Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
I wrap my fingers around the door handle and push it open.
“Dex!” a woman’s voice calls out.
Keep my man’s name out of your mouth, bitch.
Chill, it’s probably someone who works here.
Quietly, I slink back into my seat, leaving the door slightly open so I don’t make a sound and draw their attention.
They’re too far away for me to hear their conversation but they definitely know each other. She’s tall, skinny, and blonde. An ex-girlfriend?
I wish I’d never come here. Why did I have to let my curiosity get the best of me?
When she steps closer and touches him, I die a little inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dex
It’s mid-afternoon when I step outside and squint into the sunshine. Crystal Ball’s heavy back door clanks shut behind me.
Fifteen minutes to myself. That’s all I want. A few moments of quiet with none of the girls following me outside to bitch about hours, locker assignments, or whatever else has them in a tizzy.
The relentless throb of the music inside chases me away from the door. The parking lot isn’t packed at this time of day. We’re not fully staffed yet. Most of the dancers and employees usually park back here. Customers do too, sometimes. They’re the reason I make sure someone walks all the girls to their cars at the end of the night.
Someone parked a dark red SUV I don’t recognize directly across from my bike. I frown at it for a second. Hell, I can’t keep up with all the different vehicles these girls drive.
I walk over to my bike, contemplating getting on it and riding away. No, not away. To Emily’s house. I can’t stop thinking about her. Seeing her every time I close my eyes.
I pull out my phone and send her a text.
Thinking of you.
I stare at the screen for a few seconds, waiting for a reply.
A car door clunks shut somewhere behind me.
“Dex?” a woman’s voice calls.
Bitter unease slides down my spine.
That better not be who I think it is.
I glance up. A tall, slim figure skirts around the front of the dark red SUV. Shoulder-length blonde hair frizzes around her face. Skinnier than I remember. Large sunglasses hide most of her face, but I recognize her anyway.
Inga.
Fury seizes me. I jam my phone in my pocket and stomp closer. She better be a goddamn hallucination.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I roar, not giving a fuck who hears me.
Inga recoils, placing her hand against her chest.
Did she really expect me to be thrilled to see her? After the shit she pulled with my club?
Her initial shock seems to wear off. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and continues to approach. Hips swaying, head tilted—all the subtle signals she’s always used to get her way. I take in her gaunt face and the circles under her eyes. Her heeled boots scrape against the pavement, further grating my nerves.
“Dex,” she says in a let’s-be-reasonable tone, resting her hand on my shoulder.
I shrug it off. “Touch me again and I’ll break your fucking hand,” I warn. I’ve never intentionally hurt a woman but Inga’s begging to be the first by even showing her face here.
Shock widens her eyes and she holds up both hands in surrender. She clearly thought I was the easygoing brother who might let her traitorous deeds slide.
Wrong.
“Why the fuck are you here?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Seemed like the best place to find you.”
No, it probably seemed like the safest place to find me. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Why are you so hostile?” she asks in an offended tone. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so fucking pissed.
“Why?” My voice drips with disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
Her nose wrinkles as if she’s searching her memory banks for all her possible misdeeds. What a deep, dark well of memories that must be.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did all that coke you snorted rot a hole in your brain?”
“I’m clean now,” she snaps.
I scan her bony frame and chalky complexion. Doubtful.
“You sued eight of my brothers and me for paternity.” I speak each word slow enough for her selfish little brain to process. “Ring a bell?”
“That’s what you’re so mad about?” Her skeletal face screws into a scowl. “I didn’t really have a choice. You think that was fun for me? It was humiliating.”
Me, me, me. Inga’s favorite song. She’s looking in the wrong place for sympathy.
“You didn’t have to send the papers to Rock’s wife,” I remind her. That had been the most fucked-up part of the whole situation. My brothers and I fucked around and found out. We owned that. And if any of us had been the father of her kid, we would’ve stepped up. Hope was innocent in the whole situation. She shouldn’t have been included in Inga’s vendetta against the club. “There was no reason to send Rock’s wife the lawsuit other than you being a spiteful bitch and you know it.”