Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“I thought about an Ultra Limited but I don’t like the look of them as much.”
“Pricier too,” I point out. “But if you’re really considering cross-country riding, it would be more comfortable. Don’t count out Indian either. The Roadmaster is a good touring machine.”
Together we walk out to the larger parking lot, passing people as we go. Griff stops to shake hands or say hello to a few different people.
“You planning to have someone riding on the back for those longer trips?” I ask even though I’d rather gnaw off my fingers than return to a relationship conversation with him.
“Yeah,” he answers slowly. “Eventually, I’d like to. Although, I think Molly has her heart set on driving this ’69 Mach 1 we’re restoring together.”
Sounds like she’s already his ol’ lady in his mind. “A Mustang, huh?”
“We’re in the middle of rebuilding the engine now. She wants to do it in this sweet candy apple red topcoat.” A wide grin stretches across his face. “I’m waiting for that to come in.”
“Sounds like a nice little bonding project. Looking forward to seeing it.” I lift my chin toward the black Electra Glide we’re walking toward. “This is a solid touring ride.”
“Yeah, I like it.” He doesn’t sound that sure.
We stop at the bike. Griff jams his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “Can we talk for a sec, Dex?”
“Uh, I thought that’s what we were doing.”
He throws a hasty glance over his shoulder, then jerks his head to the side.
We walk farther into the parking lot where no one’s around. “What’s got you so serious?” I ask.
He finally meets my eyes. “You can’t say anything to Remy, or anyone else yet.”
“About?” I prompt. “I’m not your priest, brother. There’s no seal of confession here.”
“I’m serious.”
“Is it about Molly?”
“Not directly.”
I blow out an annoyed breath, but he’s piqued my curiosity. “Fine, as long as no one’s in any danger and it doesn’t involve my club, I’ll keep your secrets.”
He nods once. “That’s fair.”
Still, he hesitates.
“Griff?” I prompt. “I don’t have all day.”
“Sully hooked me up with an audition for this reality show Ultimate Street Fight or some shit.” He roughs his hand over the back of his neck.
He could’ve picked up a handful of dirt and thrown it in my face and I’d be less shocked. “You wanna do something like that?”
“Not really. But there’s a huge cash prize at the end.” He shrugs. “Actually, the last four guys at the end all earn something. I could use the money.”
I open my mouth to offer him money or work if he needs it. But Griff will never take a handout. He and Remy built an entire underground empire around spilling blood and taking bets to survive.
“It’s a risk, though. Not a sure thing,” I point out. “Half the time those shows are rigged and scripted.”
“I know that. Look, what I’m asking is, if we’re doing this, supporting your MC, how’s it work? Am I allowed to go film this show?”
“Allowed? We’re allowed to do whatever the fuck we want, that’s kind of the whole point.”
He shoots an irritated glare at me. “You know what I mean.”
“Just keep the MC—yours and mine—out of your mouth when you’re on the show.”
“No shit.” He glances up, looking past my shoulder. “I’m worried about Remy. I help him out at the tavern. We run the Castle together—”
“The support goes both ways,” I say. “If you need something from us, all you have to do is ask.”
His lips twist into a wry smile. “You mean we’re not just your little bitches?”
“You’re kinda being a bitch right now, but no.” I turn, searching for signs of any of my brothers. Rooster and Jigsaw are way over by the track and not looking our way. “Look, you and Remy were a big help to Grinder when he got out of prison. You’ve still been helping me with the landscaping at Emily’s. If you really want to do this show, I’ll help cover whatever you need while you’re gone and I’m sure my brothers will too.”
He blows out a breath. “Thanks. The producers said I could be there up to eight weeks. That’s a long time.”
I snort. “It seems like it now.” Because you’re young. “But in the big picture of life, it’s nothing. It sounds like you’ll regret it if you don’t give it a shot.”
“That’s what I keep coming back to.”
In the background, car engines rev and roar to life. Tires squeal. Races must be starting.
“You’re not leaving any time soon, right?” I ask. “We’re gonna be gone for a few days.”
“No. Nothing’s set in stone yet, either. That’s why I wanted to run this by you first.”
I cock my head. “At the risk of repeating myself, you know those reality shows are all bullshit, right? You might want to talk to Shelby and see if she’s got some advice for you.”