Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
"You won't regret it."
"I've heard that before," she sighs. "Right before Kasen kidnapped Olivia. And guess what? He makes me miserable every single day, Memphis. Every day!"
I chuckle, brushing a hand over my beard. "I can hide his body."
"I may take you up on that. He's calling me now." She groans. "I'll look into your girl."
"Thank yo-" I don't even get to finish before she hangs up on me. I slide my phone back into my pocket, laughing to myself.
My gaze drifts back to Kylie just in time to see her gaze dart away from me.
I grin like a fucking crazy person and stroll toward the back, leaving her to stew over how she's going to have to repay me.
Chapter Two
Kylie
"You."
I look up into the denim eyes of the bouncer pointing a thick finger at me from the double doors of the Devil's Run just off Broadway in downtown Nashville. He's the same behemoth who has been here every night since I started coming to the bar. Judging by the way he scowls at me, I don't think he likes me much. Then again, I'm not sure he likes anyone.
"You're in," he growls, his deep voice rumbling through the crowd waiting outside the doors.
"Freaking seriously?" a bottle blonde near the front of the line huffs. "She just got here. I've been waiting an hour."
"Keep waitin', sweetheart," he says, not even looking in her direction. "The boss likes her. He doesn't give a shit about you."
Raucous laughter erupts from a group of bikers directly behind her.
My heart thumps unevenly at the mention of his boss, Memphis Hughes. The man doesn't even know who I am or what I'm really doing here. But something about the razor-sharp set of jaw, the confident swagger in his walk, and that freaking cocky smirk has me thinking things I shouldn't.
Memphis Hughes is trouble with a capital T. And I like it a little too much. I've been trying to convince myself all day that my attraction to him is only because of his connection to my dead brother, but I'm honest enough with myself to know I'm a liar. It's him and the way he watched me all night last night.
I'm trying to chase ghosts from the past…and his wicked smirk is what's haunting me.
"You going in or not?" the bouncer, Venom, growls at me.
"Yes," I say, ducking out of line to hurry toward the doors before he changes his mind. When I pass the blonde, she scoffs at me. I ignore her, brushing past Venom's muscular body into the bar.
As soon as I step over the threshold, a wall of noise hits me. The pounding beat of the music pulses through my veins. The scent of smoke and bourbon fills the air, mixing with leather, sweat, and the smell of nachos from the kitchen.
I pause for a moment, trying to get my bearings. Until I stepped through the doors of this bar for the first time, I'd never been in one. And this bar is…well, it's something. Half of the waitresses walk around topless, dollar bills tucked into their skirts as they deliver food and take orders.
No one ever gets handsy with them, though. The one time someone tried while I was here, Memphis and Venom hauled him out by his throat, a line of bikers trailing behind to ensure he stayed out. They respect Memphis and his rules, at least enough to keep their hands off his employees.
Forcing my feet forward, I make my way to my usual booth in the very back corner—right under the only light in this place that isn't neon. I try like hell not to look at Memphis when I pass by the bar, but my gaze drifts to him anyway. He's talking to the scarred bartender, Jessup, his voice pitched low. He looks way too good in a tight black T-shirt and faded jeans, his long dark hair a wild mess around his face. With tattoos running up his muscular arms all the way to his neck and pure sin in his cobalt eyes, he's far too wild to be as damn beautiful as he is.
He notices me looking and shoots me a smirk, his eyes heated as they prowl down my body. "Hey, Ozma."
I roll my eyes at his stupid nickname and keep walking, refusing to acknowledge him or the way my stomach clenches at the sight of him. Lord have mercy, though, the man should come with a warning label.
I hear his wicked chuckle even over the music wailing through the bar. It turns my nipples to hard points beneath my Zeppelin T-shirt.
I nearly trip over my own two feet, which has my face flaming.
Get a grip, girl, I chastise myself silently as I fall into my booth. He knows what happened to Jayson. That's what you're here for. Not whatever this ridiculous fascination is.