Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
There’s no point thinking about that shit.
Not the way I’m thinking about it anyway.
Like it’s something I could get used to.
I focus on steering my bike through the winding roads leading us further into Virginia. Soon enough, the impressive Victorian building that is the House of Sin appears as we ride over the ridge.
It’s a ride I’ve done many times before.
But it’s the first time I’ve ever come here not looking for a woman for the night.
Because nothing inside here is going to quench the need I feel rising inside me.
“You think they’re coming here?” Antoinette asks when we’re sitting across her desk from her in the grand parlor she calls her office.
She is a gorgeous woman in her forties with thick, red-gold hair down to her tiny waist and fuck-me eyes that have tempted many men.
Today she’s dressed for her part as the madam of the most popular brothel in Appalachia. She looks like she’s stepped off the set of a western. Tight satin bodice. A long floaty skirt with a split up the side. Killer boots. She sits with one leg crossed over the other, exposing a firm thigh.
“It’s too soon to tell,” Jack says. “But I want you to be prepared. Take notice of any new clientele.”
“I’ll tell the girls to keep their ears to the ground. See what they can find out.”
Jack stands. “Call me if you hear anything.”
We walk for the door, but Antoinette stops us.
“Are you still happily married?”
Jack smiles. “Ecstatically so.”
“Pity.” She winks. “But I’m happy for you.”
He winks back. “Me too.”
We leave her office and descend the walnut staircase to the luxurious foyer below. But as we head for the door, a sweet voice calls out my name.
I turn around and see Ilsa. As petite as a pixie with a cute black bob and rosy red lips, she was the girl I always spent time with when I visited.
Her big eyes light up when she sees me. With a squeal, she comes running across the room and flings herself into my arms. “I didn’t see your name in my diary,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck and crushing my hips with her firm thighs. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
I try to untangle her, but she’s coiled tightly around me.
“Ilsa,” Antoinette’s voice floats down from the second-floor landing. “Ares is here on business, not pleasure.”
Ilsa pulls back to look at me. “We’re not hanging out?”
“Not today, sweetheart.”
She looks crushed. Then she leans closer and whispers, “I get off at six if you want to hang around.”
I set her on her feet. “That’s a real sweet offer, but like Antoinette said, this visit is strictly business.”
“I have my diary upstairs if you want to book in your next visit,” she says softly, looking disappointed.
Ilsa is a sweet kid. Somewhere in her twenties, she’s naturally nurturing and effervescent. She’s seen me at my worst, and she still gets excited every time I visit.
“Not tonight, sweetheart.” She looks crestfallen, so I lift her chin. “Hey, you apply to the colleges we talked about?”
“You remember that?”
“Of course. And I told you, if you needed help with any of it, you let me know.”
She smiles, but it fades. “Ares, are you coming back to see me one day?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t think so. You’ve got that look about you.”
“Look?”
“Like you’ve gone and fallen in love.”
Ilsa’s words haunt me when I walk away.
But during the ride back to Flintlock, it’s not Ilsa I’m thinking about. It’s Rory.
Rory with hair the color of snow.
Rory with lips that taste like wine.
Rory who I can’t get the fuck out of my head.
The ride home is a long one, and as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, she’s all I can think about—the way she smells, the feel of her skin brushing against mine, and the sound of her soft breath as she falls asleep beside me.
I think about how tender her touch felt against my aching muscles last night, about the tender way she tended to my wounds, and how she soothingly wrapped her soft body around mine as she slept.
My body aches and my shoulders feel tense, and my bed back at the clubhouse suddenly doesn’t seem inviting.
“Fuck,” I growl.
I wave off Shooter and Jack. They probably knew where I was going before I did, and giving in, I turn the Harley around and head in the direction of Rory’s apartment.
RORY
It’s just gone dark when I leave the Spicy Crawdad. The parking lot is full of vehicles but empty of people. Coming from inside the strip club, I hear Kid Rock’s “Cowboy” which signals the beginning of Brigette’s routine.
Humming along, I walk to my car, but when I lean down to unlock it, I’m violently shoved from behind and pinned against the door.
“Don’t fucking move, you slut bitch,” growls a voice in my ear.