Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Okay, honey, I’m not happy about this, but I’ll agree to it,” Mom jumped in. “But you have to text me photos of every room in the house, and don’t leave your drinks unattended, don’t walk home alone, and I read about this app you can install on your phone—”
“She’ll be fine, baby,” Swiss interrupted for me, his voice warm.
I settled on the floor. My mom would be fine too. More than fine. And that warmth in Swiss’s tone only reinforced that I’d made the right decision in keeping my mom in the dark. She’d protected me all my life in order for me to stay happy and clueless. It was time for me to do the same.
“I promise I will stay in constant contact,” I began to choke up.
“You will, or I won’t need a scary biker to do any of the menacing stuff. I’m pretty good at it too.” Mom’s ,voice was thick with tears.
“I love you, Mom,” I whispered.
“To the stars, sweet girl.”
I paused, biting my lip. “You too, Swiss,” I added quietly.
It was true. It had been a whirlwind getting to Garnett and learning how completely my life had changed, but it had also been impossible not to love the man who treated my mother like she was the most precious thing on this earth. Who asked for my permission before marrying her. Who bought her a home. Who gave her room to be herself. Who gave her a true family. And he made me feel all the things my biological father never had.
He made me feel respected. Heard. Protected. Like an adult with my own unique ideas.
A hole opened up inside of me. One that had maybe been there all along, but I’d just ignored because I wasn’t brave enough to face the reality of what my father had been. What I was losing.
“Love you, kiddo,” he replied, his strong voice not quite as solid as it had been moments ago.
Once I hung up, I sat on the floor of the hotel bathroom for a long while.
ELDEN
“Someone has to take care of Violet.”
I looked around the table as multiple brothers sat up a little straighter, their eyes lighting up.
It was a good thing that Swiss wasn’t here or else there would be some men missing their eyes for looking like that at the mention of his stepdaughter.
“She left for college earlier than Swiss and her mom expected,” Hansen explained.
I gripped my fists underneath the table as I remembered the way she’d looked at me. Remembered her crashing into my room then watching her crumble as I broke her down.
And she’d left. That day.
It was for the best, I told myself.
“Got the Rhode Island charter keeepin’ an eye on her,” Hansen continued. “They’re close, which is good, but if shit ever goes down with her, want someone from this chapter willing to drop everything to make sure she’s a’ight.” Hansen let out a sigh. “And I have a feeling, from what I’ve come to know of Violet, there is a high probably of shit goin’ down.”
There were smirks around the table. She’d already made quite an impression on everyone.
I fucking hated that.
“I’ll do it,” Javier, one of the newer patches, volunteered. Young. Handsome. A fucking player. He’d make sure no harm would come to her—fucker may’ve been handsome, but he was also a Son. That meant he would not hesitate to kill a man or woman if they threatened this club or those connected to it.
He was also twenty fucking five, fucked anything that moved and was a Son …therefore he liked to fuck women. And he did not want them on the back of his bike. He wanted them in his bed, wanted to brand them—the fucker actually did that—then sent them packing once the sun rose.
Now, most men in the club operated in a fashion similar to this, without the branding portion of it, but they swapped that out with whatever depravity had been born out of their fucked-up lives.
We were all fucked-up in one way or another. You didn’t patch into the Sons of Templar MC because you were well adjusted and came from a happy home.
My eyes drifted to one of the few men whose eyes had not lit up at the suggestion
… blond haired, square jawed, all-American Anderson. He had come from a happy home. White picket fence and that kinda shit. And he was married to a nice girl, had a kid, another on the way.
Yet here he was, sitting at the table with outlaws and murderers.
He was the exception. Not the rule.
The rule was, you put this cut on because a piece of you was missing. A vital piece that made it impossible for you to operate in society. A piece that thirsted for blood, violence and pussy. Or dick if you were inclined that way.