Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Suddenly, it was more difficult to suck in a full breath of air.
Everything that had come out in the last… five minutes? Ten? Was more than a woman like me could handle.
Was it really only a month ago that I had a husband telling me how worthless I was because I forgot that we had a dinner with his golf buddies? How stupid I was because I didn’t know the answer to some obscure question at trivia night?
I was not used to a man being open and free with affection, with purpose.
“When we get deeper with one another.”
He said when. Like it was a forgone conclusion. Like he’d already decided I was worth it.
Although it was nice to hear, beyond nice, I felt uneasy. I didn’t trust it. I was tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Swiss was still watching me intently as I realized I had not spoken yet, and I probably had a look of shock and awe on my face. But I still didn’t speak because I had no idea what to say and really hoped he was going to explain more.
He took a breath. “As much as I would like to keep us between us, that’s not how it works here,” he said. “We’re a family. A fucked-up one to be sure, but a family. I’d like to say it’s all on the Old Ladies, but some of the patched brothers are worse than fuckin’ women.”
He held his hand up in mock surrender. “Not that I’m making a generalization about your sex or implying there is anything wrong with being a woman. Men should be more like women. We’re scumbags, all of us.”
Despite the barrage of emotions running through me in that moment, I couldn’t help but smile.
He shrugged on his cut. I wondered if he wore it every day. I liked him in it. Despite what I’d been conditioned into thinking it symbolized—criminals, violence, drugs, lawlessness.
I didn’t know a whole bunch about the Sons of Templar or what they stood for, and I could’ve been completely wrong, but I got the feeling there was a whole lot more to his club than met the eye.
I already saw there was a whole lot more to this man than met the eye.
A gaggle of female laughter came from beyond the door, and it jerked me into action. I realized that there was a whole bunch of people out there, waiting to meet me. The woman Swiss was serious about.
Swiss. The sex god.
And I was wearing day old clothes that smelled of coffee, had on not a lick of makeup, and my hair was still wet from the shower.
“I can’t meet your family like this,” I exclaimed as I stared at myself in the mirror.
I was still learning to get used to my naked face. It was so rare that I saw it in the daylight. In the past, I was required to look my best at all times.
Preston had made it clear he didn’t like the way I looked without makeup. And enough years had gone by that Preston’s likes and dislikes had become my likes and dislikes. Out of need for survival, I supposed.
So I had some level of self-hatred, I guessed. Nonexistent confidence. My fight-or-flight mode that was almost always engaged.
In short, I was screwed up.
And I was diving into a completely crazy scenario with a crowd of people I’d never met.
Without hair or makeup, without the things that had served as my armor for so long.
Without it, I looked younger, my skin lineless, pale because my natural skin tone was alabaster. I blushed easily and bruised even easier, something that helped my face a lot these past years. My eyes were wide, lashes dark, framing the dark blue eyes that I thought were my best feature. My lips were pink, full—because of the injections that Preston insisted I get—and slightly too big for my face in my opinion. But they suited me more now that my face was getting rounder with the weight gain. My cheekbones weren’t so high and gaunt anymore.
Swiss came up behind me in the mirror. “You’re right,” he agreed, eyes flickering over my bare face, my rosy cheeks, my wide and bright eyes.
My stomach dropped.
His arms slipped around my waist. “You look too fuckin’ good,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck. “Freshly fucked,” he continued, speaking against my skin. Inhaling. “Glowing.” His eyes met mine. “Not enough of my brothers are loved up. I’m definitely gonna have to shoot at least one of them for trying to steal you from me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Be serious.”
He thought on it. “Okay, you’re right. Shooting might be too messy and loud. There will probably be children there. I’ll stab them. Flesh wounds only.”
I shot daggers at him with my eyes. “Seriously?” I cried. “I don’t have any makeup with me. My hair is still wet!”