Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Wowza.
His face was thoughtful, his expression tinged with melancholy. “Maybe even before that. When Laurie got killed we all wanted retribution. To kill every last one of the motherfuckers that were responsible. Then I got this sick feeling, the feeling that somehow we were responsible. The club’s actions led to a course of events that almost shattered us.” His eyes were far away. “I didn’t understand a love like that until you. And the thought of you copping shit because of the club—” He shuddered. “Stuff of nightmares, babe. Even with all the shit we went through, I went dark. I was pissed at the world, pissed at you, and loved you at the same time.”
I inwardly flinched at this, at my actions causing him pain.
His expression was full of love though. “Through all that I still didn’t want to be a man that you couldn’t respect.”
“I respect you. No matter what,” I whispered.
“Maybe not if you knew what I’ve done,” he said with a hint of vulnerability.
I got up from my chair and walked around to him. He scooted his chair so it faced me and I climbed into his lap. “Whatever you’ve done, I don’t care. I know what kind of man you are. My world’s not black and white. I see grey,” I said softly.
Brock grasped my hips. “My whole fuckin’ world was grey until you came along and set it ablaze.”
I smiled at him. “So the club?” I probed softly.
He got back on track. “We don’t run guns. We’ve got some security shit we do on the side, protection, retrievals, stuff like that. That’s along with the other businesses.”
My eyebrow rose. I knew one of the “other businesses” he owned was a strip club. We had even had a confrontation at said strip club after I had been involved in a catfight with one of the strippers. Wow, that was a white trash statement if I’d ever heard one.
Brock seemed to read my mind. “I didn’t touch her,” he said quietly. “That night, that waitress—I didn’t fuck her. I just wanted to piss you off.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. We weren’t technically together when that happened, but we were sleeping together sporadically. Not that I expected monogamy.
“Retrieval?” I asked, cottoning on to an earlier statement.
“Yeah, since me and Asher and Bull are all ex-Navy we’ve got experience in hostage extraction. We still do a bit of that. High risk or high profile cases that can’t have the police involved, people come to us.” He paused. “That’s how your uncle found us.”
I was silent for a moment, the conversation turning to a subject I had been trying to broach for the past week. “Clark,” I said and Brock’s body tightened. “What’s happening there?”
“Not enough,” he clipped. “He’s a powerful guy. And a fuckin’ dangerous one at that. He’s high on the scumbag food chain. We can’t exactly roll in there and put a bullet in his skull, which was one of my earlier proposals. But we’re working on it.”
“By working on it you mean a plan for his murder?” I clarified.
“He needs to pay,” was Brock’s reply.
“As much as I agree with that statement, maybe he’s not worth it,” I said cautiously.
Brock’s eyes snapped to mine.
“Easy, tiger. I just mean maybe it’s not worth the consequences of A, trying to get close enough to him to commit said murder, and B, the blowback of actually murdering him,” I told him.
Brock let out an angry breath. “You sound like fuckin’ Cade.”
“Well, great minds think alike,” I said. “All I’m saying is maybe your thirst for revenge is clouding your judgment. Am I even at risk anymore?” I asked. I already knew the answer to this. Well, according to my Uncle Garrett, at least. He seemed to think that my father was taking care of it.
“Clark’s given the word that he won’t touch you anymore,” he gritted out. “But that’s the word of a fuckin’ psychopath, babe. And I’m not gonna let the man who hurt you keep on sitting pretty in his fuckin’ mansion,” he snarled.
“Yeah, I know, you’re a big bad biker and you need to send a message to anyone who fucks with you or anyone connected to you,” I stated smartly. “But maybe you’ve got to settle for an alternate. Set a bag of poop on fire on his doorstep and run off.” Brock raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe just burn his whole freakin’ house down. I don’t know, outlaw justice isn’t my strong point. All I know is I’m pretty fond of you and I’m not happy with you putting yourself at risk in order to exact some kind of revenge,” I said softly. My true fear was starting to show. What if something happened to him when he was trying to defend my honor?
Brock read that too. “We’ll sort it out, babe. And nothing will happen to me, okay?”
I nodded vaguely. “Can you please at least promise to try and let this one slide if it becomes too dangerous?” I pleaded, knowing I’d have more of a chance getting him to wear that pink tutu.
The look he gave me said I was right.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The weeks passed by in relative harmony. Brock and I relaxed into the rhythm of being a couple, although not without some kinks along the way.
One was Brock’s insistence we move in together. I wasn’t ready for that.
“We spend every fuckin’ night together anyway,” he argued.
“That’s not the point. I like having my house. My space. It’s too soon for an ‘our’,” I argued right back.
“It’s not too fuckin’ soon—we’ve been together for a fuckin year.” His voice was raised.
“We have not! We’ve been officially together for like a month. Everything before that was a mess. We need time to be a normal couple and move at a normal speed.” My voice was raising too.
“I don’t give a shit about normal!” he shouted. “I give a shit about having my old lady in my house, in my bed, coming home to her every day.”