Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
The giant started laughing. “That little fucker ain’t our lawyer, sweetheart. Not in a million years.”
Oliver wasn’t small, but he wasn’t a large man either. At five foot ten, he was a runner with a lean build to prove it—nothing like the bulk of the enormous biker laughing at her statement.
“Give it.” Scary-as-hell-guy snatched the bundle from her. His leather vest had a patch near his heart that read Enforcer.
Enforcer?
Shit. Weren’t those the people gangs sent out to bust kneecaps if things didn’t go their way? Did that mean he’d bust her kneecaps if she did something wrong? Wasn’t the enforcer the man they sent to rough people up? What the hell had Oliver gotten her into?
“Well, I, uh, gave you the papers. I’m gonna go now.” She took a step forward, but they didn’t give any sign of moving out of her way.
“Papers?” The big guy laughed again. “You hear that shit, Spec?”
“Oh, I hear it,” Scary-as-hell-guy said. Spec. His name must be Spec.
“Don’t fucking move,” Spec ordered as she lifted her foot to take another step.
The third man remained on his bike and stayed quiet throughout this exchange.
No one spoke as Spec opened the envelope, but when he pulled out a thick wad of cash, Brenna couldn’t help but gasp. “Oh my God,” she whispered. What was Oliver paying these guys for? And so much money. Had he put a hit out on someone? Were they about to give her a buttload of drugs? Or a military-grade weapon? What else did someone pay a gang of bikers an enormous pile of cash for?
“Okay, um, there’s your money. Can I go now?”
He didn’t answer, too focused on counting the cash.
She tried walking toward her car again on unsteady legs. None of the men stopped her this time, though the two not busy counting cash watched her like hawks.
“Hold up, toots,” Spec said when she was only ten feet away. “You’re not going anywhere. Lock?”
She could ignore him. Maybe bolt to the car, lock the doors, and floor it, but an unspoken warning in Spec’s tone had her rooted to the ground.
The third guy removed his helmet and finally got off his bike.
Her breath lodged in her throat. Any other time, she’d have swooned at the sight of the attractive man. The light brown shaggy hair and unshaven stubble came straight from her fantasies, as did his muscular but not bulky frame. But today, she trembled because his eyes were cold, flat, and determined as he grabbed her arm. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said without the affection the word implied.
He spun her around and towed her back to where she’d been. Together, they stood before Spec, but only one received the man’s furious scowl.
The following words from the enforcer’s mouth had her swaying with disbelief.
“You’re fifteen thousand short.”
CHAPTER TWO
THIS WAS ANYTHING but a routine debt collection, and it had nothing to do with the panicked woman trembling in Lock’s hold.
It was all him and the fact that this was the first time since his rehab discharge a month ago that Curly had trusted him with important club business—backing up Spec. Some jackoff named Oliver owed the club a shit ton of cash and had already missed one payment date, earning him a stern talking-to from Spec. That was his freebie. Lucky bastard. Not everyone received the man’s mercy. Spec’s ol’ lady must have given him the good shit that morning, getting him in a generous damn mood.
According to Spec, Oliver had whined and sniveled, promising to deliver the money today. Now it looked like the guy had chickened out like a little bitch and sent his in-the-dark girlfriend to do his dirty work. It sucked for her, but Lock had a lot to prove to his president and club, so she’d be getting little sympathy from him, especially if it turned out she wasn’t as innocent as her quivering and rapid breathing made her seem.
Too bad she was exactly his type. He bet those melted chocolate eyes looked damn good when they weren’t full of fear. And he’d love to pull that long clip from her head to see how far her dark hair hung down her back. It looked silky as hell and would feel like heaven running through his fingers. He loved dark hair, and this woman seemed to have reddish undertones to hers, which was enough to make him hard.
Focus.
Today wasn’t the day for that shit.
“Stop fucking moving,” he said with a growl as she nearly vibrated from his hold.
“S-sorry.”
Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his fingers and, like most who lived in Florida, tanned. She wore short cutoffs and a Pearl Jam T-shirt with sparkly flip-flops and pale pink toes. Any other time, say before his sister died, leaving him an infant and a drug problem, he’d have been all over this one. He’d have jumped in and told Spec to lay off on the murderous glare. But not today. Today, no matter how hot he found her, he’d play the hardass if it got Spec and Jinx to tell Curly he’d been an asset to the club.