Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Except he is.
Yes. He’s definitely rattling off numbers. I catch them, but barely. And the street name. Angel Avenue. How very…fitting? At odds, or utterly magnificent, just like him? Dark and mysterious, also just like him? Angelic, not like him? Something bubbles up inside me, something that borders on excitement. Now that I’ve asked him, and he’s told me, can I blow him off flippantly and say it was just a joke? Maybe toss my hair over my shoulder and give him a playful smile that I hope says no hard feelings? Can I straight up tell him this isn’t smart and that if he wants to keep his family jewels attached to his tree trunk of a body, he needs to rethink this whole thing?
“Okay. I’ll be there at three-thirty.” What? No! Nice, Ayana. Way to go. Sign the guy’s death certificate, why don’t you? Enjoy his pretty balls while they last.
I make a fast break, my eyes probably so wide that they look like they’re going to go all bouncy ball, fall out of my skull, and go rolling around the club. I walk fast, setting a pace that says I’m all business. Even Cass can see that, and when I reach her, she grabs my hand and doesn’t protest when I make our way through the club and out to the side exit. We’re let out into the cooler night air, and I don’t know if the sigh of relief is coming from Frankie at the door or me as he sees us go. I imagine he’s on the phone with my dad already, telling him that nope, he doesn’t need to come down, and yes, we’re fine, and it’s all good.
Before Cass can even say a word and before we even hit the main sidewalk that runs past the club, my phone goes off in the small black leather messenger bag I have slung across my chest and over my hip. I pull it out and make a sound that is halfway between a groan and a grunt when I see Dad’s number.
“Fuck, he’s on the ball,” Cass sighs. “You better answer before all hell descends on this place in the form of black-clad ogres and roaring bikes.”
“Yeah, okay.” I swipe the screen and lift the phone to my ear. “Sorry,” I say automatically. “I should have asked. It was an impulse. We wanted to go out, and I know your clubs are the safest. I wouldn’t go somewhere else. I have Cass with me, and everything’s fine. Please don’t give me a lecture right here in the middle of the street. Can I at least get to the car first?”
Dad growls into my ear. “I thought we agreed that you would let me know if you were going out.”
“I should have texted. I just…I knew that you’d know the second I went anyway.” Why did I let Cass talk me into this? Into any of it? Especially into that guy back there who my dad is going to castrate. That’s it. I’m not going. I’m standing him up. Straight up. Flat out. I’m going to save his bacon, his balls, and his very nice bottom.
“That’s alright. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“Dad, you know I’m safe. You know I can take care of myself. You taught me how. I can take down any one of the guys at the club. I can fire a gun, and I’m a better shot than you. I can also throw a knife straight into the bullseye of any target. No one is going to kidnap me or nab me or mince my meat. I know you’ve always been worried that someone who has an issue with the club is going to target one of the guy’s old ladies or me or someone connected, but I’m good. Cassadina’s here. I didn’t go out alone.”
Dad sighs again. Hard. It’s a sigh growl. He’s the master of those. I can picture him raking his hand through his long, wild hair. Over the years, it’s gotten grayer and grayer, but that wheat gold hair that I sure as hell didn’t inherit still makes him look young, and he’s also very fit. Okay, I know half the city’s female population would be into my dad. He’s dangerous. A badass. He’s the prez of a biker club, and that’s well known. He’s muscular, and he fills out his club jacket—well, anything he chooses to wear—just right. I’m not dumb. I know my dad is a DILF. Is that a thing? God, gross. I don’t want that to be a thing. Even still, he’s made the club his focus over the years, and above all, me. After my mom decided she couldn’t handle that life and bailed out on us, he made me his number one. Always. I understand that he worries, and I understand he’s acting like a typical dad, but I’m an adult now. I live on my own, and I’d like to have my own life.