Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Focusing on the first of the examination rooms, he couldn’t speculate about what was going on inside. He didn’t have to. The Jackal had been brought in about thirty minutes ago with his female to see if she was pregnant, and talk about no FOMO. V didn’t envy the guy in the slightest. You have this female you really care about, who’s the center of your world—and then the creator of the species throws a shit pie at you: Hey, you can service your female during her needing, and be the only thing that eases the suffering cravings, but the booby prize is you might knock her up and kill her.
Thanks, Mom, he thought as he ashed into the palm of his leather-gloved hand.
No wonder most couples, most of the time, just treated the fertile time with drugs nowadays—
The door opened and the Jackal came out. The guy was tall and trim, in the way aristocrats tended to be, all that fine breeding creating a body habitus that was attractive without being too muscled. And you could tell the guy and Rhage were related. The ocean blue eyes and the bone structure were the same—although the Jackal wasn’t permanently cheerful like Hollywood was.
Then again, few things outside the Times Square ball on New Year’s Rockin’ Eve were.
The former aristocrat stopped short. Cleared his throat like he was trying to control his emotions.
“Just spit it out.” V took another drag on his cigarette. “It’s a safe space here—I think that’s what they call it, right?”
V personally preferred unsafe spaces, but tomato/tomahtoes.
The Jackal waited until the door had completely eased shut behind him. “She’s not pregnant.”
“And you’re relieved, but don’t want her to know.”
“She was hoping to be with young.” The Jackal leaned back against the corridor’s concrete wall. “I mean, she really wants one, and you know, what else could I do? She went into her needing and…”
There was the temptation to point out to the guy that at least he had a good decade off from any further discussion on the subject, but V didn’t want to pile on. Besides, chances were good his sense of superiority, which came from never having to worry his mate would die on the birthing bed, would come through in anything he said.
“So.” The Jackal smoothed the front of the plaid work shirt he wore. “Thanks for coming down and meeting me.”
Somehow the guy made the jeans and that lumber-sexual shit look like something out of Butch’s couture-drobe. Then again, the Jackal had the posture of a prince, and that elevated even the most common of threads. Hell, you could probably throw a hazmat suit on him and it would look like something Tom Ford had put together.
“Is there something to eat around here?” the guy said. “I’m starved.”
“Yeah, come on.”
Closing his gloved hand around the ashes, V led the way down to the cafeteria. Even though the Brotherhood had suspended the training program for future soldiers, the mess hall was kept fully stocked—first, because the brothers needed fuel before and after workouts, and second, because Fritz needed something else to look after.
’Cuz running a five-star-hotel-standard private home occupied by the First Family, the brothers and fighters, their mates and young, as well as a dog and a cat, wasn’t enough on his plate.
As they came up to the breakroom, V held the door open. “After you.”
With an expression of wonder, the Jackal drifted into the tiled expanse of free vending machines, snacks, sodas, and candy like he’d never seen food before. There was also a serve-yourself counter with fresh fruit and other good-for-you’s that V always completely ignored. And a hot plate center that was currently not open for business.
As the other guy wandered around the calorie load, V poured himself a cup of hot coffee and grabbed a cruller. Parking himself in one of the dorm-decor armchairs, he snagged the remote off a coffee table and hit the volume on the TV in the corner. A crack-of-ass local news reporter was prattling along about God only knew what, but it was better than the silence.
A good ten minutes later, the Jackal came over with a tray laden with all kinds of munchie-crunchie. As he sat down, he seemed to deflate. Then again, he’d used a lot of energy in the last couple of nights, which explained the get-in-my-belly.
“Doc Jane told us that they used to not be able to test for pregnancy so early,” the male said as he cracked the top on some high-test Coke. “Amazing what medical science has done.”
“Yeah.”
The “ahhhhhhh” that came out of the guy after he threw back half the carbonation should have been used as an ad for the Real Thing.
“Your shellan was so good to her,” he said. “Afterwards, they were talking about Nyx setting up an Etsy store for Posie, her sister. I figured it was best to just leave them to it. What do I know about handmade jewelry, you know?”