Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 67663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Let me rephrase then: what do you want me to do?”
“Trust me,” he states simply, as if it is as easy as changing your panties in the morning. My face must have given away my skepticism because he asks, “You can’t trust me?”
“I do trust you to try to find Madyson.”
“Trust me to take care of you, too.” He meets my gaze and extends his hand, making me feel like this is building up to something more than I am prepared for. With my small hand inside his large calloused one, he squeezes gently, and there is a monumental shift in the dynamic between us.
“Okay,” I whisper back. “What do you need me to do?”
“Stay here until I get back. Hang out with Brooke. Do girlie shit. If you make some more of those cookies, I’ll be sure to choke on them again.” He winks.
I nod my head in agreement as he lets go of my hand. Reaching up, he tucks a piece of my tangled hair behind me ear. “Hang on, Morgan. I’ll find her and the two of you will get through this.”
He then starts the bike back up while I turn to walk inside. For the first time in days, I feel like everything will be all right. He will find my sister and bring her home. I feel it in my bones.
Chapter
13
Morgan
When I go into the house, I find Brooke sitting at the table, working on her homework. Feeling the need to do something, anything, I immediately head into the kitchen to bake, clean, or whatever else I can do to avoid sitting around and dwelling on my missing sister. Brooke takes notice of my presence as well as my need to fidget and gets up to join me.
“You know my dad will find her, right?”
“Sure,” I say. I might have convinced myself earlier that Ice would find Madyson, but the doubts are starting to creep in. What if my confidence in Brooke’s dad is wishful thinking?
“Seriously, Morgan. Things aren’t always what they seem. My dad is one of the good guys, believe it or not.”
“Your father’s moral stature is not my business, Brooke. I don’t know him well enough to make any assumptions as to whether he is good. The few interactions I’ve had with him haven’t been so great, but again, I’m not his friend, nor am I his lover, so why should he afford me such things as the common decency of polite conversation?”
“He really is a different man than you think. I know he hasn’t always been nice, but you aren’t ‘in there’ with him yet.”
“I don’t think I want to be ‘in there’ with him, sweetie. No offense, but your dad is an ass,” I state, raising my eyebrows at her.
“He’s out right now looking for your sister, a girl that, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t even make his radar. He’s put his entire club on the job to find Madyson and bring her home to you. Ever heard the saying, actions speak louder than words?” Brooke defends her father as fiercely as a mother lion would defend her cub. It is surprising and admirable.
“You are a wise one, Brooke Grady.” I genuinely smile at her.
“Wise enough to know my dad put you on his bitch seat. That means something has changed.”
“Huh?” I question, confused as she laughs at my reaction. “What’s a bitch seat? And how does that change anything?”
“Rather than you bang around in the kitchen, let’s go get you a hair tie, hair brush, and some serious detangling spray. Once we do something about your hair, I’ll clue you in on biker life.”
Taking me by the hand, she drags me to her bathroom, which frankly, anyone who isn’t blind would be able to tell is Brooke’s bathroom. The entire room is decorated in fuchsia pink, purple, and black. It is bright enough for me to wish I was blind. It makes me wonder if Ice is able to step in here without breaking out into some sort of hives.
Brooke sits me down on a chair in front of her vanity, and when I finally look up into the mirror, I gasp and cringe in horror. My hair is tangled and trying to stick up in every direction. It almost looks as if a couple of birds attacked my head and tried to make a nest out of it. I wonder if it would be easier to cut it all off instead of trying to detangle it.
I almost tell Brooke to forget it, that we will drive to the closest hair stylist to shave my head bald, but I look up and see her determined face. She has a bottle of hair detangling spray in one hand and a wide tooth comb in the other. Fifteen minutes later, I am absolutely positive that this young girl has had entirely too much practice fixing women’s motorcycle hair gone wrong.