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)
FRIEND OR FOE
“Rogue?” The word bleeds into my brain and pops every vessel. Why the hell did this have to happen now? I’ve barely even gotten through this shit with Callan and now Kitty knows my secret too.
“I can explain.” Can I? Anxiety obscures my thoughts. The air thins between us. It’s been such a short amount of time knowing her, yet like Callan, I can’t face her hating me—us not being friends. She’s saved me from my sorrow swallowing me up and consuming me.
“Oh, can you? Because it looks like the Devil Skull Rider’s insignia.” She shakes her head, shifting her wet blonde hair around her shoulders. Blonde? She doesn’t seem to care that she’s naked. She’s smaller in height but slightly curvier around the hips than me. A couple cute tattoos decorate her abdomen, and her nipples have piercings.
“What the hell are you doing with Tim?” I deflect, flitting my gaze to his over her shoulder. He’s been standing there stoic, like a freaking statue caught in the eyes of Medusa.
“Fuck.” He winces, exhaling. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he races back into Kitty’s en suite, leaving her and I to face off.
“Were you showering?” I wrinkle my brow, crossing and uncrossing my arms. Nervous energy makes me feel restless. Keg winds himself around my ankles, his soft fur offering comfort.
“Don’t change the subject,” she seethes. Marching to where I’m standing, she bends to pick up Keg and moves away from me like I would do something terrible to him.
“Can we put clothes on to have this conversation?” I ask, pointing to her naked form. I have a bra and panties on—which is still more than I ever wanted Tim to see.
“I’m freaking the fuck out and don’t know what to do,” Kitty announces, plopping Keg down next to his food bowl.
“I’m still me, Kit.” We’re more alike than she first thought. Both raised as biker brats. I couldn’t help that my daddy was a Devil, just like she couldn’t help that hers was a King. And a killer.
“And who is that?” She rubs her hands down her face and groans.
“Your friend,” I state.
“I’m freaking out,” she repeats.
“You already said that.” My stomach twists, the alcohol I’ve consumed today sloshing around. I take a step toward her, but she holds her hand out to stop me.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head, waving her hand. Walking to the pile of dirty clothes, Kitty begins shifting through them, pulling on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I follow suit, tugging the jeans up my thighs just as Tim reappears fully clothed, his cheeks bright pink.
“So, I didn’t see anything, you didn’t see anything, and no one speaks of this again, right?” He scratches the back of his neck.
“Just fuck off, Tim,” Kitty barks.
“Fair enough.” He fiddles with the door before unlocking it and leaving through it.
“Do you want to talk about that,” I ask, jabbing a finger in the direction of Tim’s exit. Her gaze follows mine, and she whines into her hands.
“Cutter has his fucking wife here. I needed to forget him for a little while.” She’s pissed, and I hate that it’s directed at me.
“How was it?” I ask, grinding my teeth together.
“Rogue, explain the tattoo before I go find Callan.” She begins moving toward the door, and my stomach bottoms out. I want to reach for her and pull her back. How quickly she’d rat me out. I will lose her over this. The black pit that opens in my chest at the thought makes me gasp for breath. Watching me with dazed eyes, she exhales, exasperated. “Explain.”
“My daddy was a Devil.” A quick lift of my shoulders before I add, “And I was engaged to one.”
I wince when her mouth drops and she finches. “Oh my god. Why the hell did you come here?”
“I really did need to get away and adjust to a new normal for me.” I hedge, imploring her to believe our friendship is real.
“What the hell does that mean?” She crosses her arms, narrowing her suspicious gaze on me.
“My kid sister was killed.” I choke on the lump in my throat. “Murdered,” I add, hating the word. Hating everything.
She takes a step toward me, her brow creasing. “They killed her?”
“What?” I wince. “No.” Everything is getting muddled—and doing this while we’re intoxicated isn’t helping.
“Then who?”
I worry my lip, tucking my hair behind my ear. “That’s why I’m here. She was found with one of your patches on her.”
“Wait,” she holds up a hand, pausing me, “one of ours? Like, a King killed her?” Disbelief is written all over her face. She doesn’t believe it either.
“That’s what I need to find out.” It’s alienating being the only one who thinks the patch is enough to place blame here. It’s going to make me lose my damn mind.