Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“I’m celebrating,” she says.
“Margot,” Ravage calls out, pulling our attention toward the fire. I squint and blink through the smoke. “Since you’re new to the circle, you have to go first.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Jigsaw says in a low, warning growl.
“Didn’t you harass Margot enough at dinner?” Rooster shouts.
“Come on,” Ravage whines. “It’s a rite of passage. Give us your best first-time sex story. We’re all adults here.”
“Um.” Heidi raises her hand and waves it. “The kiddos are right over there.” She points to a tent next to the blanket she’s sharing with her husband.
“They’re sleeping. Besides, that’s your problem.” Rav turns toward me again and flashes a mischievous grin. “Margot, you’re up. First time…”
“That feels like fifth date conversation, at least,” I answer. “Since this is my first date with the club, I’m going to pass.”
A few chuckles go around the circle.
“Good call, Margot.” Lilly nods and lifts the bottle in her hand.
Jigsaw hugs his arms tighter around me.
“Technically, it’s your second,” Sparky says. “Teller’s wedding would’ve been your first.”
Teller groans and rolls his eyes. “Don’t bring my wedding into this degenerate wank bank collection festival.”
“Doesn’t count anyway,” Stash argues. “We had other clubs and civilians there. She’s right.”
“Teller.” Rav’s dopey grin swivels toward his brother. “I don’t think you’ve ever shared your story.”
“And I’m not going to, either.”
“Fine. I’ll go,” Ravage says.
Before he gets a word out, he’s cut off by boos and heckles.
“No one wants to hear whatever vintage Penthouse Forum story you’re going to regurgitate,” Z says, waving a hand toward Ravage.
Ravage’s eyes widen with innocence, and he cocks his head. “What’s Penthouse, Grandpa?”
“Ask your mom,” Hustler says, then snickers into his hands.
“Emily?” Rav draws out her name until it sounds like a dirty invitation. “You’re newer to our circle as well. Time to give it up.” He wiggles his fingers at her in a hand it over gesture.
“Um, pass.” The woman with the shoulder-length red hair sits up. “Pass is an option, right?”
“Yes,” Dex says. “Move on, Rav.”
“All right, all right.” Ravage rubs his hands together and focuses on me again. “We’ll save first time stories for another bonfire. How about scary stories?”
“That sure beats weirdest way you’ve ever injured your balls stories,” Dex groans.
Behind me, Jigsaw erupts in laughter, his body shaking against my back. “Those were classic. But let’s not subject the ladies to it, please.”
I turn my head and squint at him. “I’m scared to ask.”
“Murphy has the best one.” Jigsaw laughs even harder.
“Stories shared on the road,” Murphy shouts from across the way, pointing a finger at us, “stay on the road. You know this, brother.”
“I didn’t share anything,” Jigsaw protests between fits of laughter. “I’m just saying, yours is by far the best.”
Wrath, the big biker who usually looks so intimidating every time I’ve met him, snorts and breaks into an almost child-like fit of laughter. “It really is.”
“Fuck you.” Murphy holds up his middle finger and wags it in Wrath’s direction, then Jigsaw’s. “And you too.”
“I’m just saying.” Jigsaw’s slow tone fails at hitting the serious note I think he intended. “It’s a miracle you were able to go on and father another kid after that. Respect, brother.”
“That didn’t sound very respectful.” I turn and give him a scolding headshake. The corner of his mouth twitches into an irresistible grin and he leans in to press a quick kiss to my lips.
“Thank you, Margot!” Murphy yells from across the circle.
“Can we not rehash this tonight?” Rock’s grave tone cuts through the laughter, carrying the weight to make it sound more like an order than a request. His irritated glance at Rav seals it.
“Fine.” Ravage’s lips scrunch into a pout that lasts all of two seconds. “Okay, okay. We’ll stick with scary stories.” He snaps his fingers. “Who has a true tale of personal terror?”
“You realize some of us have been stuffed into literal boxes by their stalker, right?” Shelby says.
Her calm delivery freezes the conversation. My throat tightens, choking off my gasp of surprise. Poor Shelby. She’s been nothing but sweet and kind to me. I had no idea she’d endured something so horrific.
Everyone sits in sudden silence. Even Rav winces, his perpetual jovial smirk gone.
Jigsaw leans into me, pressing his lips to my ear and says, “That stalker is very, very dead.”
A thrill of satisfaction shoots through me. “Good,” I whisper back.
“Rav,” Charlotte says, with an impressive amount of patience—almost as if she’s used to explaining things to him slowly, “can we not use our loved ones’ trauma as entertainment, please?”
A couple of the other women murmur their agreement.
Next to us, Shelby rises, quickly slapping loose pine needles and a few dry leaves off her jeans. Rooster plants one hand on the ground, pushing himself to his feet at her side. He protectively curls his arm around her waist, leaving his hand resting on her hip.