Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 38104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
I nodded. “I feel you, dude. I’d rather wax my legs with duct tape for the rest of my life than entertain the possibly of living in a place cloaked in death.”
He chuckled, again, to my shock. I didn’t expect such a straight-laced looking guy to be entertained by my word vomit.
“I’m Robert, by the way,” he introduced himself, stepping closer.
I smiled at him. Mostly because I wasn’t getting a creepy vibe, and I doubted he was about to assault or kidnap me outside an old folks’ home. That and his eyes seemed sad. He needed someone to smile at him.
“Macy,” I said. “Though they refer to me in the house of death as the world’s biggest disappointment,” I joked.
“I think I’ll stick with Macy. Want to grab a drink? Shake off the feeling of death?” he suggested lightly. Wow! He was not only entertained, but asking me out—outside a nursing home, no less. Somehow he pulled it off.
I looked at him. The promise of easy conversation and maybe even something more was implied. Thanks to the fact he was easy on the eyes and actually had a sense of humor, despite the straight-laced appearance. Maybe we’d hit it off? Go on more dates. Have decidedly polite sex where he’d make sure I was satisfied. He’d take me out of my shitty neighborhood, my nicely decorated but shabby house, to a McMansion in the suburbs. Have two point five kids and a dog. A nice life for some. Not for me.
Maybe all of that wouldn’t come from one simple date? Maybe I’d like him? But I was sure he wouldn’t like me, not after he found out who I really was.
I smiled at him. “Sorry, I’m kind of spoken for,” I said. I was, in a sense. Just by an entire motorcycle club who considered me club property and all treated me as such, albeit with respect. Not something this guy would exactly understand.
His face fell slightly but still kept his easy smile. “That ever changes, or you just need some company after an ordeal in there… I’m here every Saturday. Same time,” he told me kindly.
I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Walking to my car I tried to shake off Grandma’s insults, attempting to entertain the idea of one day saying yes to a man who lived on the right side of the law, who held the promise of something normal. I couldn’t picture it.
Arianne: Come to The Rock now, bitch. Drinks on me.
Arianne wasn’t a full-time club girl, just hung around when she felt like it. She didn’t belong to any of the guys and was happy with that arrangement. She went through some shit as a kid, shit that made her run as fast as her platforms would take her from any form of commitment. That’s why being a casual club girl appealed to her. We’d known each other since we were strippers at the same bar together and just clicked. We’ve been basically inseparable ever since. If I wasn’t at the club, or working, I was with her.
I looked down at my attire—white cut-offs, a white lace cami and a black and white floaty kimono over the top. My slouchy black ankle boots had a high heel, I’d picked them up at a vintage shop and they were my favorite pair. I never dressed down when I was visiting my grandmother, it was a silent form of rebellion. She had informed me I looked like a streetwalker today. Streetwalker chic was perfect for The Rock. It was what most people would call rough, on the outskirts of town and there was an unspoken rule that it was the Son’s bar. People from town came every now and then, mostly those who wanted in with the club, or girls wanting to take a walk on the wild side. That was fine. Most got scared away, but some stayed. But no other club was welcome, apart from those that got an invitation. Or those who wanted to start a war.
I pulled up to the bar beside the bikes I recognized, and breathed a sigh of relief when I walked through the door.
“Macey Moo!” I heard a feminine voice shout at me.
Arianne bounded over to me, two shots in her hands. She gave me one. “Knew you’d need about five of these after an hour with Satan’s Mistress,” she said knowingly.
I clinked my glass to hers and downed the bitter liquid welcoming the burn.
She knew me too well.
We linked arms and made it over to a table that was crowded with a few men from the club. I got a chorus of male hellos and some chin lifts. Scarlett gave me a look and I rolled my eyes and blew her a kiss. Despite herself, she smiled slightly. She wasn’t a complete bitch, I knew that fact. Life hadn’t exactly been easy on any of the women who found themselves connected to the club. Scarlett was no exception. She was beautiful, her blonde hair tumbled down her back, her full curves were in all the right places. And were currently on display in a leather miniskirt and white tee that barely brushed the top of her ribcage. All that, plus her makeup was there to make sure you didn’t miss her, but also to hide something else. It was her eyes, though, they betrayed the demons of her past. Demons I knew haunted her, but to which she wouldn’t admit. She liked people to think she was hard and nothing bothered her. Only someone who was trying to do the same would notice.
The men seemed keyed up, so they drank more than usual. I thought it might have been because of the drama of the past few days. Amy and the Cali boys had left yesterday, things seemed wired around the club. I didn’t mind they had decided to turn to alcohol to treat whatever had them so tightly wound. Arianne was right. I needed alcohol to wash off the bitterness that came with my visit to my grandmother.