it up," she whispers, and now her voice changes, becomes something harder. Something I recognize. "All of it. The car, the horses, the ranch—everything. I'll sign it over to Cash and walk away."
The world stops spinning for a second. Savannah Ashby without her inheritance is like a bird without wings. It's her protection, her power, the only thing that's ever truly been hers.
"But I want you to walk away too," she adds, and her eyes hold mine. "From the clubhouse."
And there it is. The trade.
"You want me to leave the Badlands." It's not a question. My hand moves unconsciously to my chest, to the brand still raw beneath my shirt. The mark I earned with three years of my life.
"Yes." One syllable, no hesitation. "If I walk away from my family, you walk away from yours."
It's a fair deal. Too fair. Which means it's impossible.
"If I did that," I ask slowly, "you'd get on the back of my bike, let me take you somewhere where you know absolutely no one—where I know absolutely no one—and you would start over with me?"
She nods, and there's not a single shadow of doubt in her eyes.
I shake my head, almost laughing. "And how exactly would I support us, princess? What would I do for work with a prison record and no club backing me?" I gesture at the trailer behind us. "This? This is club money. That job I have? Club connections. You think I can just walk into some town and get hired as what—a fucking accountant?"
The fairy tale she's spinning falls apart against the sharp edges of reality. She doesn't understand what it means to have nothin’. To be nothin’.
"You think we'll rent some cute little apartment? That I'll bring home flowers while you—what? Wait tables? Post pictures of your breakfast for sponsors?" I'm being cruel now, but she needs to hear it. "The moment you step off that property without your name on it, you're just another pretty girl with empty pockets."
"I have money of my own," she says, but her voice wavers.
"For how long? A year? Two? And then what?" I step closer. "And what about Mercy? I just leave her here while we run off to play house?"
Something in Savannah's face shifts, and I know I've hit a nerve. She hadn't thought about Mercy.