Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I shook my head, trying to knock those thoughts away as the dogs moved dubiously into the freight elevator, and I pulled the door closed.
“You alright?” I asked, looking over at her.
I expected her to deflect or deny.
But she exhaled hard and said, “I don’t know.”
“Hey, look at me,” I demanded, cupping her chin gently, waiting for her gaze to lift to mine. “You’re safe here,” I assured her.
She gave me a nod, but I wasn’t sure she believed me.
“You are safe with us. With me,” I added.
To that, she gave me a tight little nod.
I was pretty sure, if the damn elevator didn’t stop, I might have pressed her up against the wall, showed her some of the reason I was going to keep her safe. Because of whatever the fuck this was that was growing between us.
But the jolt had her yanking away from me.
Then I had no choice but to lift the door, and lead her in the hall.
“Some of the rooms have their own baths. Mine doesn’t,” I explained. “But the four baths in the hall are all kind of assigned,” I told her, pointing to the one across from my door. “That’s mine. Feel free to use whatever you want. I’ll take you to the store later to get any shit you might need.”
I never really thought much about how my room looked to women before. Usually, if joining me inside, we were… occupied with other things. I never gave a second thought to what she might think of how I decorated the place.
I went with a dark blue theme, instead of the grays and blacks some of the other guys had chosen. Dark blue on the walls, a different shade of dark blue on the comforter. Herringbone wooden floors. A slate gray carpet under the bed that was situated to the side of the windows that overlooked the Death Valley mountains behind the warehouse.
There were table nightstands that Coach had made for me when he realized I didn’t have any. The print over the bed was a photo I’d taken myself of the beach in Navesink Bank where we’d prospected with the mother chapter.
Closer to the door was a small sectional, much like the one she had, but mine was blue. And it had throw pillows. Though, I hadn’t bought those myself. In fact, they’d just shown up one day.
I had a feeling it was Delaney’s doing, back when she was nesting when she was pregnant.
The plant near the windows that I didn’t have blinds or curtains on, enjoying the view too much, was also not something I’d bought. Morgaine, I figured.
Murphy’s gaze slid to me, brows pinched.
“What?” I asked.
“Did you decorate?” she asked.
“Aside from the plant and throw pillows, yeah. Oh, and Coach made the nightstands.”
“I never even painted my walls at my place,” she said, shaking her head.
“Not everyone wants their walls painted,” I said, shrugging. “The guys and I learned a lot about design and shit like that because we converted this entire building. Not everyone is interested in that kind of thing.”
“It’s nice,” she said. “I feel like I should be ‘settling in,’ but I don’t have anything.”
She did have us make one stop, to a bank, where she went in alone. I imagined she had money and maybe some important documents or something in a box in the vault. I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my business.
But she didn’t have clothes or toiletries or any of her stuff to make her guns with.
We’d figure that out later.
Right now, getting her comfortable, and assuring her that she was safe was key.
The dogs moved around the room, sniffing things, testing out the bed and the couch, then looking at us like they wanted to know what the next part of their adventure was.
As if sensing the weight of it all, Murphy dropped down on the side of the bed, elbows to knees, cradling her head in her hands.
“We could put it off,” I told her. I wanted to go to her, but I was sensing that she wanted some space to try to keep holding herself together. “But then it’s just hanging over your head.”
“No, I guess it’s better to talk to him.”
“I know he’s intimidating-looking—“ I started.
Her head lifted at that, her brows drawing together. “What? Because of the scars?” she asked, seeming genuinely confused.
“Yeah. He’s had women actually run away from him in the past.”
“That’s kind of ridiculous,” she decided. “I just don’t… there are some details I don’t want to talk about,” she admitted, gaze skittering away.
“We don’t need to know those details, sweetheart. We just need to know if the club is in danger right now. And what you need to build these guns.”
“He’s not going to press?” she asked.
“No, babe, he’s not going to force you to talk about something you don’t want to talk about.”