Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Maybe even more excited about the prospect now that I knew dressing up was involved, I reached for my fork and started eating again. "I think I have something at home that can..."
"We'll pick you up something new," he cut me off, making my head snap up as my brows drew together.
"Why?"
"Maybe a good idea to give it another couple of days before you go home," he said, but there was a guardedness to his tone. As if sensing my need for more, he exhaled hard as he reached for his coffee. "Look, you just finished the worst part of withdrawal, but you're still detoxing. If you stop home for a change and happen across a stash somewhere, you'd still probably take it. The longer you can not go home, the better at this point. It's up to you," he went on, lounging back in his chair. "I did what I said I was going to- I got the shit out of your system. I'm not going to try to keep you here. But I'm asking you to stay anyway until you're sure you aren't going to fall into old habits."
I was free to go at anytime.
And while that was good to know, comforting, I realized I didn't want to. That was nuts. I realized how crazy that was, but it didn't change anything. Not only would going home mean trying to stay strong and not use, it also meant I would have to face the consequences for the trouble I was bound to be in by now.
Crashing with Lazarus, a practical stranger, an outlaw biker, a freaking cage fighter, ex-heroin user and alcoholic, was actually a safer bet than going back to my old life.
So, well, I was going to stay.
"Okay," I said, nodding my head.
"Okay?" he repeated, obviously needing more clarification.
"Okay, I'll stay."
SEVEN
Bethany
After we had lunch, Lazarus handed me back my street clothes from the night we 'met', all freshly laundered, and washed dishes as I changed. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the entire world, he grabbed his keys, handed me my wallet, and we walked out of the apartment building.
I realized really quickly that while Laz's apartment was small, but rather nice and updated, that could not be said for the rest of the building. The halls were literally dirty. There were dust bunnies congregating in all of the corners. The paint was chipping. The windows had grime on them. The elevator was even caution-taped off.
The downstairs was no better but was full of old furniture and a huge cloud of cigar smoke. The source of the smoke was between the lips of an elderly man of frail stature, gray hair, and deep skin. "Glad you're feelin' better, darlin'," he said, giving me a warm smile.
There was a knowing in his eyes that had me raising my brow at Lazarus as he went to open the heavy back door. "Thanks, Barney. Come on, sis, we gotta go."
With that, I followed him out, smiling up at him as we moved into the lot. "Sis?"
"Seemed like the best bet. If you started screaming and they thought you were my girl, they mighta broken the rules and called the cops."
I was led over to a car, sleek and new, sure, but nowhere near as interesting as his bike. I fought the irrational little surge of disappointment, having never ridden on a bike and maybe more than a little interested, as we climbed in and drove off.
An hour later, I had a black dress, heels, and a small supply of makeup that Lazarus had insisted on paying for because, well, I wasn't sure.
After, we stopped off out front of Famiglia where he ran in because, unbeknownst to me, he had placed a to-go order for the ravioli I wanted when I had been trying on dresses.
As he handed me the bags and reversed the car, there was a strong, unstoppable, wholly unfamiliar expanding feeling across my whole chest- uncomfortable yet somehow comforting at the same time.
Before I could really try to analyze it, find a name for it, place it at all, we were pulling into a lot and parking. But it wasn't the lot to his apartment.
Oh no.
This was The Henchmen MC compound.
It wasn't like they had signs or anything, but the long row of bikes was pretty telling. It was a low windowless building with some huge glass monstrosity on the roof and a large addition off the back.
"Um..."
"I got a room here," he supplied. "You don't have to be around anyone you don't want to." With that and nothing else, he climbed out and grabbed my bags out of the trunk.
I climbed out as well, holding the bag for Famiglia as I fell into step beside him and was led right into the belly of an outlaw biker gang clubhouse.