Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“You won’t be able to, not if you really love it. Which you will. So, what’s it gonna be, Cass?”
I hate that I like it when he calls me Cass. “Okay. You have a bet. And if I win?”
“Think about what you’d like,” he says, standing to toss our trash. “Don’t think too hard, though, since you’re gonna lose.”
I laugh and follow him out of the deli. “So cocky.”
“Just confident,” he replies, smiling as we walk back to his bike. “I’m going to be your official tour guide today. Consensually, of course.”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes, accept the helmet, and let a biker too good-looking for my peace of mind take me all over the free world on the back of his motorcycle.
I can hang on to my attitude and pretend that I don’t want to see more of the town he calls home, but what I’ve seen so far only makes me want to see more.
The place isn’t polished or pretty, but it’s got a solid, no-nonsense vibe. Parts of it are a bit rough around the edges, but it doesn’t feel dangerous. That’s a relief, especially since I’m on the back of a motorcycle, out in the open for any troublemaker to target.
My eyes roam over the local bars, small boutiques, and nightclubs that look like they’ve hosted their share of stories. This town isn’t about being charming or quaint—it’s real, lived-in.
Soon, the residential part fades into an industrial zone. Diesel rolls the bike into a parking lot surrounded by a bunch of buildings, all looking pretty much the same, and kills the engine.
I take a look at my surroundings because I’m a smart girl who knows how to stay safe even when I’m doing questionable things, like letting a handsome biker take me wherever he pleases. The building in front of us looks like a repair shop, and my eyes land on the sign above: Ace Motors.
“Over there is Angel Harbor Choppers, which is sales and service of these beautiful machines.”
“You work here and at Morgan International? So you have two jobs?”
He laughs. “Technically, more than that. Everything you see behind this fence belongs to the Reckless Souls MC, which means I do whatever is necessary. Mostly, I fix anything with an engine.”
“So you’re in a biker gang that also owns a Harley dealer and a repair shop?” My confusion is obvious.
“Not a gang, a motorcycle club. And yes, we own Morgan International, Angel Harbor Choppers, as well as Ace Motors and a dozen or so other businesses in town.” His lips curl into a knowing smile.
“So this is like your headquarters or what?”
“Something like that. Right there is our clubhouse.” He points to a different building, and I stop, meeting his gaze.
“This is your biker clubhouse?” He nods, his dark brows dipping into a deep vee. “What kind of club is this, exactly?”
“It’s where we meet, hang out. Why? What do you think it is?”
I shake my head. “How in the hell should I know? That’s why I’m asking!” A sinking sensation goes through me that this is some kind of sex club or worse. What could be worse, I’m not sure. All I know is that I’m feeling uneasy.
“Come on, Cassidy. We’re not going to sell you into slavery or tie you up…unless you ask, of course.” His lips curl up at the corners into a too-sexy grin. “It’s like a bar inside, only cheaper.” He grabs my hand, tugging me through a metal door where the sound of music and laughter hits me immediately.
There are people everywhere and it really would look like any dive bar in the country if every dive bar was populated by bikers.
Surprisingly, quite a few women are lounging around at tables, behind the bar, and even in front of a dart board. Some are even holding small children. Men are playing at the pool tables, a few sitting around a table playing cards, and all of them are drinking and laughing. Bonding. “Are all of these people part of your MC?”
“The men, yes. The women you see are either club whores, or old ladies.”
I frown. “Old ladies? I bet they like to be called that. Kinda rude, isn’t it?”
“Not rude at all. They’re girlfriends, wives, and significant others of my brothers.”
Okay, that makes sense. “And club whores? Is that what I think it means?”
Diesel hesitates before answering. “Pretty much. They’re loyal to the club, and they do whatever is needed.”
“Eww. I don’t want to know.“
“Suit yourself. Want a beer?”
I shake my head. “I’ll take a whiskey. Neat.”
With a nod, Diesel takes my hand, and we head to the bar to the right of us. “Two shots of whiskey, please, Layla.”
A blonde woman behind the bar smiles at Diesel, sparing me half a glance before she pours two healthy shots.