Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
I’m also not a guy who blindly trusts, though everything I know and all I’ve seen means I’ve got nothing but respect for Deke; I wouldn’t have taken a patch for his club otherwise. And for him, for the club, I’ll do what it takes to not only keep this girl safe, but also make sure I dig to find out whose side she’s really on. Even if it’d be a pain in my ass, which instinct was now telling me it was gonna be.
“Copy that,” was my response. Because Deke had enough to worry about. He didn’t need me bitching about not wanting the bunny in my room.
“Now, can you get her settled until we roll out? There are a bunch of steady girlfriends here and we don’t need a bunch of attitude flyin’ as we’re trying to get out the door.”
“Absolutely.” I butted my joint against the brick wall, planning to save the rest for later.
“Sure, I’ll take that since you’re offerin’,” he teased.
I passed him the joint with a smirk. “Thanks, Prez. That’d be doing me a solid.”
Deke clapped my back while tucking it into the pocket of his cut with a chuckle, before heading back inside to a full house rife with the white noise of people getting ready to roll.
Some of the brothers were lacing up their boots or sorting out their gear while women congregated in the kitchen, waiting for their turn at the coffee machine. Others were coming into the large front lounge with backpacks, saddlebags, and helmets. Gianna Jones sat at the end of the long bar by herself while Bront wiped down the bar top.
“You,” I called out.
The bunny turned to face me.
“That brown junker out there yours?”
She straightened up, then nodded.
“You got a bag of clothes n’ shit or did you come without any gear?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “I threw stuff together.”
“Gimme your keys. I’ll grab your shit then move the car out back where it’ll be hidden.”
“Stuff’s in the back seat,” she muttered, passing me a set of keys.
I passed her my key. “Fifth door on the right. Go now. Wait there for me, don’t touch anything, and unlock it so I don’t gotta knock.”
She stared at her feet as she hurried down the hallway, but every set of eyes in the place was on her ass, female eyes included. And what an ass it was. Fuckin’ mesmerizing.
At the mouth of the hallway stood Spence’s new piece Pippa with Ella, who belongs to Deacon. Ella looked like she was about to say something, maybe offer a greeting; I wasn’t picking up on attitude from her and hadn’t gotten the impression she was one to be a bitch just for the sake of it. But Gianna didn’t make eye contact, so Ella’s mouth just opened and then closed again as her eyes bounced to Pippa.
Pippa looked upset, eyes bouncing from the bunny to me and then landing on Spencer who was over by the door talking to Scott, a prospect I’m tight with nicknamed Scooter, who started just before I did.
***
The brown junker was a disaster both inside and out. No way should the piece of shit be on the road. After moving it to the back lot of the compound for our under-construction clubhouse, I rooted around.
Beyond her big hockey bag of clothes and shoes in the back seat as well as a leather and chainmail handbag, there was a shitload of loose clothes and shoes. When I popped the trunk, it was filled to the brim, like she lived in the thing. Blankets and pillows. More shoes and boots. A trash bag of random household shit including a pot, frying pan, and some mismatched dishes. First aid shit. A couple cans of soup and a bag of chips. When I unzipped a beat-up looking vinyl guitar gig bag, I whistled low at the sweet vintage acoustic Gibson. It was mint. I zipped it shut and left it in the trunk after checking the glove box and rooting through take-out trash and candy wrappers along with a purple tackle box filled with girl shit. I stopped counting hairbrushes after finding a fifth.
The rust bucket was almost as old as me, held together mostly by rust. More than a soft breeze and it might blow the body apart. And she’s driving on the donut. The bald donut. She has a slow leak in her front passenger tire, too and her passenger door handle was half duct taped to the fuckin’ door. I found two empty cans of Stop Leak under the passenger seat.
By the time I headed for the stairs with her handbag and hockey bag of clothes, people were filing out, mulling around the parking lot, strapping on their helmets and anchoring saddle bags, getting their asses in gear to leave.