Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“A real man can handle more than one.”
“Oh, honey, he’s a real man all right. And I don’t mind sharing him, but he’s got no interest in skanks like you riding his dick. Or my face.” She grabbed Fletch’s dick and squeezed, almost making him drop his plate.
For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t been ready for that.
“Ladies, as hot as it would be to watch you two go at it in a fuckin’ cat fight, I’m hungry as fuck. And if my food gets cold, gonna be pissed. Woman, let’s go.” He jerked Nova’s arm.
“I want a beer,” she insisted.
If Nova wasn’t careful, she’d be wearing one. He shoved his plate at her and she grabbed it. At least her hands would be busy.
“Gimme two beers,” Fletch demanded.
Star simply stood there while another woman, similarly dressed, quickly shoved two full cups at him.
He took them and nodded his thanks.
“Don’t forget. The name’s Star. I’m there Monday through Friday.”
Nova’s step stuttered as they walked away. “Keep walkin’,” Fletch ordered under his breath. “You start a real fight, we’re gonna get tossed.” He plastered a smirk on his face and said much louder, “For fuck’s sake, you just gave me wood, woman.”
He heard a few chuckles as they made their way around a small crowd near the now roaring bonfire.
“It’s that easy?”
“It’s that hard. Now I’m gonna need more than food and a beer.”
Nova threw her head back and laughed so loudly it caught the attention of everyone nearby.
She had no idea he wasn’t lying. He was hard as fuck that Kitten had turned into a possessive cougar. The rest of the night he wouldn’t be able to think about anything but experiencing those sharp claws.
Even if only in his dreams.
Chapter Twelve
They probably stayed at the pig roast for far longer than they should have. They made a few rounds so they were seen but tried not to interact with too many that might have a problem with their presence. She did have quite a few words with some of the ol’ ladies since they were the ones most open to her and Fletch being within the DAMC.
Nova understood why. They were all mothers. None of them wanted meth—or any dangerous drugs, for that matter—flowing into their area, or a war to start up with a rival MC.
When she had broken away from Fletch to spend some time with the ladies, quite a few of them talked about the Shadow Warriors and the havoc they had wreaked on the club. A few of them hinted that some of the DAMC women had suffered badly at their hands but avoided going into details.
Nova got it. She heard their concerns. She heard their painful memories and experiences. And the more she heard, the more determined she was to keep the Demons from hurting them, as well.
Excluding the stripper she went head to head with, all were open, for the most part, and friendly with her. However, they were also cautious. Nova understood that, too.
They loved their men, their families and their lives with everything they had. They were also passionate about keeping everyone safe.
She promised them the task force would do everything in their power to stop the Demons from destroying their area and club family. And by allowing Ghost and Kitten to go undercover in the DAMC would help that goal.
A few times she had caught Fletch simply standing back and observing everyone in the courtyard as the club members drank, ate, laughed and shot the shit. She could see him making mental notes.
She also noticed the longer they were there, the more he picked up on their mannerisms and the better he blended in.
Eventually she worked her way back to him and they sat together under the pavilion for a little while longer with his arm draped over her shoulders as they listened to Dirty Deeds play rock and heavy metal. They also watched some of the women dance with each other, and occasionally with their men when the songs slowed.
One thing made crystal clear by spending time among them, they were all a tight-knit family. Something she never expected with a motorcycle club made up of rough, alpha men whose women wore “property of” cuts. Or had their man’s name tattooed on them. She’d seen plenty of that, too.
The obvious difference she noted between the DAMC and La Cosa Nostra was the undercurrent of distrust and disloyalty within the Russo “family.” What one could see on the surface was not reality at its core.
The trust and loyalty among the DAMC ran deep and could not be missed or misconstrued. It was difficult to fake something so genuine.
By the time they returned to the apartment above the pawn shop, she was exhausted. Both her and Fletch agreed it had been a long but very productive day. Tomorrow morning they’d both go off to work at the jobs they’d been assigned. Her at the pawn shop downstairs and him at the gun shop and range on the other side of town.