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)
Because she can shoot your fucking ass dead in less than three seconds flat, that’s why, asshole. “‘Cause we’re makin’ it look like we’re out for a damn Sunday drive. Never know who’s watchin’. Not just the pigs, but the nosy fucks in my own club. Prez don’t want anyone in our brotherhood sellin’. I get caught, my colors will be stripped. Or fuckin’ worse.”
Stitch’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “Your prez don’t know you’re here?”
Fletch sucked on his teeth. “Does yours?”
“He don’t need to know. This shit’s between Wolf an’ you.”
“Then, why ain’t Wolf here?” Fletch barked with annoyance.
“Yeah, Wolf was supposed to be here,” Nova added, unhelpfully.
Stitch answered, “Had shit to do,” while shooting Nova an annoyed look.
Bullshit. “Why the fuck didn’t he tell me you were comin’ instead?”
“‘Cause he don’t fuckin’ answer to you.”
Fletch bit back a sigh. “But you answer to him?”
Stitch spit on the ground, avoiding his question.
“He asked you a fucking question,” Nova insisted.
What the fuck was she doing?
No matter what, she was right, Fletch needed answers. “You sellin’ your club’s stash behind your prez’s back? Don’t need that sorta trouble.”
“And you need to keep your bitch on a shorter leash. Ain’t doin’ nothin’ our prez don’t know about, so don’t you fuckin’ worry ‘bout shit that don’t concern you. Wolf’s gotta sell a certain amount with…” Stitch shook his head, his expression showing that he’d already said more than he should. That sucked because the more he ran his mouth, the more new info Fletch might be able to obtain.
“What, your prez divvies up your stash an’ you all gotta sell?”
“Somethin’ like that.” His eyes narrowed on Fletch for a second, then his gaze flicked to Nova. “How do I know you ain’t some undercover pig tryin’ to fuck me hard?”
“How the fuck do I know you ain’t some undercover pig?” Fletch countered.
“Yeah!” Nova shouted.
“How ‘bout showin’ me the colors inked onto your back?” Fletch suggested.
The other biker answered, “Long as you do the same.”
Damn. He fucked up.
Before he could come up with an excuse, Nova stepped up next to him with her hands on her hips and attitude rolling off her before she even opened her mouth. Again. “He ain’t got ‘em. He’s—”
With a deep scowl, Stitch cut her off with, “You always let your slit speak for you?”
“Slit?” Nova screamed, spreading her legs in a defensive stance. “You’re calling me a fucking slit, you fat fuck?”
Goddamn it. Fletch knew biker chicks weren’t afraid of running their mouth, but, for fuck’s sake, she needed to dial it back some so this deal wasn’t fucked.
“Shut the fuck up, Kitten,” Fletch growled, shooting her an unspoken message that, of course, went ignored.
“Fuck that.” Nova flung a hand toward Stitch. “I’m not gonna let this motherfucker—”
Fletch sucked in a breath to steel himself for what he was about to do, then before he could think twice, he swung, backhanding her. Hard enough that her head jerked back and the sound of the impact against her cheek filled the space between them.
Goddamn it!
He jabbed a finger in her direction. “When I tell you to shut the fuck up, woman, you shut the fuck up. You fuckin’ know better than to run your trap when the men are talkin’.”
Nova blinked and her mouth gaped slightly.
Fuck. He had knocked her right out of her role for a second.
He breathed a little easier when he saw her mentally shake herself and slide back into character.
The second she did, she screamed, “You’re a fucking asshole!” while palming her red cheek.
When Stitch grinned, Fletch wanted to backhand that motherfucker, too.
He forced himself to stay in character, despite the fact he was pissed she had gone over the top, in turn, forcing him to respond in the same manner. “An’ you’re a fuckin’ cunt. Go sit on my sled and if you don’t listen, leavin’ your ass here. Your twat is tight but sometimes it ain’t worth dealin’ with your goddamn mouth.”
With a set jaw and fury—whether real or fake—filling her eyes, Nova flipped him the bird and stalked toward his Harley, bitching under her breath the whole way.
He watched her go, hoping like fuck she wasn’t truly pissed at him for his knee-jerk reaction. Nova also had to know she’d been playing with fire by being mouthy in front of Stitch. She’d done enough undercover work to know he’d have to stay true to his character that, in this case, was an asshole biker who treated his woman like property. His property.
He turned back to Stitch and shook his head. “Fuckin’ bitches.”
“Sometimes a quick, to the fuckin’ point lesson’s all it takes.”
“Problem is, she tends to enjoy those lessons. The rougher, the better. An’ sometimes she pushes me just to get one.”
Fletch ground his teeth when Stitch licked his lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Any-fuckin’-way, ain’t got my colors inked on my back yet, since I’m new to the DAMC. Gonna get them soon. Crow’s been booked solid lately.” Name dropping was always beneficial.