Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Maggs came over ten minutes later. Her face was grim and she had streaks of blood on her arm. I stood and threw my arms around her, clutching her tight.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“Fucking Toke,” she muttered. “There’s some sort of club shit going down. They voted on it today, supposed to be a done deal, but Toke—he’s out of Portland—had a few too many beers and decided there should be a recount. He started fighting with Deke and pulled a goddamned knife, waving it around like a jackass.”
“Who was screaming?” I asked. I pulled away and looked down at her arm. “You’re all bloody. Who got hurt?”
Her eyes hardened.
“Em,” she said. “Cocksucker caught Em with his knife.”
Shock hit me and I felt myself sway.
“Did anyone call an ambulance?” I asked, glancing around the courtyard. Beyond the fire I saw someone sitting on the ground, surrounded by women.
“She’s fine, thank God,” Maggs said, her voice harsh and angry. “It’s not a bad cut at all. We’ve got a guy who’ll give her a few stitches, keep the whole thing off the radar.”
“What about that gunshot?”
“Pic wasn’t too happy about his baby girl getting cut,” she said, which I figured was a bit of an understatement. “Had to be him. Toke took off, right over the wall, and I’ll bet he’s setting a new land-speed record right now. If he’s smart, he won’t stop ’til he hits Mexico. Em’s a special girl, everyone loves her. Not to mention pulling on his own president. This is more than a fight—it’s club business. Toke just stepped in a giant, steaming pile of shit.”
I shivered.
“Let’s go,” Maggs said. “They want all the girls cleared out. Marie and Dancer’ll stick with Em, but the rest of us are no longer welcome. We need to stay out of the way. Hell, at this rate we’ll be posting bail … Be sure to sleep with your phone tonight.”
“You serious?” I asked, eyes wide.
“If Pic catches Toke, shit’ll get ugly,” she said. “But don’t worry—our boys are smart. They’ll keep the situation under control.”
“And the bail thing? That was a joke, right?”
“Just keep your phone close, okay?”
Holy hell.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My hands shook so hard I had trouble getting the keys into the ignition. Maggs offered to follow me home but I wanted to go by myself. I had a lot to think about and I didn’t feel like company. Clearly, Ruger and I had different definitions of what normal, appropriate behavior looked like.
For one, I felt that long-term relationships should be monogamous. He felt they should be monogamous for me and open for him. Another issue? My parties usually wound down when people ran out of food and got tired.
His occasionally ended with stabbings and high-speed chases.
And last, but certainly not least, I tended to think sex should be private. He liked rubbing his sperm on my stomach in front of his friends after branding me with hickies.
I needed to move out.
Immediately. No more messing around.
The more I thought about what had happened, the angrier I got. Em could’ve been killed. I might already have a fucking STD, seeing as I screwed the King of the Man-whores—condom-free—in a damned shed, because I’m classy like that. Oh, and what’s-his-name might’ve raped me in the darkness, just because I’d had the nerve to take out the trash when it needed emptying.
What the hell was wrong with these people?
Two hours after pulling into Ruger’s driveway, I’d nearly finished packing up our stuff. We’d only been at his house for a week, so it wasn’t exactly hard. I just threw shit into boxes and then hauled them out to my car. I could probably get it all in one trip, seeing as Noah was still at Kimber’s. I’d call her first thing in the morning and ask if she could put us up for a couple of days.
Fuck Ruger. Fuck his beautiful house and fuck the Reapers. Fuck their motorcycles, too. I hoped they all got food poisoning at one of their damned pig roasts.
I’d already finished packing my clothes, the living room, and the bathroom by the time I heard Ruger’s bike pulling into the driveway. Well, wasn’t that just craptastic … I’d planned to be gone before he got home, but if he wanted a fight, I’d give him one. I might not have my life entirely together, but I was pretty sure about one thing—parties that ended with stabbings weren’t part of the long-term plan.
Neither was being tied to a man in prison, working as a stripper, or worrying about whether or not I was safe without a goddamned brand across my back like a fucking cow.
I’d started throwing Noah’s clothes into the suitcase when Ruger’s boots thudded down the stairs. He paused in my kitchen and I heard the sound of water filling a glass. So, now it wasn’t good enough for him to put me in danger and invade my privacy? He had to get my glasses dirty, too? I threw Noah’s stuffed dragon, Puff, into the case with a disgusted thud.