Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 83872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I wouldn’t be a victim anymore. I wouldn’t let anyone else I cared about get harmed. If that meant I had to ride out, I would. If that meant that I had to kill every fucking bastard that crossed my path wrong, I would.
I was beyond the point of caring anymore. The one man that had stood next to me, supported me through everything, protected me to the best of his ability was now fucking dead, and it was all my goddamn fault.
I stormed out of my room and into the bar room. My mom was standing beside my dad’s body, crying. Cole looked up at my entrance from where he was bandaging his dad’s wound. He eyed my cut. “Been a while since you’ve worn that, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, his eyes wary as he looked at me.
I ignored him, shutting off most of my emotions. I didn’t want to feel sad or helpless anymore. I just wanted to feel fucking angry. I looked over at my mom. “I’m riding out. I have my phone on me. Call me and let me know when dad’s viewing is.”
I walked out of the clubhouse. Cole grabbed my arm when I got halfway across the lot to my bike. He spun me around. “Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded, his jaw clenched, fury lighting up his eyes.
I glared at him. “That’s none of your fucking business.” I eyed his hand with distaste. “Unless you want your fucking arm to be useless like your dad’s, I’d advise you to let me the fuck go.”
“I’m not letting you ride out of here like this,” he ground out. “You’re fucking emotionally unstable, Amelia. Feeling like this will only get you fucking killed.”
Fury lit up my features. “Hard to let my feelings get me killed when I don’t fucking feel anything.”
I quickly yanked his hand off of my arm, bending his wrist backwards. He quickly yanked his hand from my grasp. I spun on my heel and stormed over to my bike.
The last thing I saw as I rode out was Cole standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, watching me ride out with cold, hard eyes.
The bar I had stopped in was a pretty shitty place, but I didn’t plan on going any farther than this when my dad’s viewing would be in a few days. There wasn’t any point in going somewhere far.
I sipped at my beer. A tall, nasty looking guy sat down next to me. He had a long beard and long hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. He looked oddly familiar.
He looked over at me, and he clenched his jaw. “I fucking know you. You’re that bitch that slammed my head onto the fucking bar,” he growled.
“Small world,” I retorted, not giving a damn. He could put his hands on me if he wanted, but if he did, I would gladly cut off every single one of his fingers in front of everyone here.
“Where’s your boyfriend you were with, girly?” he asked me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cole isn’t my boyfriend.” To answer his question, I said, “As far as I know, Cole is still at the clubhouse. What’s it to you?” I snapped.
“You’re with the DM?” he asked.
I snorted. Was this mother fucker really that stupid? “Can you not read?” I asked. “My cut clearly says Black Skulls.”
His mouth dropped open, shock lighting up his features. “You’re Amelia fucking Johnson, aren’t you? Heard you stabbed Travis Louis. I bet he fucking hates you right now.”
I set my beer down slowly. I eyed him out of the corner of my eye carefully. And when he moved, the light glinted off a gun on his hip. I quickly stood up, pulling my gun out and pointing it against his head. “Let’s go outside, shall we?” I asked him.
Somehow, he knew too much, and I was going to shut him the fuck up.
He walked outside carefully with my gun pressed against the back of his head. Nobody said anything. And I knew they wouldn’t. The Black Skulls and Bloody Royals ran this fucking town. Most people turned a blind eye to the shit we did—unless they were the cops.
We walked outside. “Alright, Amelia, where are you taking me?” the man asked.
“Take me to your vehicle.”
He sighed and walked over to a big black SUV. I slammed him against the SUV and unarmed him completely. “Get in,” I ordered.
He got in slowly. I looked at his dashboard and cursed.
Fuck, I knew he was too fucking calm for this fucking situation.
I yanked his badge off of the dashboard and glared at him. “What do you bastards want with us now?” I spat at him, anger roaring through my veins. The FBI were the last fucking thing these clubs needed.