Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
“They only care about the booze and dick they can get. But most of them feel no loyalty to this club. If I was in charge, things would be very different around here,” Lucky growled, tossing empty bottles into the sack. Their loud jingling was like the screams of anger Lucky wouldn’t voice with his mouth.
El leaned forward, still nursing a long-empty beer can. He’d been so shaken after his encounter with Tooth he’d needed a drink, but that one lager hadn’t been enough to console him. “Tooth makes you do this?” he asked, even though Lucky’s eyes instantly sent lightning bolts his way.
Misha spoke before Lucky could. “He doesn’t. Prospects or hangarounds would deal with it in the morning, but he’s got a compulsion.”
Lucky scowled at them. “It’s not a compulsion to not want to sit in a pile of shit! I’ll never stop being surprised that you don’t care.”
Misha spread his arms with fake concern passing over his features. “I’m sorry I can’t help. I’m disabled. And El’s arm is injured. Our hands are tied.”
There clearly was no love lost between the two men, and Lucky buzzed like a hornet, dragging the trash behind the pool table. “You have no problem running, playing ball, and jumping on Grim’s dick. You’re giving disabled people a bad name!”
Before Misha could have answered—if he’d even cared to, because he seemed as bothered by the insult as a wolf was by the angry tweeting of a canary—Lucky gave a gagging sound and picked up an elongated pouch weighed down with a bit of liquid—
Condom. A used one too.
“When did that happen out in the open? Couldn’t they just dispose of their own rubbers? People are filthy,” Lucky hollered before tossing the offending piece of latex into the trash bag.
Misha ignored the question, intent on not letting anyone else guilt him into something that wasn’t his job, and switched on his phone, browsing through a whole page of letters and symbols that told El nothing.
El considered leaning back on the sofa for a nap, but he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep with his blood at a constant simmer, so despite his dislike for cleaning, he rose to help Lucky. It wouldn’t hurt to make an ally out of the guy who slept with the big boss man here.
He settled on grabbing another trash bag to gather the sea of crap lying around.
“So… Is Trig in trouble because of me?” he asked, letting go of the I-don’t-give-a-shit facade. It hadn’t done him any good.
Lucky did a double take, as if he were surprised anyone bothered to give him a helping hand. He looked even prettier from up close, with smooth skin and a lush mouth, and standing so near him made El all the more aware of his own imperfections. How could Trig be so hung up on a punk like him if pretty boys like Lucky strutted around the club? This one might’ve been taken, but there were plenty of others, like the redhead who’d approached Trig earlier, ripe for the taking.
Yet Trig had endured El’s bad attitude, and dragged him here, as if he wasn’t ashamed of what El was or of their tumultuous past. He had the full picture of the heat burning under El’s feet, but he still locked himself up with all those bikers to fight for him. And while a part of El believed himself to be a burden, he also had Trig’s feelings to consider, so he’d wait for him and make himself useful.
Lucky shrugged. “It’s not like you’re his property. He did bring you here, but he doesn’t have to answer for the shit you do if you are not attached.”
El had spent the past five years without Trig, yet now the notion of not being attached to him caused an ache deep in his chest. His refusal to stay with the Coffin Nails had never been about the bikers themselves, regardless of how many shitty things he’d said about them. The truth was that El had been jealous, and insecure, and had somehow convinced himself that with more people around, he’d no longer be important to Trig.
In a fit of despair, he’d given him an ultimatum no sane person would accept, and left when things hadn’t gone his way. El had done that twice now, but the turmoil he’d been through in the past twelve hours had cracked the hard shell encasing his heart. It had been unfair of him to only think of his own needs when Trig clearly longed for a larger community. And if he still hadn’t given up on El after all the stunts he’d pulled, then maybe there was a place for El in his life, even with the Coffin Nails there?
Misha spoke after the silence weighed on them all for too long. “I know how it sounds. Property. But it’s just a stupid biker name for what is really commitment. And when one of the members chooses to make you his, he’ll be responsible for you, so you better think how your actions could backfire on Trig.”