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)
Shaking her head slightly, a scowl crosses her face. “Georgina Thomas. She was a snake. She came here once, demanding to know why I was against an autopsy. She sat outside of this house for two days until I had to have her physically removed.”
Now that is interesting.
Trying not to act too eager at this news, I nod in understanding.
“You never wanted to get your family autopsied, that is your decision.”
I say it in a casual, understanding way.
“An autopsy was done,” she explains, “I just never wanted the results. Why would I? I knew what happened that day. Everyone knows what happened that day.”
Anticipation bursts in my chest.
So there is an autopsy out there somewhere.
Now that is something I’d love to get my hands on.
“I understand that. I won’t hold you up much longer, I know you probably just want to be left alone.”
“Go and see Jordan at the police station, he’s probably the only officer who will listen to you. He has been my lifeline.”
Oh, I’ve already seen Jordan.
He’s the biggest snake I’ve met. I don’t tell her that.
“Thank you so much, I will go and see him right away. I appreciate your help.”
Finishing up, I leave the house with a new-found determination in my chest.
It’s time to put this investigation into full speed.
It’s time to uncover the truth.
6
Watching as a cross dangles down freely, the chain wrapped around Western’s neck, the silver pendant hovering above his glass as he looks down at it. I haven’t seen the cross before, but tonight he’s not wearing his jacket, so I guess it has always been hidden in his shirt. No, tonight he is wearing a long-sleeved, button down, black shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and the top three buttons are undone, showing just a glimpse of his chest and the tattoos on his skin.
He looks gorgeous, the kind of breathtaking that makes it hard to look away.
Tonight, he doesn’t look like a biker, but instead a rugged man who is just enjoying a drink after work.
Serving him another shot of whiskey when he finishes his, I can’t help but notice that he has a phone beside him tonight, it’s screen facing down onto the bar, almost like the very sight of it agitates him. I press my hip against the counter and glance down at him, daring to keep pushing my luck by talking to him. I need to get closer, and fast, before I lose my mojo. Pete isn’t going to give me much more time to get information for him, I have to really push the boundaries now.
“You’re President of that local club, right?”
He looks up at me, his eyes the same empty, soulless orbs they always are.
“Why are you talkin’ to me?”
That has to be, quite possibly, the quickest he has spoken to me. And in full sentences, I’m honored.
“Why not?” I smile.
“Certain you know who I am,” he mutters.
It’s not a question.
“And?”
He doesn’t say anything else, he just looks back down.
“I don’t judge people because of the decisions they made in their lives, I like to give them the benefit of the doubt first. Besides, I don’t believe everything I read or hear. I do, however, want to see this club you run. When I was a girl, I loved seeing all the bikes zoom past as they would go on those big rides. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before but, oh, would I love to feel that wind in my face.”
Nothing.
Not letting his silence get the better of me, I simply get back to work. I continue chatting to him every single time I hand him a drink, and occasionally, he looks at me almost like he’s confused at my determination. Flashing a smile, I just continue on with my night.
What started as a great night, quickly turns south when a group of men come in and they’re already well on their way to being drunk. At first, they’re quiet, but eventually they start hollering and yelling, waving their cash around, whistling at the girls on stage and drinking way too much. The final time I serve them a round, one of them takes a handful of my ass, jerking me toward him, and I lose the entire contents of liquor all over the floor as I stumble backward onto his lap.
“Hey,” I shout, when he pulls me onto his lap, fingers digging into my thighs as he holds me down. “Let me go.”
“You’re a sweet thing. You shouldn’t be serving drinks, you should be on that stage showing me this fucking round ass.”
Angry, I use my elbow and shove it backward into his ribs. Releasing me with a bellow, I take the chance to launch off his lap and, just as I do, I see Mick approaching. He’s looking more than a little angry, and I know he’ll have these guys out of this club in a matter of seconds. It’s not Mick that I find my focus settling on, though, it’s Western. He is standing instead of sitting, and his entire body is facing my general direction, almost as if he was just about to come over.