Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
The truth is that one of mine would probably hang off of her and show more skin than she is comfortable with right now. And I hate the thought of her wearing another man's shirt, but she can't go out there with a big rip like the one she has on now.
She shrugs her shoulders as if it's no big deal. She grabs each side of the shirt and knots it together. It shows a little of her skin of her waist between her shirt and pants. "There. It's all fixed," she says.
My mouth runs dry, and I nod my head. "Are you sure that you're okay?”
She nods her head. She opens her mouth to say something but then closes it quickly before turning on her heel and walking out the door. I don't let her get far. I'm right behind her. I have no doubt that the Pres has taken care of Axel, and he's no longer on the premises, but there's still a protective need inside of me that doesn't want to let her out of sight.
As soon as we get to the bar area, it seems that all eyes are on her. Most of the men look at her with either pity or a protective glare in their eyes. A few of them ask how she is, and she thanks them and waves them off. It's good to know that these men have her back.
As soon as Scout sees her, he comes up and pulls her into his arms, holding on to her. "You okay, little bit?"
She nods. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm ready to get back to work."
Scout shakes his head side to side. "Oh, no way, missy. You have the rest of the night off. You don't worry about a thing. We got this."
I sit down at the bar, not wanting to put a lot of distance between us. I gaze back and forth between her and Scout, wondering what she's going to do. She looks at Scout with a little bit of admiration and then shrugs her shoulders, not arguing with his denial of letting her work.
She walks over to the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of beer and twists off the top. She then walks toward me and puts the beer down in front of me. "Thank you. I didn't say it earlier, but thank you for what you did for me."
I grab her hand and hold on to her. She wants to escape. It’s clear that’s her intention by the worried look on her face. "You don't have to thank me. Why don't you stay for a while?"
She’s holding her back and shoulders ramrod straight. She looks over at the cherries, half naked, dancing across the room. She taps her hand on the table. "No, I should probably go."
I cover her hand with my own. "Sit down with me. I don't like to drink alone."
She looks around the full room with a small smile. "I really wouldn't call this alone."
I give her a pleading look, and she finally sits down, turning in her seat toward me. "What can I get you to drink?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "Nothing."
I tap her hand softly. "Let me get you something to drink."
"No, you just saved me. You're not supposed to be the one buying me a drink."
My thoughts go to earlier, and I frown. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get that image of Axle holding on to her out of my head.
She tries to laugh it off. "I'll take a water. I don't want to drink. I'm driving."
I stand up and go behind the bar to grab a bottle of water before bringing it back to her. She's quiet. And we both sit there, sipping on our drinks, listening to the music and the people talking around us. "Talk to me," I tell her. "I want to hear your voice."
I know it's a weird request, and she looks at me strangely. "Well, let's see. What do you want to talk about?"
I shrug because I really don't care what she says as long as she says something. "Anything that you want to tell me, your family, why you got a job here, anything."
She's staring down at her hands as she starts to talk. "I'm pretty sure you've probably heard about my dad. My mom left when I was 10. I haven't seen her since. I live with my uncle over on State Route 39. And the reason I got a job here at The Clubhouse is because I was tired of everyone talking about me at the diner."
Her voice is soft, and I have to lean in to hear her. "Why were they talking about you?"
She rolls her eyes. "Everyone is still is talking about my dad. It’s been ten years, and I’m still known as the murderer’s daughter."