Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Standing, a little awkwardly, I watch as another biker approaches. He’s a tall drink of water, if I do say so myself. Blond, thick hair that’s long and hanging around his neck, a beard that is as long and perfectly sculpted as Western’s, eyes that are so green they shimmer under the garage lights and a smile so devilish, he screams trouble. He is well muscled, slightly leaner than Western, and on his jacket, the words Vice President can be seen.
“You’ve either kidnapped her or he has no idea who you are, because there is no way I’m seein’ a girl on your bike, Pres.”
A voice smooth like butter, the man stops in front of us, eyes raking over me.
“Hello, darlin’, blink if you’re in danger.”
I can’t help it, a smile breaks out over my face. I don’t even know his name, but I like him already.
“No danger here. Not yet at least,” I drawl, extending my hand. “I’m Bonnie. The only reason he brought me here is because I won’t stop talking to him, and I think he’s trying to figure out how to make me stop.”
A grin spreads across his perfect face. “Ford, but you can call me Fury. And with that sweet as sin accent, you can talk all fuckin’ day.”
He winks at me.
Yes, I like him indeed.
“Well, Pres, I’m certain you’re goin’ to have some explainin’ to do when Hazel gets wind of you rollin’ in with a girl on your bike.”
Hazel must be his wife.
I shift nervously. I don’t want to cause any trouble by being here. I hope she doesn’t think I’m making some sort of move on her husband.
Western grunts and brushes past Fury, going straight inside and leaving me alone.
“Real charmer, he is.” Fury glances back to me. “C’mon, I’ll get you a drink.”
I follow him into the open garage and glance around. The floors are black and white, shining and checkered. There are bikes lined up and pool tables scattered about, winding stairs go up to the far left, and running across the back wall is a shiny black bar, stocked with drinks and lined with people sitting on stools. There are black leather couches in a few different locations, and memorabilia hanging on the walls as well as a massive club flag.
Nothing screams biker more than this room right here.
Fury stops at the bar and turns to me. “What’s your poison?”
“Ah, vodka,” I say, my eyes still scanning all the people around.
“Night,” a booming voice calls, and I turn to see a man coming down the stairs.
I’ve seen pictures of him in a few articles, and I know right away that it’s Western’s dad, Colt. Age has done him wonders, and I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from the tall, well-built, striking man. His eyes are the same dark brown as Western’s, and his hair, though slightly darker, is long and seemingly tied back in a braid that I would just bet runs down his back. He has thick chains around his neck, only some stubble on his chin, and oh man, for an older man he is something indeed.
Western turns toward his father, and without so much as a word, takes his drink and walks over to him.
The way he called him Night ... I don’t know, it sends shivers down my spine. Not in a bad way, either, because he said it with a hint of pride hidden in his tone, and as he watches Western move closer to him, I can see a kind of love in his eyes that I honestly wouldn’t have expected coming from a biker with a reputation such as his.
The entire town knows who Colt is, and he has more than a few run-ins with the law and dealings in illegal business. Hell, there was once a shootout right in the center of town when a rival gang came in, and things got heated. Colt doesn’t take any crap, that much is apparent, judging by the faded scar under his eye and across his cheek. Not to mention the way his nose is slightly crooked, like he has been hit more than once.
Western stops in front of him, and the two of them have a conversation, and I see Western’s mouth moving in speech more than I have seen in all these weeks. His dad must be his safe place, and that kind of makes my heart feel a little soft and squishy. I watch as Colt’s eyes turn to me, and he tips his head to the side, and then before I know it, he’s striding over in my direction with Western following behind him.
When he stops in front of me, I give him my best smile.
I’m not afraid of him, hell, if anything I’m fascinated.
“I hear you’ve been wantin’ to check out my club,” Colt says, eyes scanning over my face.