Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I should be in a good mood. I should be fucking jovial as hell, locked inside with a bunch of sexy as fuck bikers, an endless supply of food, booze, and weed. What more could a girl like me ask for?
Her best friend, for one. Shit is so fucked up right now with Maven in jail that I can’t even enjoy my dream situation. But it’s not just Maven. I haven’t heard from my friend Sandee in weeks. Something is definitely wrong there. She’s a stripper, sure, but Sandee is not a flake. She keeps in touch with people who worry about her. People like me.
I pause in my limp-wristed dart-throwing and pull out my phone to try Sandee’s number again. Maybe she’s been on a bender with some rich prick, who’s promising her the world. I doubt it but hoping for it is better than the ideas drunkenly stumbling through my mind with every passing minute.
“We’re sorry. The voicemail box you have reached is full.”
I growl and squeeze the phone with all my might, but of course, it does nothing. “Of course, it’s fucking full.” She’s been gone for weeks, and I’ve left at least twenty messages myself.
In desperate need of another shot, I shove the phone in my back pocket and make my way back to the bar. “Hey, Stella, you think I can have that bottle of Cuervo?” I lay two twenty-dollar bills on the bar. I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of the MC’s generosity.
Instead of the Cuervo, she hands me a bottle of silver Patron with one hand and shoved the bills back at me with the other. “Looks like you need something better than that cheap-ass Cuervo, sugar.”
“Thanks, Stella.” I shove one of the twenty dollar bills back at her for a tip. The guys make sure the girls are taken care of, but every little bit helps.
“Feel better, hon, she says kindly.”
Feel better. I would love to feel better, and I will as soon as Maven is out of jail. As soon as Sandee shows up at For Goodness Cakes with a new tan and a bright smile, regaling me with tales of her lost month with a tech billionaire who likes to lick her toes or some other weird shit.
When the world is right again, I will feel better.
For now, I do shots and shoot darts and try like hell not to cry. This is no place for tears, not when the men are in trouble every time they set foot off the compound. Not when there are women here who have been put through physical hell by the Iron Kings.
There’s a new baby around, and she’ll need her mom and dad to get her through this fucked up world. What right do I have to cry and fall apart now?
I swallow down my tears and shoot darts with more speed and intensity than I’ve ever done anything before—including shooting darts.
A low whistle sounds behind me, and I ignore it, assuming it’s something else going on that doesn’t involve me. “Who’s heart are you imagining sending those darts through?”
A small smile forms on my lips at the sound of Joaquin’s voice. It’s deep and he has a slight gangster accent that tells a girl he’s much more than a pretty face. I go to the board and remove the darts before I turn to him with the flirty smile he expects. “Do I have to choose just one?”
He laughs and slips the darts from my hand in a move far too smooth for a gangbanger, and I like it, dammit. “Up for a game?”
I shrug. “Sure.” Things are so fucking fucked up right now that I can’t even enjoy being up close and personal with a hot biker giving off big dick energy. I don’t dwell on it. I enjoy being with Joaquin now because he’s fun and makes me feel better.
We play a few rounds without exchanging any words. We’re neck and neck on the score, and my shoulders start to relax. Maybe it’s Joaquin, or maybe it’s Señor Patron.
“Willow, what’s wrong?”
I turn to Joaquin, half-tempted to tell him, but in the end, I just shrug. “Nothing.”
He laughs. “I know what that kind of nothing means. It means it’s something, but you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yet, here you are, asking anyway.”
He gets all up in my space, his masculine scent as potent as the tequila coursing through my veins. “Maybe I don’t like to see a pretty girl with sadness in her eyes.”
“Does that line work for you, ever?”
He shrugs. “Only matters if it’s working for you.”
His words make me laugh, and I shake my head, turning away to yank the darts from the board. “It’s working. A little.”
Joaquin’s smile is wide and bright, so white his skin looks even darker than its usual sun-kissed tone. “I’ll take it. Let’s do a shootout. Three darts each, high cumulative score wins.”