Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
When I mentioned that to him, he told me that any child of his will be involved with the club, just like Western was.
Look how that ended for Western.
His life snatched from him.
He sits in prison, for a crime Colt maintains he didn’t commit.
Is that something I can live with when it comes to my own children?
I just don’t know.
I don’t know anything anymore.
I love him so much. The thought of not having him in my life is soul crushing.
How do I make such a difficult choice?
How do I break my own heart?
Do I even want to? I don’t know.
I don’t know anything right now.
Chloe x
My heart aches as I finish reading her entry.
My eyes burn.
I don’t know if I can read any more tonight.
I don’t know if I can handle much more.
I know it’ll get worse.
I just know it.
Pressing a hand to my chest, I flip over the page, but before I can read it, a flash of light dances across my window. Placing the diary down and tucking it under my pillow, I push to my feet and walk over to the window to see the light coming from the path that connects this place to the club. A moment later, Colt appears. I’m not in the mood right now.
I flop down onto the bed.
Not tonight, biker.
Not tonight.
“SERIOUSLY?” I MUTTER, staring up from my bed at the man standing in my doorway. He clearly didn’t decide to turn around and go back to the club. Instead, he came inside and is now staring down at me. “What are you doing here, Colt?”
He tips his head to the side, and it’s clear he’s had a little too much to drink. His eyes are glassy, and his face is relaxed. Gone is the usual scowl and tight jaw. I don’t get up. I remain lying in my bed, with the diary tucked beneath the covers, not willing to show him just yet. Not until I’ve finished reading it. Not until I get my answers.
Taking a step into the room, Colt kicks off his boots.
He can’t be serious.
He doesn’t honestly think he can come in here and fuck me right now?
“What are you doing?” I ask again, sitting up now.
He still doesn’t answer.
He shrugs his jacket off, his eyes never leaving mine, and he drops down to the ground, his big body coming over mine, forcing me to fall back onto the bed. His big body covers mine, and his mouth is so close I can smell the scent of beer, smoke, and him. It’s intoxicating, and as I try to squirm out from beneath him, it only makes things worse. Now, his hardened cock is pressing right between my legs.
“We’re not doing this. Not again.”
My voice is a pathetic attempt at trying to stop him.
Pathetic.
He rolls his hips, making that cock push against my clit, and it takes everything inside me not to moan. I can’t be his little toy. Not when he refuses to speak to me after. He’s drunk, and I know he’ll fuck me and then tomorrow, he’ll go back to acting like I don’t exist. I can’t accept that for myself, not now, not ever. Even if everything in my body is begging to spread my legs and let him rub me until I cum.
I won’t do it.
“Stop,” I say, my voice firm. “We’re not doing this.”
His eyes flash, but he immediately pushes off me. I respect that. More than he’ll ever know. As he moves, the blanket does too, and the diary is exposed. I react before I think, my eyes widening and my hand lashing out for it. My reaction is enough to catch his attention, and he gets it before I can. He rolls away from me, and I lunge, desperately trying to get it back.
He holds it away from me.
“Give me that. It’s mine,” I say, my voice shaky. “It’s private.”
He glances down at the letter with his name on it, and his eyes widen. “This ain’t yours.”
No.
No.
He can’t read it.
He can’t.
Pushing to his feet, he holds the diary close as he opens the letter.
“Colt. Please. Give it back.”
I’m on my feet now, but he puts a hand up and gives me a look that stops me in my tracks.
With ragged breathing, I watch his eyes scour over the letter, his face expressionless. When he’s done, he glances down at the diary, then he turns and walks out of the room. No. He can’t leave. He can’t take it. I need that diary. I want to read it. I need to know what’s in those pages. I need to know the truth.
“Colt. Stop.”
He charges out of the house, no shoes on, his jacket still lying on my bedroom floor. He walks toward the club with a determination that is terrifying. I run after him, my feet hurting as I step on rocks and sticks, but no matter what I do to try and get his attention, he doesn’t look back at me. He walks with a fierce stride until he is on his side of the fence. Then, he begins toward the fire some other bikers are sitting around.