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)
“Perfect.”
He gave me a smile that I think was supposed to be seductive. My return one was significantly less so. Crap, how awkward was that? Here I was, out for the night with a perfectly decent man. Why didn’t I feel more for him?
Pisser.
Jessica and Sherri were going to be so disappointed by this one, I realized, because there was no way I’d be going home with Aaron Waits tonight. Hopefully things wouldn’t get too weird back at work.
He really was a nice guy.
Of course, the dentist had been nice, too. Ugh.
• • •
Callup was a picturesque little town.
Small. Like, seriously small, with an old-fashioned main street lined with all sorts of pretty stone buildings. It looked like something out of a very old newsreel, you know, the kind where you can see a few cars, but mostly horses and there’s no sound?
We passed through it slowly and then continued out along an old road for a couple miles before I saw a concrete-block building that’d seen better days. Parked in front of it was a long line of motorcycles along with several guys wearing leather vests. Then I saw a mural on the outside wall, one that looked suspiciously like Painter’s work. There was an image of a skull wearing a miner’s hat and the words “Silver Bastards MC.”
No.
Oh fuck no. This was bad—bad, badder, baddest.
We had to get out of here, because this was Puck’s club, and he was Painter’s best friend.
Oblivious, Aaron pulled to a stop at the far end of the gravel parking lot, well away from the line of what had to be club bikes. A guy wearing a prospect’s cut started toward us and I realized that I had about thirty seconds before my world imploded around me.
“We have to leave,” I told Aaron, without climbing off the bike. He turned to look at me, frowning.
“We just got here,” he said, confused.
“No, you don’t understand,” I said, feeling almost panicky. “This is an MC clubhouse. I can’t go in there.”
Aaron gave me a sweet, if borderline condescending, smile. “Don’t worry—I have friends here. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll protect you.”
“My ex is a member of the Reapers MC,” I told him. “If he finds out I’m here, there’ll be trouble.”
He frowned. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“It didn’t seem relevant then. Now it does. Let’s go.”
“No,” he said, his voice hardening. “I have to meet my friend and pick something up.”
“Then take me back into town and drop me off. I’ll wait for you.”
“Hey,” the prospect said, coming up to us. He looked between us, and Aaron bristled. “We have a problem here?”
“No problem,” Aaron said quickly. “I’m friends with Gunnar. My date’s just a little shy about the clubhouse. Guess she’s not used to being around bikers.”
God, what a prick. I opened my mouth to call him on his shit, then snapped it shut again. Clearly Aaron wasn’t going to take me back to town, which meant I had to play this through. It might even work—I didn’t really know the Silver Bastards, with the exception of Puck. If I got really lucky, he wouldn’t even be here tonight.
Or if he was, maybe I could hide in the bathroom or something . . . I’d call Painter when I got home, explain what’d happened. Not that I owed him any explanations, but all blustering aside, I really didn’t want to get into it with him over something this stupid. Not after the whole Greg debacle. The fact that I was innocent wouldn’t do a damn thing to save me if Painter got his panties in a twist.
Aaron smiled at me tightly. Obviously he wanted me to keep my mouth shut. We’d had a good time so far, but I was starting to think that maybe Aaron wasn’t such a great guy after all. Sherri was going to hear about this.
No more blind dates.
“Gunnar’s inside,” the prospect said, still eyeing us. I climbed off the bike, then stood there like a good little woman while Aaron got off, too. He caught my hand, giving it what I suspect was meant to be a reassuring squeeze as we started toward the door. Several big men stood around watching us and the bikes, and I thought I recognized one of them.
Oh, crapsicles.
That was a Reapers prospect, and where there were Reapers prospects, there were Reapers. I looked more closely at the bikes, starting to feel just a little sick to my stomach. There was Reese’s ride, and Horse’s. Then I saw a midnight blue custom-painted masterpiece, and knew that I was completely and totally fucked.
Painter was here.
My feet stopped, and I tried to jerk my hand out of Aaron’s.
“We have to go,” I hissed, eyes wide.
“Not until I get my shit,” he said, and while I think he was trying to sound soothing, his hand tightened on mine. “If your ex was really with a club, you’d know it’s a bad idea to argue with me in front of them. Just do what I say and you’ll be fine—you’re totally overreacting here.”