Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
A shy grin splits her face. “I really should hate the arrogant way you say that, but dammit, it’s kind of a turn-on.”
“Good.” I let out a low chuckle and lean close to press my lips to hers. It’s not as long or as hot as I want the kiss to be, considering there’s a chance this could be our last kiss, but I just want to reassure her, hell, the both of us, that this kiss is the start of something. Not the end.
“There will be more of that when I get back. Promise.”
She rolls her eyes and gives me a gentle shove. “Go. And for fuck’s sake, be careful. Please.”
With a smile on my face, I move closer to the door. “I told you what it does to me to hear you beg.”
The last thing I hear as I twist the knob, quietly as possible so I won’t draw attention to myself, is her low, sexy and slightly annoyed growl.
Chapter Nineteen
Maven
“Wait here, he says,” I grumble to myself from my hiding spot behind the boxes I’ve been meaning to throw away for months now, too busy for basic household chores beyond cooking and laundry to do it. And now my laziness is my only safety from whatever hellacious bullshit is happening inside my house.
My. House.
It’s unbelievable that any of this is happening to me, let alone on my own damn property. After that fantastic orgasm that leaves my skin glowing, my clit still pulsing, and butterflies racing the Indy 500 inside my belly, I’m nauseous, terrified, and really need to pee. The more I think of the danger Wilder is facing in there, the worse the nausea gets.
What if he dies because of some misplaced sense of chivalry? And seriously, since when do bikers have any sense of chivalry? He doesn’t need to be in there, not for me and not for his MC. This is just a campaign of terror that has nothing to do with the battle between the Iron Kings and the Reckless Souls. It’s all about that stupid Cyrus and me. It has to be.
What a joke he turned out to be.
“Shit,” I whisper-grunt to myself to get my hands to stop shaking, but not even my orgasmic afterglow can stop the anxiety and tension that’s gripped my body since I heard movement inside my house. Why would Cyrus return?
Another thought comes to mind. What if it’s not Cyrus? What if it’s someone else on an entirely different mission? What if they kill Wilder?
No, I can’t think like that. I need to stay positive. Wilder knows what he’s doing. He’s been in situations like this before.
I think.
I hear something breakable shatter on the floor. My heart starts galloping inside my chest, banging against my chest bone like wild horses trying to break free. Shit, what if they kill Wilder and find me? What will they do to me?
That thought gets interrupted by a loud thud that sounds suspiciously like a body hitting the floor. My floor.
I suck in a deep breath and let it out as slowly as I can as the sickening sounds of fists pounding flesh, one right after the other. Someone is getting their ass kicked, and I hope it’s not Wilder. My legs straighten on their own, and I take a step forward, determined to check on Wilder. Then I remember I’m not a badass. I’m a baker.
Shit.
I open my mouth to call out to him, but nothing comes out except an inaudible squeak. I’m so fucking terrified I can’t move, and I can’t even speak. And I’m about to piss my pants.
I shrink myself into the smallest ball imaginable to make myself as invisible as I can.
Just in case some shit goes down.
In case? I laugh silently because I’m lying to myself. This isn’t some hypothetical situation; this is the real world. This is my life right here in the present, and I know two things for certain. One is that I’ve had the best sex of my life with a man half my age. The second is that today is the day that I’m going to die.
Mom, I’m sorry I never lived up to your expectations.
Daddy, I’m sorry that I didn’t take the job with your friend in Brooklyn. I needed to find my own place in the world.
I love you both.
Footsteps sound much closer than I’m comfortable with, and I shrink into an even smaller ball in the corner, cover my head with my hands, and hold my breath.
With my eyes shut tight, I hope Cyrus or his Iron Kings buddies are too stupid to do a thorough search of the garage. I hope they scan the room and decide it’s empty and go away.
I let out my breath slowly, silently as the heavy-booted footfalls sound closer and closer. I listen for the sound of the inside door opening and closing behind him, but that’s not what I hear. The footsteps stop close to the boxes, too close for comfort, and I keep my eyes closed tight.