Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“Just make sure it’s Sia this time though, yeah?” AK prompted.
Viking rolled his eyes. “They have the same fucking hair, okay?”
“What you talking about?” Cowboy asked, mounting his Chopper.
“This fucker.” AK pointed at Vike and started laughing. “Got fucked up on bourbon at Styx’s wedding and walked up to Sia at the bar. Started whispering in her ear and stroking her hair, tried to rub his cock against her back.”
“Just trying to show her the goods,” Vike mumbled.
A wave of jealousy took hold of me as I imagined Vike touching Sia. She’d sat with me and Cowboy at most of that wedding. I hadn’t seen Vike go near her. She hadn’t stayed out long, choosing to go back to her brother’s cabin with Lilah—
“Only it wasn’t Sia, was it, Vike?”
A red blush coated Vike’s cheeks. It was the only time I’d ever seen the fucker embarrassed. He stood off his saddle, and admitted, “Look, her and Ky look real fucking identical from the back, okay?”
AK and Cowboy burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but join in too. Fuck, even Flame’s lips were twitching. “You should’ve seen Ky’s face when he turned and Vike was all up in his ass,” AK forced out through his tears of laughter.
Vike rubbed his chin. “Took a shot to the chin that night. The VP’s fists are like friggin’ boulders.” Vike crossed his arms defensively as we all kept laughing at him. When we calmed down, he looked at me and Cowboy and said, “You two like dick. You gotta be honest; Ky is one good-looking brother, yeah?”
I shook my head, ignoring the idiot, but Cowboy shrugged and agreed, “He’s very handsome, mon frère.”
“See!” Vike argued. “An easy mistake to make.” He tutted. “The gay guy gets it. Clearly the only one outta you fuckers with taste.” We all got on our bikes, ignoring him, needing to ride the fuck back to the compound. Then Vike added, more to himself than to us, “And, shit, but that brother’s hair was so soft. Smelled sweet too . . . like burnt vanilla and spun sugar.”
AK shook his head at his best friend. Then, leading the pack, he lifted his hand and signaled for us to hit the road. As we pulled out onto the back country roads, wind on my face and Cowboy at my side, all I could think of were Sia’s blue eyes and long blond hair. And her smile.
Shit. Bitch had a killer fucking smile.
Shame I’d only ever know it from afar.
*****
“You’re back,” Tank announced as we entered the club bar. Tanner was sitting next to him. I eyed them both like always. Tank wasn’t so bad. He’d managed to cover most of his Nazi ink up with Hades shit. But Tanner, the fucking White Prince of the Klan, made me feel nothing but rage. The brother might have said he’d changed his ways and weaseled his way into Styx’s good graces. But I would never trust any member of the Klan. My left hand twitched to pull out my Glock and push the fucking barrel against his skull, the one that had been shaved most of his life so every fucker knew which “people” he belonged to. And which “people,” people like me, he lived to destroy.
“You okay, brother?” Tank narrowed his eyes as I glared at one of his best friends. Unlike Tank, Tanner still wore his white-power ink. Swastikas, the number eighty-eight for “Heil Hitler,” white-pride Celtic tattoos, and anything fucking else a racist motherfucker could think of.
“Ça va,” I growled, replying in Cajun French so I wouldn’t say exactly what wanted to pour from my lips. I forced a strained smile at the two ex-skinheads. But my heart slammed in my chest and my hand shook at my side. I was a fucking time bomb around any sign of the Klan. Conditioned to feel a hate so strong it controlled me whenever they were around.
Tank and Tanner fell into step beside me as I kept my head down and walked to church. “You have a good run?” Tanner asked, trying for conversation. I kept my eyes straight fucking forward. I nodded. But didn’t say shit. I had no time for the Prince to try and make conversation with a “mix-breed,” a “mongrel,” or any of the other fucking names that had been thrown my way from his kind.
I took my seat at church. Styx and Ky took up the top seats. When the door had closed and the prospects—Lil’ Ash, Zane, and Slash—had left out the liquor, Ky started to speak.
“My sister is staying with us for the time being.” Styx sat back and let his VP talk. Ky reached into his pocket and threw a Polaroid onto the table. I stared at the picture of a single black rose lying on a bed. “Told you a while back about Garcia.”