Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
He glared at his wife, but there was no iron behind it. “It’s fucking not,” he hissed. “It’s Rosie being Rosie.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Seriously, dude?”
“Don’t call me dude,” he snapped, real anger directed at his wife. “I’m your man.”
Another eye roll. “Yes, you’re my man,” she agreed, eyes twinkling. “But you’re also acting like a dude.” She said the word so it sounded like an insult. “You’re not blind, Cade Fletcher,” she continued, her voice softer. “I know you like to think that you only see black, white, and red. That you don’t see the emotional underpinning of this world we live in. The love.” She gave him a look. “But I know better. You taught me better. You saw inside me what I didn’t even know existed. That maybe I didn’t want to know. So you’re not going to bullshit me and say you don’t see it in your own blood. This is Rosie being Rosie. Acting for Rosie. Not for you, not for the club, not for the countless women who owe their happiness and sanity, at least in part, to her. She is finally following her heart. You know the one that beats for the club? The one that all your grumbling men treasure above all else yet take for granted? The one that you’re trying to blindly protect but instead are breaking by being the pigheaded macho man holding onto ancient grudges that don’t mean shit if your sister’s happiness and future are a casualty of it?”
He blinked at his wife. His glare was still in place, but it wasn’t directed at her. His eyes changed, the entire structure of his body changed, under the weight of his wife’s words. I thought he might still yell. Swear. Throw something.
He didn’t do any of that. Instead he stared at his wife.
“Fuck, I love you, baby,” he murmured.
Gwen grinned. “I love you more.”
So he’d left drunk on Gwen, forgetting to even give Luke a death threat.
There were no guarantees, though.
Luke’s hand fastened over mine, stilling them when I hadn’t even realized they were moving.
He rubbed his thumb over my palm. “You’re fidgeting,” he observed.
He was driving again, his truck this time. And I didn’t mind because that meant I’d gotten to take healthy swigs of the margarita I’d put into a sippy cup before we left.
I glared at him. “Yes, that’s what people do when they’re nervous.”
He smiled at me, and damn if my glare didn’t just melt away. It wasn’t as if I’d never seen Luke smile before, but I hadn’t seen him really smile. Showing me he was happy, unobtrusively. And that I was the reason. Unobtrusively.
It quelled my nerves, that smile. Only a little though, because I was picturing a bullet, or at the very least a fist going through it as soon as we arrived.
Luke’s hand moved to engulf mine and bring it to his lips so he could lay a kiss on my palm.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said.
I huffed but didn’t take my hands from his. “That’s what people always say right before everything goes to shit.”
He chuckled. “Shit with you isn’t shit, babe.”
I gaped. “You’re not nervous? Worried about the state of your body when you leave versus when you arrived? Because I am. I like the state of your body. The muscles and stuff, obviously, but the whole breathing and walking and talking thing too.”
“I would’ve thought you might be happy if I was mute for a bit,” Luke teased. “I always seem to piss you off with the talking.”
I roll my eyes. “It would piss me off more if you didn’t do it.”
“Babe, we’ve got this, okay? You always think of the worst because you’ve always had to. Because too often, you’ve had the worst,” he said, face turning serious. “But that’s done with. No more worst, not before it goes through me. And your family will have to put a bullet somewhere to change that. But they won’t, because they love you. I’ll take a punch, babe. I’ve had worse.”
I sighed and hoped he didn’t get worse.
It was like Cade sensed that someone was coming to challenge his masculinity, because he was waiting in the parking lot, shades on, arms crossed when we parked.
“Oh, Jesus,” I muttered. “He’s decided to go Leon: The Professional.”
Luke smiled and got out of the car.
I was too busy stewing to be quick enough to get out at the same time, which gave Luke the opportunity to get my door, which he groaned about not being able to do. Some of the good guy remained, the best parts.
“Ready?” I asked as he grasped my hand and walked toward Cade.
“Since you were five years old,” he murmured.
I glared at him. Of course he’d say something that sweet right as we stopped in front of my brother, the man who looked like he might actually shoot Luke.