Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Jesus Christ.
She truly was a damn work of art—and not the good kind.
“I’m merely warning you that you don’t have shit without me, Wendy. I may not have bothered dragging your ass to court yet, but if you keep pushing your fucking luck with me, I will. And I’ll make sure you’re broke and fucking homeless, too.”
“You can’t do that!” she screeched, slamming her hand on the table.
I arched a brow at her. “I can’t?” I asked, my voice still calm. She hated that I always seemed unaffected by shit. But I didn’t get this far and become a fucking king in this world by being hot-headed. I always had a level head on my shoulders, and I didn’t feel shit unless I wanted to feel it. I was a goddamn master at shutting shit off.
She jerked up from the table and grabbed her coffee. I stepped aside when she threw it at me, letting it crash against the wall. My fingers itched to curl around her neck, but I knew she’d go screeching to the fucking cops like the snitch she truly was.
What I ever fucking saw in her, I’d never know. I wondered about that shit multiple times a day.
“Clean that shit up,” I told her, pouring the rest of the coffee down the drain before sticking the mug in the dishwasher.
“I hate you, Johnston Trim!” she screamed at my back, stomping her foot like a petulant child.
“Feeling is a hundred percent mutual,” I assured her, not bothering to turn around. Then, I smirked and walked out of the house, pulling my bike keys from my pocket.
She screamed at the top of her lungs like a petulant child.
A knock sounded on my office door. I grunted and pulled the cigarette from between my lips. “What?” I barked. I was neck-deep in checking over the books. I trusted Geek to always have everything done right; I hadn’t ever found a mistake. But he and I both agreed that two sets of eyes were better than one. So, for years now, we had a system of him doing the books, and then I would check over them to make sure nothing was messed up anywhere.
Trigger pushed the door open. Trigger was my Sergeant at Arms. When I’d still been trying to build this club up, he’d been nothing but a prospect, a kid eager to belong to something. Barely eighteen, a high-school drop-out, determined to not be addicted to drugs like his parents.
We’d been involved in a shootout during a run, and he’d taken two shots for me—one to the stomach and one to the thigh. He’d barely fucking made it to the hospital in time to save him, but when he came out of the woods, I patched him in as my Sergeant at Arms. I trusted him with my life, and he didn’t take that trust lightly.
“Texas charter just rode in. Scorpion’s ready to see you.”
Scorpion was the president of my Texas charter. He was cold, calculated, and ruthless—the best president I could have for that charter. He’d been pulling in a fuck ton of profit for the entire club because of his connections to the Savage Crows MC—both the Texas charter and the mother charter—the Sons of Hell, Fathers of Mayhem, and the Mexican cartel.
He’d crossed me wrong by blowing up my Texas charter clubhouse a while back in retaliation for the shit they did to his old lady, the then-president’s little sister, but after looking into him, I knew he’d be a good addition to my club.
So, I made him the president. I prided myself on having only the best men in this club, so I had a “law” that if you took out the president, you took that patch. But I’d been planning on killing Scorpion. He’d sabotaged me. But he had a damn good head on his shoulders and too many connections to not take advantage of making him the prez.
One of the best decisions I’d made.
“Send him on in,” I told Trigger.
He nodded once and slipped from my office, returning a few moments later with Scorpion, but still giving me enough time to clear my desk of the books, locking them in the filing cabinet behind me. Anything to do with my club, I kept locked up tight. Fuck a filing cabinet. They were too damn easy to break into.
I stood when Scorpion stepped into the room. Trigger waited for my command. I nodded once at him, and he quietly shut the door behind him with a soft click, leaving Scorpion and me to discuss his recent run with the SCMC Texas Charter.
I clapped him on the back. “Take a seat,” I ordered while I dropped into mine behind my desk. I glanced over at him, noting the bags under his eyes. “Didn’t get much sleep?”