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)
Rolling my eyes, I say, “I was talking to your friend. You can’t be the only person I know in this club.”
Studying me, the man beside him gives me a look that is a little harder than the warm welcoming one Fury gave me. He is slightly older than Fury, with hazel eyes, short, cropped hair, a jawline to die for, and a face that is both terrifying and spectacular. Boasting a clean-shaven face, it doesn’t take away from the fact that he looks equally as rough as the rest of them.
“This is Vince, but you can call him Venom. He’s our Road Captain and a jackass. You don’t want to spend too much time with him,” Fury explains.
“Venom,” I say, nodding my head. “That’s cool.”
Venom extends a hand. “Bonnie, is it?”
I nod.
“Good to meet you.”
With that, he turns and walks away.
“You bikers aren’t big on the talking, are you?” I laugh, glancing at Fury.
“Most of us.” He winks.
Well, I’ll get around them. One way or another.
They’ll be forced to love me by the time I’m done with them.
10
“Is he okay?”
Glancing at Western, who is sitting at the bar at the club, shooting back shot after shot of alcohol, I wonder what the hell has gone down. He didn’t come to the club tonight. Apparently, he hasn’t missed a night since he got out. Curious, as soon as I finished my shift, I came straight here only to find him drunk and refusing to speak to anyone. He didn’t even acknowledge me when I came in.
Fury, who I’m standing beside, gives me a side-eyed expression. “When Night is like this, you don’t go near him. He’ll drink himself stupid and go to bed. Don’t worry your pretty little head ‘bout it.”
He clearly doesn’t know me.
Not yet, anyway.
“Why is he like this, though?”
“Him and Hazel had one hell of a blow out, she stormed out, threatened to leave and take everything. If she don’t come back, and word of this gets around ...”
Frowning, I turn to him. “Is it really that important that he has a wife, just for appearances? Everybody has made their mind up about Western in this town, so what does it matter?”
“It matters because he has already lost fuckin’ everything. Nobody will hire him. Nobody will even fuckin’ speak to him on the street. Havin’ a wife, lookin’ semi-normal when he was out in town, kept the comments at bay. I’m not entirely sure you know what it’s like to live a day in his life, Bonnie. He fuckin’ suffers.”
Glancing at Western, I wonder if he’s right.
Maybe I really don’t see what it’s like.
I want to, though.
Walking away from Fury, I approach Western even though he made it very clear that I shouldn’t do that. Stopping beside him, I can smell the whiskey right away. It’s strong, and it’s clear that he has had one too many. He doesn’t turn to face me when I approach him, he just shoots another one down.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out and sliding the shot glass from his grips. “Walk with me.”
I can feel the other bikers’ eyes on me, no doubt waiting for an explosion.
I, too, am preparing myself.
“Give me,” he grinds out, “my fuckin’ glass back.”
“Bonnie,” Fury calls, but I put up a hand, stopping him.
Western doesn’t scare me, and I’m not about to take his shit.
“No,” I say, pulling it closer. “You have one of two choices here, Western. You can either walk with me, and we can get the hell away from all these eyes, or you can make a scene, and I promise you, I’m still not going to go away.”
He glares at me, his expression so hard, and yet so broken, it hurts my heart to see. There is a pain in his eyes, a pain that runs so deep, it absolutely shatters my soul. Shoving up from his stool, I’m surprised when he turns and partially stumbles his way outside. Placing the shot glass down, I turn and follow him, not wanting to push my luck by saying anything more right now.
As soon as I step outside, the cool air tickles my face, and I turn my head in the direction of Western’s little shed. He’s walking toward it, fists clenched, angry in a way I have never seen him. He’s hurting, I know it. He’s walking like his soul is about to explode and he can’t hold it in for a second longer. He’s tired, and I’m certain he’s sick of carrying the weight of the world around on his shoulders.
Risking it all, I follow him.
Reaching his shed, I walk through the open door. He didn’t lock it when he came in, and I would like to hope that’s because he doesn’t really mind me coming in after him. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Glancing around, I see him stride straight into the small kitchen area and pick up a bottle from the counter. He doesn’t take a glass this time, he just opens the bottle, brings it to his lips and drinks the amber liquid.