Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Quickly sitting up, she unlocked the doors and scrambled from the car, the lug wrench still in hand.
He kept one cautious eye on the deadly tool. “What the fuck were you doin’? Takin’ a fuckin’ nap?”
“No, I figured it was better if I kept out of sight.”
Some of his annoyance faded away. At least she had used her brain in this situation. Though, coming into Demon territory alone proved she didn’t always.
After the woman glanced around, her eyes landed on him. “Sadie?”
His gut twisted at the sliver of hope in her voice. He hated to be the bearer of bad news. “She ain’t here.”
“But I was told she would be.”
“Then you were told wrong.”
“I want to go search for myself.”
Goddamn, this woman was stubborn. “That ain’t happenin’. I had her damn photo. Searched the house from top to bottom. Checked the backyard. Even asked a few of the sweet butts.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Sweet butts? What’s that?”
He hesitated. Sadie could very well be one or in the process of becoming one. But if she was, her sister wasn’t aware of it. It also wasn’t his place to reveal that info or explain it in detail. It might just freak Sadie’s sister out even more. “Women who know the ins and outs of the club.” That was the least offensive way to describe them.
“Did they know her?”
Her emotions had to be on a rollercoaster. One minute she had hope, the next it was dashed.
While he felt for her, it wasn’t his job to solve her problems. He’d already done enough. Continuing to help her could risk his undercover assignment. “None recognized her name.”
“She could be using a fake one.”
“Maybe.” What reason would this woman’s sister have to use a fake name? She definitely wasn’t a fellow undercover task force officer. Otherwise, Rowdy and Goose would’ve recognized her photo when he pulled those two aside earlier.
But bikers and their women did like to use nicknames, so it wasn’t impossible.
“So, I need to go make sure.”
As she went to push past him, he grabbed her shoulder to stop her. “No.”
She squared off with him. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
She might be a few inches shorter than his six-foot-one, but she had an attitude that packed a punch. Normally that would be impressive, but not here. Here, it was dangerous. “Tellin’ you, goin’ back in there ain’t smart.”
“And you consider yourself a good judge of intelligence when you joined a gang like this?”
His jaws clenched. His first instinct was to tell her that MCs aren’t gangs. But when it came down to it, the Deadly Demons could be considered a gang, the term for an organized group of criminals. They certainly were all of those: organized, a group and criminals. Basically, a stain on society.
“Smart enough to know you bein’ here is bad news,” he countered.
“This club is bad news.”
“No shit.”
“So, then why are you a part of it?” she asked.
“Ever think I might be bad news, too?”
“Are you? You’re the only one willing to help me without asking for anything in return.”
“Maybe I just ain’t asked yet.” This conversation was going nowhere. He needed to get back to the party and be available like a prospect should. Instead of spending this time in the dark with a woman he didn’t know. “Never said your name.”
“Does it matter?”
“No,” he answered. “Guess it don’t, since you’re leavin’.”
She considered him for a few seconds. “You never asked why.”
“Why what?”
“Why I was here.”
“You made that fuckin’ clear. To find your sister.”
“Why I’m looking for my sister.”
“‘Cause she’s missin’?”
“She’s not just missing.”
He wanted to not give a fuck about this woman and send her on her way, but…
Jesus H. Christ, she sounded so damn defeated.
To fit in with the Demons, he needed to remember to check his empathy at the damn door. No one wearing this club’s patch would give a shit about this woman or her sister.
But here he was, giving a goddamn fuck. Because, while he appeared to be an outlaw biker on the outside, for fuck’s sake, he was still a cop on the inside. “What d’you mean she ain’t just missin’?”
He had a feeling he was about to fall down a rabbit hole. Just call him Alice in fucking Wonderland.
“I got a call from the rehab center a few days ago, informing me she left their facility AMA.”
He knew exactly what AMA was. And that caused his blood to turn to ice.
He had lived the same nightmare she was currently living.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“What’s AMA?” he asked since a prospect named Hatchet wouldn’t know.
“Against medical advice.”
“Meaning?”
“She left before she was clean.”
“You talkin’ a drug rehab?” Of course she was, but he had to continue to play dumb.
“Yes.”
“Why’d you think she was here?” Besides the fact this location was a drug haven. Without even meaning to, one could get high simply walking around. “You got a plate that says you live in Pennsylvania. You’re standin’ in West Virginia. Plenty of places to get wasted north of the Mason-Dixon line.”