Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Now I was getting scared.
“Honey?” I asked more urgently, trying to push his big body to its back so I could get a look at his whole face.
Suddenly, he dropped his phone to the bed and reached out to turn on the light.
I blinked against it, and when my eyes became accustomed to it, I saw he’d fallen to his back and he was looking at me, but even so, his handsome face had a blankness to it that was terrifying.
He lifted both hands and rubbed them over his face, something he did a lot in the mornings when he was in the midst of a Morning Hugger Haze.
But this wasn’t about that.
When his hands fell to his sides, I climbed onto him, chest to chest, and caught his jaw in both hands.
“Harlan, what’s going on?” I demanded.
“That was Tyra,” he said.
Oh God.
Why was Tyra calling so early in the morning?
Hugger told me.
“Pete died in his sleep last night.”
I didn’t know it until that moment, but the world had rushed out from under both of us.
Unable to hold it up, my head fell, my face landing in his chest.
Hugger sifted his fingers in my hair, cupping the back of it.
On a violent buck, my tears came, hot, hard, fast and furious.
Hugger rolled us to our sides and tucked my face into his throat, holding me close as I sobbed into his skin.
He let me, and after a very long time, when the tears were beginning to fade, he whispered, “We gotta go up to Denver.”
I took my red, wet face out of his neck, looked into my man’s beautiful, gaunt one and whispered back, “We gotta go up to Denver.”
In the funeral procession, Dad drove the rented SUV.
I sat in the passenger seat.
Nicole and Larry were in the back.
Hugger was on his bike, one of the ones at the front of the procession.
The roar ahead of us was deafening.
This was because it wasn’t just Chaos up there on their bikes leading the hearse to the cemetery.
Every member of Resurrection. Every member of Aces High. And about two hundred other bikers from all over the country whose lives Peter Waite touched were riding too.
And this was led by a police escort and tailed by it.
I’d never seen an honor guard so impressive in my life.
I wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
I’d watched them start to roll out, and noted there was a broken part of the procession up front, an open space, an empty space.
A space a Harley trike would be.
I’d had to look away, that empty space had so gutted me.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
As we went, people pulled over, stopped, gawked, and they had no clue at all they saw a man glide by on his final ride, a man they’d never know was good and true, down to the marrow of his bones. They’d never know who rolled past them. They’d never know they were privileged to be in the presence of a man who might not have done great things in his life, but he did a whole lot of good, and the world was a vastly poorer place without him.
We hit the cemetery, cars and bikes everywhere, and Larry, in the seat behind me, got out quickly so he could open my door and help me out.
It was cold. Before we came, I’d had to rush to the mall to buy an overcoat. And gloves.
I didn’t feel anything.
Dad and Nicole joined Larry and me, Dad taking my hand, Nicole wrapping her arm through mine, but before we could move, Larry made a noise.
Like I was in a trance, I was watching them take the casket out of the back of the hearse.
Tack, Hop, High, Hound, Arlo and Boz were the pall bearers, but the rest of the Club were lined up to follow Big Petey’s final journey.
The only non-bikers allowed to follow the Chaos pack did so. I’d met them the day before too. Their names were Hawk Delgado, Brock Lucas and Mitch Lawson.
I’d met all their women as well, they were somewhere around (I didn’t have it in me right then to look for them), as was Mace (who apparently was married to Stella Freaking Gunn, the famous rock star!) and a bunch of other hot guys and their gorgeous wives who I would later learn were known as the “Nightingale Men” and the “Rock Chicks.” And finally, there was a tragically handsome man introduced to me the day before as Knight Sebring, who was with his equally beautiful woman, whose name was Anya.
The casket was black, no flowers, but the Chaos insignia had been painted on the top.
“Buttercup, I think you’re supposed to go with Rebel,” Dad murmured in my ear.
I blinked and looked up at him, only to follow his gaze, seeing Rebel standing some way away, closer to the gravesite, her attention on me.