Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I feel like locking my legs together and putting a protective hand over my junk when I knock on the door, but I maintain a normal stance. If Azalea wants to walk out and belt me again, I’m going to have to take it—and take it with a smile. And maybe be smart enough to see it coming this time and get out of the way.
The door creaks open, and one sapphire-hued eye peeks through. When she sees it’s me, there’s a huff and a groan then the door reluctantly slides open a few more inches. Since my T-shirt got soaked the night before, she’s wound herself up in the quilt, draping it over her body until she looks like a mummified sausage roll. Her eyes widen when they sweep down my length. Yup, I went full-on wolf this morning, even if looking like a sheep would have been better. I’m wearing my regular black attire—a pressed, tailored twenty-four-hundred-dollar suit and shined shoes. I look like I’m getting ready to rock a conference room, though the thought of me stepping into an office and doing fucking boss stuff there makes me want to laugh.
“Clothes,” I grunt, holding them out like a Neanderthal presenting the gift of fire to a potential mate. Hrmph, she was probably likely to kick him in the junk too. “Breakfast.” Looks like I’m only capable of one word at a time this morning.
Azalea’s nostrils flare, and her hands snake out of the quilt to snatch her freshly pressed laundry, rumpling it up as her fingers sink in. If looks could kill, I’d be incinerated on the spot. Fortunately for me, they can’t. Granny did say to prepare her for what was going down at breakfast. If she hasn’t heard the noise already, she’ll be in for a big surprise, and that’s probably not going to go any sort of distance for our cause.
“Uh, Granny made breakfast. Before you come down, I just wanted you to know that there’s going to be a table full of burly, somewhat scary-looking guys. Granny didn’t want you to be alarmed. You asked for proof, and they’re your proof.” I know I should stop there, but I can’t help myself. The thought that Azalea might lord her white picket fence—I’m a smarty pants librarian— over my brothers makes my blood boil. While she stands there giving me death stares, I launch into a low grumbly, rock-chewing sort of monologue. “Those guys at the table are my brothers. Not by DNA, but definitely by blood. They’re not your typical-looking, mild-mannered, sweet guys, but under all those muscles and protein powder, scars and gruffness, tattoos, and whatever clothing they choose to wear—and they have very unique styles—are hearts of gold. Old hearts. Hearts that have seen too much life, brutal ones sometimes. We’re a brotherhood. And while they don’t give a flying pig of a farge about who thinks what about them, if you insult them or tell them they’re bad men, I will…I will…”
“What?” Azalea’s brow arches daringly. She’s totally unaffected by my tough-guy speech. “You’ll what? Kidnap me all over again? Lock me in a room? Get me to sign some stupid marriage contract? Fuck up my life like a motherflubber? Oh, I’m sorry, I thought all of that was already done, so I can’t imagine what more you can possibly do.”
I can feel myself getting smaller. The way Azalea is looking at me feels like she can see right through me. Like I might be a real ghost. I hate that I can’t convey the level of brotherhood I feel with these guys. We all yearned for something, something bigger than ourselves, and Granny took us in no matter who we were or what we’d done, and she gave us a home and taught us a trade. She gave us a purpose. There’s only so much I can say, but even if I could tell her everything, I know I can’t make her understand how that feels for me. It makes me so frustrated that it feels like I got kicked in the balls again. But this time, it’s my pride smarting me. Okay, last night, my pride was smarting a mite too, but now it’s more than bruised.
“I’m not going to do anything,” I admit. “But Granny is another story. She’s the wild card of all wild cards, and while she’s a sweet old woman most of the time, don’t count her down and out when it comes to messing with any of us.”
“But technically, I’m one of you now. I mean, I’d be helping you do your dirty work.”
“It’s not dirty.”
“It seems pretty dirty to me.” Her lips curl back as she bares her teeth at me, and damn, it shouldn’t be attractive seeing her like a feral cat, but it is. “I’m the one who needs to do you a favor, so you should be trying to be nice, not standing here making threats you can’t follow through and promising to unleash your granny on me. Again.”