Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “No, Mom. You kicked me out of the house, remember? So don’t come crawling back to me now that things aren’t going your way.”
“Of course! Because helping people isn’t something you do.”
I laugh and shake my head at the narrative she’s created in her mind. “I’m not his family, Mom. And neither are you. That’s why they haven’t said anything to you and why they won’t say anything to me.”
I stare at her for a long moment. For a quick second, I feel a flash of guilt at the hurt look in her eyes, but I refuse to let it sway me.
“Glad to see you’re so worried about Frankie. He’s been good to you, Gia, always nice and complimentary.”
I shrug. “So what? He’s a creep, Mom. And he's not nice to me, he tolerates me. The only time he ever dished out a compliment was so he could sell me out to some stupid biker club.”
She spits out, “He did not. You’re lying again.”
I huff. “Okay, I’m lying. What do you care anyway? I’ll be gone soon enough, and you and Frankie can have the place to yourselves.”
I’m sick of fighting with her, and I need to get the hell out of here.
I rush upstairs and get changed into my favorite pair of black jeans, a cropped white t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, and my black leather ankle booties with metal spikes on the heels.
I grab my purse and get ready to leave the room, but then I think of Mom’s mood and decide to pack an overnight bag. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ll crash somewhere else—hell, anywhere else—tonight.
“Going out to party again?”
“Nope. I’m going to the library to do my college homework. Oh, wait,” I shoot her some major side-eye and sigh. “I’ll be back whenever.”
Until Frank shows up, she’s going to be a bitch to be around, and with everything else that’s going on in my life, I refuse to take on her worry over some shifty ass pastor.
I rush out the door and down the street, not quite sure where I’m going, only that I need to get away from my mom and from this block. This neighborhood.
I walk fast, tearing up two full blocks before I stop and look around.
“Nope.” This isn’t where I want to be, not tonight. I pull out my phone and send a text to the sexy wild-haired biker who said to call if I needed anything.
Right now, I could use a healthy dose of his soothing presence.
Seven minutes later, Preacher pulls up on his shiny bike with an extra helmet. “What’s wrong?”
His question nearly breaks me, but I let out a long breath and flash a flirty smile. “Nothing. Everything.”
He nods to the duffel bag. “Going somewhere?”
I jut my chin out in defiance, daring him to judge me. “Not my house, not tonight anyway.”
His thick lips pull into a straight line, and Preacher nods. “How about I buy you a drink?”
My shoulders sag in relief. “I might like that.”
He takes my things to store in the saddlebag and gives me the helmet. “Put it on.”
“Do I have to?”
“If you’re getting on this bike, you do.”
Shit. I roll my eyes and tug the helmet down over my hair, finishing with my hands on my hips. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he deadpans. “Come on.”
He hops on first, and I jump on behind him, holding on to his tight, narrow midsection and simply enjoying the ocean breeze against my skin. I know Preacher will want to talk. He seems exactly like the kind of man who can pry all my secrets from me, whether I want him to or not.
He parks off to the side of a battered-looking roadhouse bar with an old hand-painted sign that proclaims the place is Joe’s Tavern.
Inside it’s a biker bar, like a real life biker bar with men wearing kuttes of all varieties. Some are beat up and worn, some brand new. Some of the guys are lifers, and some are just weekend warriors, but they’re all just shooting the shit, drinking ice-cold beers and hanging with their own kind.
Hell, if I’d known about this place, I might be someone’s old lady by now.
“Come on, there’s an empty booth over there.” Preacher whispers in my ear. Despite the loud conversations and louder music, I can hear him just fine.
His hand rests on my hip, guiding me to the vacant booth. My body trembles, but I shove it down for now and focus on the double shot and the tall mug of beer a cowgirl waitress sets in front of me.
“Thanks,” I tell her and attempt a smile.
“Sure thing, honey.” She sets a glass of something icy in front of Preacher and saunters off.
After I throw back the shot quickly, the icy fire burns my insides, and I settle in with the beer. “Thank you for coming to get me, Preach. I appreciate it.”