Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
He underhanded the unopened bottle of three-hundred-dollar scotch as though tossing Jack a rag to clean the bar. Jack’s heart leaped into his throat as he lunged to catch the bottle.
The asshole laughed. “Passed that test. Nice catch.”
“Fucker,” Jack muttered as he walked toward Curly’s office with Jinx’s laughter following him the whole way.
As he lifted his fist to knock on the closed door, voices drifted out to him.
“I don’t know,” Spec said. “Seems like a bit of a moody fucker to me.”
Someone laughed. “Like you’re not?”
Tracker.
“Well, sure, but I didn’t have to prospect. I’m special.”
“What do you think, Prez?” Tracker asked.
“I think he’s damaged,” Curly said.
Well, he hit that nail directly on the head.
“Like all of us,” Tracker added.
Jack could practically see their president nodding through the closed door.
“That’s the fucking truth,” Spec muttered. “Well, I’ll say one thing… he’s a damn good prospect. Doesn’t complain about shit, is trustworthy, and seems loyal so far. We’ve slowly been giving him bigger jobs and letting him in on more club business. He’s competent and keeps his mouth shut, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, I think he just needs time. He’ll come around,” Tracker added.
“He’s just so fucking frosty.”
Laughter over Jack’s shoulder had him jumping so hard he almost lost his grip on the bottle.
“You little sneak.” Jinx stood there, chuckling. “But I gotta say, I think we found your road name.”
Oh, shit.
Jinx pounded on the door.
Double shit.
It opened to reveal Spec. “What’s up?” he asked, gaze firmly on Jack.
“Got the prez’s scotch.”
“And I got the prospect’s road name!” Jinx announced, which for him was a huge bellow.
“Hell yes!” Tracker called from the office. “Come on in. Let’s have it.”
Jinx shoved him through the door as Spec moved aside.
“Gentlemen,” Jinx said. He slung a heavy arm around Jack’s shoulders. He wasn’t exactly a small guy, but compared to Jinx, the fucking Hulk was tiny. “Meet Frost. Jack Frost to be exact.”
He said it.
Tracker, Spec, and Jinx all busted out laughing as though they’d never heard a damn joke before.
Even Curly chuckled.
“Holy shit, that is the best shit I’ve heard in a long time. And it’s so close to Christmas. It’s perfect!” Tracker slapped a hand on his knee and continued laughing.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jack muttered. “Take the damn booze.” He shoved it in Spec’s arms and turned to leave.
“Stay frosty, Frost,” Jinx said to his retreating back, which had the whole group of idiots cracking up all over again.
He shook his head as he pulled the door shut behind him with more force than necessary. Laughter still assaulted his ears while he walked away. Once alone, near the bar, Jack stopped and allowed a small smile to curl his lips.
Frost.
What a stupid fucking road name.
Yet he couldn’t deny he’d earned the nickname with his icy demeanor.
Nor could he deny how good it felt to be part of a group again.
To be accepted, teased, and even liked.
But like he’d learned the hard way, no matter how loudly people claimed to like him, they could still stab him in the back.
CHAPTER TWO
FLORIDA IN DECEMBER was weird.
There was something unnatural about a cardboard cutout of a shirtless Santa holding a surfboard. Yet Rachel had seen four in the few hours since the plane landed at Tampa International Airport. Her Minnesota heart couldn’t take it.
“Surfing Santa,” she mumbled. “Ridiculous.”
So was the fact that she was sweating her ass off in her jeans and wooly sweater. She yanked the offending garment over her head and stuffed it in her oversized purse. The one where she had the documents provided by the adoption agency, proving her parentage and that of Travis, or Curly.
After a short journey, a black Toyota Corolla with an Uber sticker in the window pulled up in front of her motel. Rachel had made sure her driver was a woman before choosing the car. Things like that had become second nature after a decade of being wary, if not downright phobic of certain men. The plane ride had been anxiety-producing enough, causing her to down a pill to keep from falling apart.
And now she was about to walk into an outlaw MC’s clubhouse. Maybe it would have been smarter to show up in the middle of the afternoon when the place was more likely to be quiet, but she’d opted for a Saturday night visit instead. She’d assumed there’d be a party of some sort, based on many hours of watching television MC shows, and hoped that would give her some anonymity to observe the club members. If they seemed terrifying, she could leave without ever introducing herself to her long-lost brother.
All she had to do was make it through the night without having a panic attack or humiliating herself.
No big deal.
She climbed into the car. “Good evening.”
“Hi,” her driver said with a sunny smile. “Looks like you’re heading to…oh. Uh…” She cleared her throat. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”