Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
But, no.
Had it been angry and rough?
Yes.
But she'd wanted it, I was sure.
She might not have wanted to want it, but that was something else entirely, and nothing at all to do with me or any sort of wrongdoing.
"How'd you know we helped each other?" I asked, looking over at Dezi. I didn't remember volunteering that information. I damn sure didn't mention grabbing her hand or pulling her off the fence or even covering her with my body. Not to my men, anyway. I didn't want them getting the wrong idea. Or maybe that was just my guilty conscience talking.
"Know a lady in the police department," he offered up. "I find that with a little... persuasion," he said, wiping a thumb across the edge of his lower lip, "she will tell me just about anything I want to know."
"Didn't you go home with those three chicks last night?" Cary asked.
"What's the matter, Zaddy? Don't have the stamina you used to?" he teased. "Besides, my cock might get tired, but my mouth never does," he said with a smirk.
"Yeah, no shit," I said, making him let out a chuckle. "Alright, I am going to hit the show—"
"Yo, you," Dezi called, jumping upward, leaning against the ropes of the ring, pointing to a guy who was just coming in. "I want a re-match," he said, ducking under the ropes.
"I broke your finger last time," the guy who outweighed Dezi by at least sixty pounds of pure muscle reminded him.
"Yeah, but not one of the important ones," Dezi declared, bouncing on his feet, excited at the prospect of a fight. "I really only need the middle two and the thumb," he added, making a suggestive motion where he moved the middle two up and down while wiggling his thumb side to side. "What's the matter? You scared?"
"That I might hurt my hand on that thick fucking skull of yours?" the guy asked, dropping his gym bag, and slipping under the ropes. "You asked for it," he said, already circling Dezi.
It was no contest.
Dezi was no boxer.
A street fighter, yes.
If this was a back alley somewhere, I would put my money on Dezi.
But in a ring, he got smoked.
"Dezi, goddamnit," Janie called. "Mouthguard. You need a fucking mouthguard to fight in this gym."
"Worried about my pretty smile?" Dezi asked, shooting her a bloody smile.
"The guy has a death wish," Cary said eight minutes later while Dezi took yet another blow that landed him flat on his back.
"Stay the fuck down," his opponent said, a little winded, a little bruised in the face, but the clearly more methodical and trained fighter.
"Alright," Cary said, slipping under the ropes, and moving forward as Dezi got shakily back on his feet. "You're done," he said, shoving Dezi back hard enough to knock him against the ropes, where Dezi stayed, rubbing his chest.
"Ow," he said, smirking. "Alright, Zaddy, maybe you do have the right idea with all the picking up and putting down of heavy things," he relented.
"You done being an idiot?" I asked as he moved out of the ring.
"For the next five minutes or so, give or take," Dezi said, seemingly oblivious to the blood dripping from his split lip as he shot me a smile.
"I'll shower back at the clubhouse. You're less likely to get into trouble there," I added, giving Cary a nod as he joined us.
It was a couple hours after that when I walked out of the kitchen to find Dezi lying across the bar, passed the fuck out. Boots still on. Cell phone resting on the center of his chest.
"If you wake him, we have to deal with him," Seth said, shooting me a smile.
"Yeah, didn't you hear that old adage about never waking a sleeping baby?" Cary asked, dropping down on the couch with a giant salad he must have had delivered.
"Hey, Fallon," Slash said, coming in from the prospect room. "My guys are rolling through town now."
And, sure enough, we could all hear the bikes.
There was a pause at the gates as they talked to the guard stationed there, then they pulled into the lot, and their engines cut.
Then there was Sway and Crow.
"The fuck happened to you?" Slash asked, looking at the tall, dirty-blonde, tatted one with a bloody eye and swollen lip.
"How was I supposed to know she was married?" he asked, making it clear that he was Sway, the one who supposedly liked pussy more than the rest of us combined.
"The ring on her finger, maybe," the other guy, Crow, suggested.
Crow was about the same height as Sway, but a little thinner. He had long black hair and golden skin that spoke of possible Native American roots, black eyes, black and gray ink up his arms and across his throat, two dimple piercings, and a septum piercing as well.