Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
"You, ah, you look the same as always," she said, voice still guarded as she reluctantly swiveled on the table, sliding her feet to rest on the other bench, making her face me. "You never could turn down a fight," she added, going for levity, even offering me a smile. But it didn't meet her eyes.
"Heard a rumor you were back in town." Again, there was the accusation in my voice. She heard it too. Her shoulder slumped forward, pulling together a bit, making her smaller.
"I, ah, yeah. I just got back two days ago. My parents didn't tell anyone."
"And you forgot everyone's numbers."
"No. Ah, I just... I wanted a couple days to, you know, decompress. Things have been... it doesn't matter. How have you been?" she asked, giving me that phony smile again. It wobbled a bit this time.
That was a knife to the gut, but I deserved it. I would probably keep deserving it.
"Getting into fights. Running guns. The usual."
"Yeah. You got your patch. That's great. I know how much you always wanted this."
"It's where I always belonged."
"Niro, are you... are you alright?" she asked, brows knitting, worry marking her voice.
Was I alright?
Fuck, I didn't even know.
I was just how I was. I didn't stop to take time to analyze it anymore.
"Status quo," I said, shrugging, itching for the drink I'd left inside, needing the burn, anything other than the bitter taste of my words on my tongue.
"Oh, right. Well, that's good, right? Status quo. I've been meaning to get in touch," she said, gaze darting away. Was that shame? Insincerity? I didn't know. And I really wanted it not to matter.
"You've always known where to find me," I said, shrugging, not giving her what she was looking for, not accepting the blame for the falling out as well. Even if a large part of it had been my orchestrating.
And because a part of me didn't want to see the impact of my words, I turned, I made my way back toward the clubhouse, but turned to go around the side of it instead of inside.
I knew what I would find inside.
Hope standing there with those knowing eyes, with the prying questions.
I was better off heading out front, helping Brooks with his guards shift since there was no way I could enjoy the party now. Brooks was one of the only newer generation members who wasn't legacy in any way, just a guy with a rough past and an urge to prove himself. He was tall and fit with dark skin and a bald head. Lately, he'd been working on growing his beard in, taking a ribbing from the rest of the guys because it refused to grow in fully like he wanted it to.
"Niro, wait," Andi's voice called. She'd always been unexpectedly quick and quiet, always able to sneak up on you when she wanted to.
Before I even knew she was following, her hand was closing around my arm, trying to pull me to a stop in the middle of the front lawn.
"Who the fuck-—?" Brooks said, voice a low hiss, drawing my attention over toward the gates where a crew of leather biker cut-wearing men and one solitary woman stood, looking like they were seeking entrance to a bar or club.
"Go inside and get Fallon," I demanded, barely glancing at Andi.
"What's the matt—" she started.
"Go inside and get Fallon. Now," I snapped, yanking my arm out of hers and moving forward, already reaching for my gun.
"Hey, look. It's our favorite cage fighter!" the woman, their leader, their president, said, giving me a saucy smile.
"Danny, you know you're not fucking welcome here," Fallon's voice said from behind me, making long-legged progress toward us.
"What? We heard there was a biker party in town. We're bikers. We like to party," she said, giving Fallon a smirk.
Fallon ignored that, looking over at Brooks. "You know what I need you to do," he said. And Brooks did, so he rushed off.
He was going inside to gather the patched members, get them to put the calls out to the OG members, getting the rest of the partygoers into the basement where he could lock them up in case this went bad fast.
See, Fallon—and the younger members of this club—were inheriting a brand-new mess in Navesink Bank.
They went by the name of the East Coast Vultures MC.
They were lead by a woman around our age, someone who had orchestrated a plan that had her stealing half of our business and suppliers away from us before we even knew they were in town, that they even existed at all.
And the problem was, we had no fucking idea what to expect from them, who they even were. Aside from bikers.
They had no online presence. None of the members even had social media. And everyone but Danny went by road names. We had the best of the best on the job, but no one could get a roster of names for the patched members, their rap sheets, anything at all.