Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“He killed Harley,” I weep, sorrow and anger consuming me. “It was him. It was him this whole time.”
“We’re going to get him, Rogue. I promise you that. On my life, he will pay for everything he’s done.”
A knock on the door slices through the tense atmosphere. Callan’s teeth grit. Kitty swipes at her wet face and opens the door. Grease’s giant form fills the space.
“What is it?” Callan barks.
“You’re both going to want to come to see this.” His eyes meet Callan’s then slide to Kitty before he disappears down the hall. Looking over his shoulder to his sister, they both frown.
“Go,” I encourage them.
Kissing my hand, he places it on the bed and stands.
“We’ll be right back.”
As soon as they’re both out the door, the silence closes in on me, stealing the air from my lungs.
I can’t stay here.
I sit up, tugging at my arm. A needle nursing fluid through an IV in my other hand makes me stop. I peel the tape off and drag the needle from my vein, a crimson bubble forming around the entry sight. Shoving the blanket off my legs, I stare down at the blue hospital gown someone put me in. Bruises like a patchwork blanket mar the skin around a bandage on my thigh.
I don’t hurt, though.
I’m numb.
My head is light and woozy from whatever drugs the doctor fed me. Gripping the gurney’s edge, I carefully drop to the floor to find that my feet are wrapped in dressings. I take a step. There’s no pain, but it’s like walking on bubble wrap with the soles of my feet swollen.
As soon as I make it to the door, I pry it open and make my way toward the voices carrying from the bar. Rounding the corner, I grip the wall for support, my stomach dropping.
Fuck.
Jericho.
“So, what have I missed?”
He’s home.
CHAPTER 17
TRAITOR
“They let you go?” Kitty asks, embracing her dad. He’s much taller than her even though his clothes hang loose from his frail frame.
Grunting, he holds a hand to his stomach, patting Kitty’s back with the other. “It’s not jail, Kit. They can’t keep me.”
“How are you feeling?” Callan asks.
“Stop fucking fretting,” he spits. “Why is everyone looking at me like I have two heads?” A hard line smears across his mouth. His eyebrow twitches.
“Welcome home, Pres.” Green whips his hand out, holding it mid-air.
Jericho grasps it and shakes, and all the brothers in the room follow suit, a buzz whirring through the room.
“You want to sit down?” Callan asks. Jericho looks around his son, his eyes narrowing to two dark slits.
“I thought I made myself clear about you not being welcome here.” Jericho’s gaze crashes into mine, tension rolling off him in waves.
All eyes turn to see me wavering at the opening of the room.
“Rogue,” Callan hisses, coming to my aid, wrapping his arm around my waist to anchor me. “What the hell are you doing on your feet?”
“I wanted to see what the fuss was about.” I keep a pointed stare at Jericho. Busted up or not, I won’t cower to this man. “I shouldn’t have wasted my energy.”
The atmosphere solidifies. Brows furrow in confusion. Eyes ping between me, a girl who was once a Devil and their president, home to reclaim his crown.
“Quite the tongue for someone who can barely stand.”
“Look who’s talking.” I quirk a brow at the hand he has on Grease’s shoulder for support.
“I’ll be back in fighting shape soon enough, Devil girl.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“No,” Callan growls. “It’s not. You’re a King—a threat against you is one against us all.”
“She’s no King unless I say she is,” Jericho snarls.
“Daddy…” Kitty steps away from his side and comes to mine. “She’s one of us. We spoke about this.”
Jericho looks around the room. No one moves. No one speaks. The room is riddled with landmines and everyone’s wearing clown shoes.
Shoulders tense and jaw clenched, Jericho snaps, “Has every cunt gone soft since I’ve been gone? It’s time for a church meeting. I want to know what the fuck’s been going on in my club.”
Feet shuffle. Grunts and words mumble under breaths, bouncing around the room. “And you…” Jericho jabs a finger in my direction, “don’t get too comfortable.”
Callan jerks his chin to Kitty and leans me into her, winding his arm from around my waist. Taking the space up between his dad and us in a few strides, Callan squares his shoulders. Hairs raise on the back of my neck as the air is sucked from the room.
“This is her home. She’s proven herself—has stood with us, bled for us. Every brother here accepts her. You’re going to have to get used to her being around. She’s not going anywhere.”
Jericho slants his head to the side, looking around his son to me. I try to straighten my spine, looking pathetic in a hospital gown with bandages everywhere.