Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
“Get him out of here,” he growled. “Get him out of here before I kill him.”
“Fuck,” Horse said, grabbing Aaron under the arms. A path cleared between him and the door, and I shrieked wordlessly at Painter, angrier than I’d ever been before. What if Aaron pressed charges?
How dare he pull this kind of shit?
He turned on me, face full of terrible purpose as Reese stepped between us, blocking his path.
“Not happening, son,” he said.
“It’s none of your business,” Painter snapped. Damned right—it wasn’t anybody’s business. Stupid fucking bikers, telling people what to do. I was an adult, free to date whoever the hell I wanted. Painter needed to go straight to hell. I’d take him there, too—he might be the big, tough guy but I was a motherfucking nurse. I knew exactly how to kill a man, kill him in ways so terrible he’d be begging for death before I finished.
“She’s the one who came here,” Painter added with a sneer. Oh, fuck him. Fuck him.
“I didn’t even know where we were going!” I shouted. “It was just a date, you asshole!”
“He’s a fucking biker. You broke the rules, Mel. Get your ass over here.”
“Not happening,” Reese said, his voice like thunder. “I am not dealing with this tonight. Painter, get your ass home. Melanie, you’re with me.”
Something dark filled the room, some sort of swirling tension I didn’t understand and didn’t care about, because I’d had just about enough of this shit. Painter and I needed to have this out once and for all. Using every bit of my strength, I shoved Reese out of the way, launching myself toward Painter.
“What I do is none of your goddamned business!”
Painter stared at me, a slow and terrible smile coming over his face.
“Fuck it,” Reese said. “I’m done with both of you.”
I felt a moment of triumph, then Painter took a step toward me, hell in his eyes.
“I’ll give you a ride home, Mel,” he said, softly menacing. “We can talk when we get there. Privacy, you know?”
Oh shit. I looked around frantically, but the wall of men around me didn’t break. They were all there—Ruger, Horse, Banks. Their faces were hard, and I realized in that instant that these men—men who had been so helpful toward me over the years—weren’t my friends.
They were Painter’s brothers.
“Fuck . . .” I whispered, suddenly terrified.
“Maybe we’ll do that, too.”
In an instant he caught me, throwing me over his shoulder and striding toward the door. I screamed again, my throat sore as he pushed through the crowd, carrying me through the parking lot. At first I thought we were headed for his bike, but he passed it, crossing the road instead.
I raised my head, staring blindly at the prospects. Two of them had laid Aaron on the ground next to the building, obviously trying to figure out how seriously injured he was. A third stood and stared, something like shock on his face as Painter hauled me into the trees.
Then we were in the woods, surrounded by darkness. His hand came down over my ass, swatting me hard before he dropped me to the ground. If he hadn’t steadied me I would’ve fallen over.
“It’s over, Mel. It’s all over. You’re mine now.”
Steadying myself, I smacked his chest, because two could play at that game. “You had no fucking right to hurt him—he didn’t do anything to you.”
“He touched my woman,” Painter snarled. “I’ve held off. I’ve given you so much fucking space you could build a goddamned kingdom, but I told you what would happen if you came back to my world. So far as I’m concerned, that means you’re mine. I’m sick of this shit. C’mere.”
With that, he grabbed me, jerking me into his body for a hard kiss that I wanted to hate, just as much as I wanted to hate him. But there was still that fire between us, one I could never quite kill. Now it was roaring to life.
I wanted him.
No, I needed him. Inside me. Over me. Filling me and hurting me and keeping me safe, because my body had decided I belonged to him, even if my mind thought that was complete and utter shit. One hand was tight in my hair, holding my head captive as he ravaged my mouth. The other slid down into my pants, clutching my ass so tight I knew there’d be handprints in the morning. My arms went around his neck and then Painter was lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist.
He was so hard.
I remembered what his cock felt like when we’d made Isabella. How he’d claimed me and I’d felt so protected and loved, before everything fell apart and I was suddenly alone and scared. I wanted that feeling again—only Painter could give it to me. I’d tried to find someone else, but it was like he’d broken me, destroying every chance for happiness away from his touch.