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)
My dad might have always been too overprotective, but maybe I never gave him a chance to be anything but. I always just assumed I knew how he’d react, so I kept all my interactions with guys a secret and made sure it was only a one-night or two-night thing. I thought I was keeping them safe and saving my dad and the club the trouble of having to chase them off.
But maybe I was wrong.
Maybe there actually is hope.
I grasp my dad’s big, scarred hands in mine and begin saying, “I just wanted to tell you that you were and are the best dad ever. You were always there. Always. You were never too proud to cry in front of me, pick out bras and dresses with me, or deal with things like tampons and female hormones. I always knew that I could count on you. Always. I’ve always trusted you, and now I’m asking you to trust me. I need you to hear me out, no matter how shocked you might be.” Well, here it goes. Deep breath time. “You can’t make minced meat out of them because…uh, they’re always going to be part of our family. We’re always going to have a tie to each other. Because we’re going to be parents. Together. I’m pregnant.”
CHAPTER 11
Ransom
We’re shown into the clubhouse. Granted access. That in itself is a shock, but I did say I wasn’t going to put anything past Granny, even going straight into the belly of the beast and the lair of at least two dozen burly men wearing leather and denim, some who are most likely packing heat. The rest just stand around us in a big circle, cracking their knuckles and grunting like cavemen. I know it’s an intimidation tactic, the whole—look at my muscles, I’m cracking my fist imagining it’s your neck, I wish it were your neck, you’re so outnumbered, you fucked up big time, and now you’re in our territory, the statistical probability is that it’s going to be your bones getting ground to dust on short order—routine.
The club on the inside is prettier than the gray concrete blocks and big chain-link compound would imply it is. It basically looks like a normal rec room in here, with old tiled floors, lots of leather furniture, more than one big-screen TV mounted on the wall, and rock music blasting out of speakers in the background.
It’s very over-the-top biker dramatic in here. My eyes sweep the hulking brutes surrounding us, and I can see they’re vibrating with the excitement of sensing a fresh kill about to happen. It makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t shift or let my eye twitch or give myself away. However, I do swivel my head just enough to catch a glimpse of Granny’s face, and holy Granny moly, she’s not even trying to hide her amusement.
She has a look on her face that says she’d happily eat any one of them for breakfast and maybe go back for seconds despite their brutish demeanor and hulking size, all with a side of pickles because who doesn’t love a good pickle whatever hour of the day? She’d also do so extremely politely and sweetly in her nice granny way. Suddenly, she shifts and pokes me in the side even though I’m looking right at her. She moves her face in such a way that she’s pointing using her forehead. It’s hard to explain. If you don’t know Granny, you wouldn’t know she’s pointing without pointing, but I know. All of a sudden, she shuffles closer and hisses in my ear.
“There’s the bastard who flipped me off.”
The room goes ominously silent, and I think it’s because of what Granny just said. I’m all prepared for the wolves to descend on us, and by god, I know we’ll go down swinging, but it’s soon clear why the circle of beef tenses up and goes ultra-quiet. The music is shushed and shut off, and the silent stares of the men get even more hardcore. Starier? I’d use starier, but I know that’s not a word. Perhaps challenging. I suppose their looks get even more challenging, and the undiminished glee in them is unmistakable.
The circle parts and allows just enough space for a big leather jacket, faded-jeans-wearing mountain of a beast man to enter.
I’m fully prepared to get picked up and broken in half like a pretzel, then probably dunked in some delicious dipping sauce and consumed by Hobart Timewell. What I’m not prepared for? The sight of his daughter, who steps out from behind him to stand at his side. I had no idea Ayana would be here.
Even though I’m stunned, I hold myself still. I’ve been well trained over the years in keeping a neutral expression, even if on the inside, my blood is turning into lava, boiling in my veins, and making my heart race at double the normal rate. Seeing her gives me a strange surge of courage. Not that I was lacking in bravery before, but now I’m totally resolute that I’m not leaving here until she knows the truth.