Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 145729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Once in the parking area, Reaper swung his leg over his motorcycle and forced himself to stand upright, his two feet planted on solid ground. He’d been on his bike so long he wasn’t certain he had the legs for earth any longer. Placing his dome on the bike, he did a casual sweep of the parking lot. In that one moment, he took in every detail of the cars and lines of motorcycles parked there. He recognized several of the bikes. Two prospects were lounging close, keeping an eye out. He didn’t acknowledge them, but he saw every detail. He removed the small leather bag from one of the compartments hidden in his bike and made his way across the parking area toward the bar, still looking around to every parking spot.
What he didn’t see was the bartender’s old rust bucket. He paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, breathing deeply, not knowing if that made him happy or if his mind went somewhere he refused to acknowledge. She was gone. Czar had done what he’d asked and her presence was removed. That should make him happy. Well. He was never happy. He didn’t know how to be. He’d forgotten. Relief maybe – except now he had to go to the campground and make certain she was okay. Damn it. He swore under his breath and climbed the steps leading up to the bar. His gut burned like hell with every step, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the ache in his chest.
Music poured out of the building, a loud, drubbing beat. That only added to the pounding in his head. He ignored it and yanked open the door. Raised voices and laughter mixed with the clink of glasses. Funny, now that it was an established biker bar, the place was hopping almost every night.
He stepped to the side of the door and took a long look around, noting every jacket or vest with colors. Mostly small-time clubs or weekenders. A couple of legitimate road warriors. Three wannabe hardasses, drinking, looking for women and most likely a fight. Five badasses sitting in the corner wearing Demon patches. They noticed him the moment he walked in. All five were packing and they weren’t drinking, at least not enough to say they were there for a good time. He did a quick inventory of his body. He could move fast if needed. He never minded a good fight, and most likely, any minute, he’d be welcoming one. He let the Demons see his gaze linger on them before he allowed himself to scan along the bar.
He had a gun tucked in his waistband at the small of his back. Another was down in his boot along with a knife. A third gun was inside his jacket, easy access, just a cross-body pull and he was in business. The truth was, he rarely used a gun or a knife when he killed. He preferred silence, but weapons came in handy occasionally and he was proficient in the use of all of them.
He knew he was looking for the bartender. Anya. He fucking loved that name. It suited her face. Her voice. It was possible her piece-of-junk car had broken down and she had hitched a ride with someone. He didn’t see her anywhere and it pissed him off that he’d even looked. Worse, the pressure in his chest grew.
Tonight’s bartender, Preacher, looked harassed. He glanced up from the sea of customers and shot Reaper a welcoming grin, his eyes scanning for wounds. His gaze dwelt for a moment on the blood on Reaper’s shirt and then jumped back to his face. Reaper gave him a nod, indicating he was fine and Preacher nodded back. He jerked his chin toward the hall behind the bar. There was a doorway to the left of the bar, but Reaper stalked across the room and flipped up the jointed wooden slab that allowed him to walk through the opening to get behind the bar. He moved down the long hallway straight to the office.
The door to the back office was closed, signifying a meeting of some kind was taking place. If the door was closed, any waitress or non–club member stayed out. Unzipping his jacket, Reaper went right on in, hoping Savage didn’t put a bullet in him as he waltzed through the door. Savage was unpredictable at times. His brother gave a quick scan of his body, much the way Preacher had. Czar stood up to face him, doing the same. He frowned when he saw the blood. Shit, he’d forgotten his shirt was a mess. It wasn’t all his either. Savage’s gaze jumped back to his face.
“I’m fine,” he said, to stop the questions.
Code had been poring over books with Czar, which was laughable. Czar hated number crunching and only pretended to listen to Code half the time. With Czar and Code at the table were two other club members, Absinthe and Ice, Storm’s twin brother. All had their eyes on him and the blood on his shirt. Something was up to have so many gathered this late at night.