Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Not even a little bit. It couldn’t be Shade’s home, that was for damned sure. It was a motorcycle clubhouse, and they were in the middle of a full-fledged party. Either Shade had been lying to Rebel or Rebel had been lying to me.
Fucking men.
Shade turned off his motorcycle, and then I was climbing off and hunting for Rebel. He should’ve been right behind us but there weren’t any headlights in the distance. Shade swung off his bike and caught my arm possessively, dragging me toward the broad porch. Something was wrong here. Really wrong. I jerked back against him, but he didn’t let go.
“Where’s Rebel?” I demanded, a mixture of fear and anger building. Shade might be the club president, but he had no damned right to drag me off like this.
Shitty to be me, because nobody seemed to have told him that.
“Get inside,” he said, sounding angry. Really angry. His fingers dug into my arm and I wondered what the hell I’d ever done to him. If Rebel had blown us off, it wasn’t exactly my fault. I was just trying to do the two of them a favor.
I stumbled up the steps behind Shade, surrounded by the other bikers who’d been riding with us. Several men on the porch shouted out a welcome, and I saw a woman who looked vaguely familiar frown at me, her expression thoughtful. Then we were through the door and in what would’ve been a greatroom, if this was a house.
It wasn’t a house, though. Not even close.
It didn’t have regular furniture, for one thing. Just lots of little tables, a few mismatched couches, two pool tables and a bar along one wall. Across the wall facing the door was a massive Reapers MC sign, complete with the skull and crossed scythes they all wore on the backs of their vests.
Twin blondes wearing nothing but tiny jeans shorts stepped up to Shade. One blocked his path, rubbing her hand down his stomach toward the fly of his pants while the other glared at me.
“You said you’d play with us tonight, Shade,” she huffed, boobs jiggling. I stared at them, mesmerized. I mean, they were right there, all naked and—
“Change of plans,” he replied, and you’d never have guessed a gorgeous, half-naked chick was doing everything in her power to grab his cock. His indifference was chilling. She gave him a sexy little pout—a pout so hot that even I was turned on.
Okay, not really, but you get the picture.
I’d have been all over her if I swung that way.
Instead of responding, Shade grabbed my wrist tighter and pulled me across the room, the crowd parting as more than one biker eyed me curiously. I recognized several more faces from the bar, and a few of the girls smiled at me knowingly.
They definitely had the wrong idea about what was happening here, I realized. Shade hadn’t made a secret about his interest in me so I guess it was the logical conclusion, but still…
“Where’s Rebel?” I demanded, but either Shade couldn’t hear me or he was ignoring me. I had a feeling it was the latter.
Not good.
We passed through the room and into a hallway with bathrooms on either side, then out the back door. There was a covered porch back here, too, full of people smoking. Broad steps led down to a courtyard. In the center was a bonfire. Along the right was a concrete block wall with a covered walkway running alongside. Cleverly hidden speakers played the same music as inside.
I’d never really given much thought to what an MC clubhouse would look like, but this definitely didn’t match any of my stereotypes. Under normal circumstances, I’d be full of questions. Tonight, Shade hustled me toward the building on the far side of the courtyard so fast that I could hardly keep up.
This one was long and low and it looked much older. Sort of like a bunkhouse, I decided, with regular windows along the wall. The kind of thing you’d see on a ranch or in a logging camp. The door opened and out stumbled an older man who was clearly drunk, along with a much younger woman who giggled and tugged at her skirt.
Oh, hell no.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I didn’t know what was in there for sure, but I’d bet good money it wasn’t Rebel with a birthday cake and a bow around his neck.
“I want to go home,” I said, jerking back against Shade, trying to stop him. He spun on me, his face dark and intense.
“We’ll talk inside,” he snarled, then started forward again.
Shit shit shit!
My bunkhouse prediction was right—we passed through the building and turned left, heading down a long hallway with doors on either side at regular intervals. Some were open. I smelled pot in the air. As we walked past one door, I glanced in to find a man I’d seen at the Pit lying back on the bed, smoking a blunt while a blond head bobbed in his lap.