Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 101864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
She tried not to wince when she heard Preacher on the other end of the call. It wasn’t good if he was already pissed as it was. Bishop didn’t even have it on speakerphone and she heard him clearly.
“Dad—”
“Yeah, your dad. You remember, the guy who has to deal with all your fucking shit while you prance around wearing my badge like it’s a fucking get out of jail free card. Is Robin with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ve got Bear here, and he wants to fucking beat the living crap out of you. Get back here, now.”
“Here being?”
“Do you want me to shove my boot up your ass?”
The line went dead, and she waited for Bishop to explode. Every other time he would completely blow up over his father instructing him on what he was to do and not to do.
Pressing her lips together, she waited.
Nothing happened.
Being the kids of two MC members since birth, they both knew the life, and the club always took priority no matter the day.
Bishop shook his head. “Fuck!”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fucking okay. It wasn’t how I wanted to spend my day.”
He got to his feet and grabbed her arm. She let out a little whimper as pain shot right through her body, but Bishop didn’t seem to notice.
Whenever he got like this, there really was no talking any sense into him. He would do whatever the hell he wanted to do without care for anyone else.
They made it to his car, which was an old, beaten-up red truck. Climbing into the passenger side, she only just shut the door as he slammed on the gas, taking them back toward where he lived for the most part.
Preacher had a house in Knight’s Bridge main town, but his clubhouse was out on a dirty road. It was an old garage with a huge dump at the back. No one dared enter as it had an eight-foot-tall metal fence, barbed wire, vicious dogs, and of course, some of the meanest bikers anyone could ever meet. They were not the friendly kind to do good deeds.
She had long accepted her father wasn’t the kind of dad who’d take her to go and sit on Santa’s lap, or even pretend he existed. She never got the Christmas treats growing up. Her parents spent most of their time arguing. Her mother hated Bear with a passion. Of course, it didn’t help that Bear was in fact a really good dad as well. He always made sure she was provided for, and in his own way, he cared for her.
Bishop didn’t speak. He didn’t even put the radio on to fill the truck with noise. He liked heavy metal music that was a bunch of noise and yelling, or at least to her it sounded like it. She was very much a ballad and pop girl herself.
Why are you thinking about pop music?
Holding onto the car door handle, she waited for the time to pass. Bishop, when he wasn’t being an ass, could drive really well; however, he was traveling toward the clubhouse erratically.
“Do you want me to drive?” she asked.
“Shut up.”
She pressed her lips together.
Bishop had a bit of a temper, and it never normally bothered her. Why would it? They were the best of friends and deep down, she knew he wouldn’t dream of hurting her, but hearing his sudden snappish attitude, she didn’t like it. It wasn’t her fault he’d been naughty. She didn’t ask him to come and kidnap her from school. He liked to piss people off and to push them as far as he could to see who would be the bravest one to bite, but he’d then complain about how they didn’t respect him. He hated being compared to his father.
One of the worst things anyone could say to him was “Preacher’s son.” She hated to break out the obvious, but he was indeed Preacher’s son, and no matter how much he tried to fight it, there wasn’t a chance in hell he was ever going to get away with it.
“I can’t believe I’m fucking going back there. I’m not one of his members. I don’t come when he snaps his fingers and hollers for my attention. I’m an actual person. I’m not his fucking slave.”
She was used to this. Bishop liked to talk the talk, but when it came to staring at his father and doing the whole face-to-face talk, he was useless.
Running fingers through her hair, she looked across at him and tried not to scream as he swerved around a truck, only for there to be another one coming in the opposite direction and he had no choice but to put his foot down.
He missed him by a finger width, she was sure of it.
Her heart raced, and she felt her stomach turn.