Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Again, she swallowed, and I swore I heard her heart racing. Was she nervous, afraid of what I just said? Or maybe, just maybe, she wanted me as much as I wanted her.
I did stand up then, walking over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. Her body was tense, her uncertainty about what was going on clear. I searched her face with my gaze, smelled the sweet, floral fragrance that came from her. I tried not to look at the bandage on her head, because all that did was piss me the fuck off, nearly sending me into another blind rage.
I lifted my hand then, slowly moved it toward the bandage, pleased she didn’t jerk away from me, that she didn’t seem afraid. Then I touched the tendrils by that white square of gauze, letting my fingers play along the silky strands, slipping my fingers down the slope of her cheek. Her hair was so damn soft, her skin softer.
She was breathing harder, little pants of warm breath moving across my fingers. And she stared at me with wide eyes, probably wondering what was going on, probably confused about what she felt.
I was pretty fucking good at being able to know what a person was thinking or feeling just by looking at them, without them telling me. And the way she stared at me as she bit her lip, the way she glanced away real quick when she noticed I saw her—yeah. That spoke volumes. Not to mention all the other signs she gave off, like the way her body reacted when I was close. She probably didn’t even realize what was happening, realize the change she felt was desire and need and want.
And I’d give all of that to her.
I’d be everything and anything she needed.
I saw all those little signs. I cataloged that shit deep inside me, knowing without a doubt Poppy would be mine. That she was mine.
And now that she knew what I was going to do to Henry, now that I knew what she wanted me to do, I was going to give her his head on a silver fucking platter.
I was going to make that asshole bleed and scream and plead. I was going to do it, because where Poppy was concerned, I’d become the very devil himself to make sure she was safe.
Chapter Twelve
Poppy
Several days later
Here I was, still at the MC, still wondering what would happen, what my next step would be.
I felt this lightness consume me, the alcohol making everything feel… euphoric.
The MC was unlike anything I’d ever seen, anything I’d ever envisioned. These men were like the ones I’d been around my whole life, but then again, they weren’t. They were hardened, more dangerous. They were criminals, hardcore, and evil, far worse than the men I’d been around while growing up. They frightened me down to my marrow... yet I couldn’t help but feel they were the first real friends I ever had.
I’d been here for the last few days, and although I’d been in my own room, I felt like I was living in a dream, like I was moving through life at a slower pace than everyone else.
I focused on the club, on what was going on around me.
The men in this MC were the kind who could bury a body and it would never be found. But here I was, drinking with them, letting myself be one of them.
Asking for their help, because I was worried and didn’t know what else to do.
And for what? Because Henry had found me? Because I wasn’t safe? Or was it also because I had feelings for Butcher? Was it also because I wanted Butcher? Because I’d fallen for him and there was no stopping my emotions? Was it smart to put myself in this situation?
I lifted up the square-cut glass and stared at the contents. Whiskey and ice. The bartender, who everyone was calling a prospect, whatever that meant, had asked if I wanted Scotch or Irish whiskey. I didn’t know the difference so let him pick for me.
I held my glass and sat at one of the tattered leather seats in the corner, away from everyone, because this situation, this scene, wasn’t something I was used to, wasn’t something I felt normal around.
Of course I’d seen plenty of degenerate shit where I lived, who and what I was around, but this? The MC? Yeah, it was something far different.
The lighting was dim back here. The only thing illuminating this part of the room was the spillage from the overhead Edison-style bulbs hanging from the rafters. This place looked like it had probably been a garage at one point, with exposed wooden beams above, a cement floor, and pegs sporadically placed on the walls, as if they’d been used to hold various tools. But it had since been converted into the bar I saw now.