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)
“Hey,” Luna says, forcing me to drag my eyes away from Western to look at her. “You should get home.”
Her eyes move to Western, before pinning me with a gaze that tells me she’s not backing down until I leave.
Exhaling, I nod. “Yeah, I’m going.”
“Order an Uber, you’re not driving.”
A group of customers approach the bar and she is forced to leave, but I’m not going to upset her so I get to my feet and turn, walking through the crowd of people to reach the front door. I go outside, and the street is quite busy with people milling around. Robert, the bouncer at the door, gives me a nod as I make my way down the stairs and to the sidewalk. Feeling a little wobbly on my feet, I pull my phone out and attempt to get myself an Uber.
Moving to a quieter spot down the street a little, I see the wait is about fifteen minutes. Exhaling, I consider a cab instead. Maybe that’ll be quicker.
The rumbling of a motorcycle has my head whipping up. I see Western’s bike coming to a stop where I’m standing on the sidewalk, and my heart leaps up into my throat as I stare at him, watching in fascination as he puts a booted foot down and his eyes meet mine. “Get on.”
For a minute, I’m speechless.
Did he just tell me to get on?
The bike?
With him?
“What?” I croak, shaking my head in confusion.
“Get. On.”
This is one of those moments in life where you make a choice. I have to make one right now. Get on the bike and one of two things will happen, he’ll either take me into the middle of nowhere and murder me or he’ll take me home. Do I risk it? Do I trust my gut enough to get on his bike with him? What if I am wrong about everything and he is a killer and I’m just handing myself over to him?
“I’m not goin’ to hurt you, Bonnie. Get on.”
Jerking a little, I stare into his deep brown eyes. He said my name, and it made everything inside me feel a little funny.
It’s probably the alcohol, no, it’s definitely the alcohol, because I find myself walking toward his bike and throwing my leg over. I’m either the world’s biggest idiot, or I’m making the right choice and he’s going to start letting me in.
“Arms,” he orders gruffly and reaches back, jerking my arms around his waist.
Swallowing, my eyes widen as I realize just how big this man truly is.
He’s solid as a rock, warm, and he smells like whiskey. Should he even be riding after drinking that much? How much, exactly, did he drink?
Or does Western just do whatever he wants?
Closing my eyes, I pray that I’m making the right choice as he takes off into the night.
I’M SQUEALING WITH utter delight as Western rides down the long stretch of highway, nothing but pure darkness surrounding us, the cool night air brushing against my cheeks as my hair blows back behind me. This is, without a doubt, the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. I have never felt such freedom, such joy, such adrenalin in all my life. Throwing a hand up into the sky, I whoop with pure joy.
We ride for a little while, and as Western begins to slow down, I can’t help but feel disappointed. I would love to spend a whole lot longer on the back of this bike. It’s when I realize where we are, that I quickly forget that thought. We’re at the club. Eyes widening, I curl my fingers into his jacket that much tighter as he rides through the two large, open gates that lead into the compound.
It's huge in here.
I’ve seen it before, of course. Everyone does drive bys of the club, but I’ve never been inside the gates. It’s surrounded by eight-foot-high barbed wire fences, and there is graffiti on any surface you can find on the outside of those fences, most of which is the word murderer. The club has never bothered to clean it off. Why would they, I guess? It won’t stop what the people in town believe.
My eyes dart to the large structure in the middle. A huge concrete hall, with two rollers doors to the right and a closed in building on the left, all joined, all currently open and filled with people. Bikes are parked on the outside, scattered around, and there are two fires roaring in the yard, with large amounts of both males and females standing around, drinking. I can’t deny that I’m fascinated and a little nervous to be in the actual compound. I’ve never been this close.
All eyes are on us as Western comes to a stop just outside one of the open garages and when he turns the bike off, I nervously slide a leg over, pushing to my feet. Judging by the expressions on multiple people’s faces, this isn’t a common occurrence. I’m taking a wild guess that Western doesn’t bring people into this club. Ever.