Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“Dammit,” she snaps, throwing it into the sink.
“Here.” I rummage through my purse and hand her a tube I carry with me. “Sinful red.” I wink, going to the sink and washing my hands. The walls are covered in peeling and torn photos of Hollywood starlets from the twenties.
“Thanks.” She quirks a brow, watching me in the mirror as she cleans her chin and then applies my shade.
“I’m Kitty.” She smacks her lips together then blows the mirror a kiss. Turning to me, she runs her gaze over my attire—jeans and a vintage Metallica concert shirt. I didn’t come here to get noticed. My plan is to make friends and get an in without having to whore myself out. I would never fuck a King member.
“Princess, but my friends call me Rogue.” It’s risky using my given name. If we keep tabs on their club, they no doubt do the same with ours. Though, Bear had no pictures of this woman here, Kitty or any women in fact.
“Well, Rogue.” She tosses the lipstick in my direction, and I catch it mid-air. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Following her back out to the bar my nerves shudder. More members have arrived filling the space. “So, Kitty—is that short for kitty cat?” I ask, my brow raised, once we’re seated at a table a stone throw away from the giggling triplets.
“Fuck no.” She places a finger in her mouth to fake gag. “I got the name because I always clean up at the card table.” She beams, lifting her shirt to show me a pair of aces tattooed on her rib cage. “That kitty is always mine.” Filling our glasses from a jug of beer, she takes a hearty gulp. Watching her take everyone’s money is something I’d love to see. I bet she leaves many brothers with a bruised ego. “So, what brings you to a bar like this all alone?” she asks, cutting to the chase.
I expected the question.
I give the room a once-over and offer a nonchalant shrug. “Logistics. I’m staying at the motel on the corner,” I tell her, taking a swig of my beer, letting the heavy liquid give me the courage I need to get through this.
“Passing through or staying?” she asks, playing with a strand of blue hair.
“I haven’t decided yet.” I survey the room. Leather cuts glare at me from every corner. I take them in, searching in the hopes of finding one missing their top rocker, the one I keep in my pocket, so I can make them choke on it when I find them. My heart kicks up, sounding more like a war drum, and then it stills. The atmosphere shifts, a higher authority garnering everyone’s attention. Penetrating dark eyes cut through the room, holding me hostage. I’m spellbound. The barest of throbs between my legs warms my stomach.
That’s him. He crawled from my dreams, straight from the photograph I keep of him, and is standing mere feet from me. I’ve analyzed his picture, committed every detail to memory, but it didn’t do him justice. In the flesh, he is almost celestial. What a cruel god we must have to give such beauty to the shell of a killer.
The plain dark tee he is wearing clings to his broad chest like a second skin, flaring a little over his midriff beneath his leather cut. Black jeans hug his thigh muscles and end in his mud-stained shit-kicker boots. Everything in the room fades. He’s the one in charge. Power emanates from him. He haphazardly pushes his thick, dark hair back from his forehead. A dusting of scruff defines his jawline. Thick lips scream of promise. Water floods my mouth, the ache in my lower stomach growing. I’ve never wanted to kill and fuck a man more.
I don’t know how long we stay there, staring at each other. I snap my eyes from his as Kitty scurries out of her chair with a pissed-off grunt.
“I’ll be back,” she informs me, sauntering across the room.
The tide of bikers part for her with greetings and acknowledgements. It’s rare for a woman to garnish that kind of respect from men of this stature. I did good befriending her.
Kitty stops in front of Callan, and my stomach twists. He’s not mine. He has no clue who I am. He’ll never be mine. But I feel possessive all the same. I’m a devil and he’s a King. I remind myself.
Without making it too obvious, I watch their interaction. She slaps her hand against his chest and laughs, throwing her head back and gaining an appreciative glance from a blond brother standing close by. There’s a glow in the man’s gaze as he watches her with Callan. And I get it. There’s something special about her. It reminds me of Harley’s spark. My Firefly. Pain at the thought of Harley squeezes my heart.