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)
“What the fuck?”
“Get down,” I shout, as I pass him, and half a second later, I double-tap the motherfucker in his chest and one in his head for good measure. His warm blood soaks my skin. The fucker takes forever before falling to his knees and then flat on his fucking face.
Ace gets back to his feet, smiling as I turn to face him. “Thanks, brother.”
“Anytime.” I ignore that flash of anger I saw because we’re all on edge with this fucking mole in our midst.
More and more bikes roar to life, and we realize the Iron Kings are cutting and running on some of the fucked up bikes.
“Fuck,” Ace roars.
Stone strolls up between us with a grin splitting his face. “Watch this, kiddo.” He lines up his shot Texas style, with one eye closed, and takes aim at a retreating biker with long red hair. A shot rings out, and the biker falls over, his bike causing mayhem for the bikers behind him, crashing into him or his bike, making a mess of the road.
“Impressed?”
“Kind of, yeah. You’re not a Viking; you’re a fucking cowboy.”
Stone’s deep laugh rings out louder than the retreating bikes.
“Fucking right I am, brother.” He claps me on the back and aims again, shooting out a few tires for shits and giggles. “Whoo boy!”
“Good to see you’re having fun,” Ace says in a half-amused tone.
“I am. Three bodies is child’s play, but as my daddy says, it’s a damn good start to an evening.”
At Stone’s words, Ace looks around and nods at the three lifeless bodies lying around the parking lot. He sighs and shakes his head.
“It’s not enough, but, at least now they know we mean business.”
I nod and step beside Ace. “They’re dead and injured, brother. They got the fucking message.”
Sirens blast out through the night, and instinctively, we all head to our bikes.
“All right, brothers, let’s get the fuck out of here. Back to the clubhouse,” Ace shouts as he mounts his bike. With another sharp whistle, he starts up his bike, and we leave Smitty’s in our rearview.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Maven
Doomscrolling the news apps isn’t the healthiest way to spend my evening, but it’s what I find myself doing as the hours on lockdown wear on and on. And on.
After too many drinks with Willow and the other girls, I go to my room and find myself restless rather than sleepy. So, after a quick shower, I curl up in bed and doomscroll about all the other bad shit happening in the world.
News is as good a distraction as anything else because I need something to get my mind off what Wilder is out there doing right now. Will he make it back, and if he does come back, will he be injured?
The possibilities are endless, which is why I find myself reading a long story about the death of a journalist in Malta, wherever the fuck that is.
Laughter rings out from Gia, and I smile, knowing Willow and Gia and the club whores—what a disgusting name for women seeking a biker to love them—were still drinking to distract them from the things happening out in the world, things that none of us can control.
Part of me wants to rejoin them and drink a little more, but I can’t. The booze soothes the pain until my mind conjures up every worst-case scenario imaginable.
The low rumble of a dozen motorcycles sounds just outside my window, and my shoulders relax a little. The men are home, but the condition they’re returning in is still unknown, and I’m on edge.
My need to know, my nosiness gets the better of me, and I go to the window and watch each man dismount his bike. Some are limping, bruised, and bloody, but when I see Nova jump from the van and rush to Preacher’s side, I know tonight was bad for the Reckless Souls.
I rush out of my room to where the girls are still drinking and laughing. Trudy spots me first. “What’s up, new girl?”
My gaze immediately goes to Gia. “They’re back.”
She nods and knocks back a shot of brown liquor. “Good.”
“Preacher’s hurt,” I tell her. “He’s on his own two feet, so that’s good.” I’m second-guessing my decision to tell her when the clubhouse doors swing open.
Dix enters first with a black eye, and he’s clutching his finger and cursing up a storm. Next, Preacher limps in, hanging onto Nova’s neck with one arm, Gia instantly at their side. “Babe, what the fuck happened?”
“Got shot in the fucking gut. I’ll live, but Nova needs to stitch me up.”
Gia nods and takes his other arm with a worried expression on her face as she and Nova lead him down the hall to one of the rooms.
“My bag is in the truck,” Nova tells her, and in the next second, she takes off to the parking lot, pushing past Joaquin, Ace, and Wilder as they amble inside. All the men look a little worse for wear, but Wilder is covered in blood. Completely fucking covered.