Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
He pulled out of the kiss and nipped at my earlobe, suckling it lightly before growling low in his throat as he came, filling me up with his seed. His orgasm triggered my own, and I cried out in release. His hips jerked against mine once more before he collapsed on top of me, our bodies gliding together in a sweaty embrace.
Morgue panted heavily as if trying to catch his breath while I played with the hair at the base of his neck and held him close. He smelled amazing -- like leather and sweat and masculinity that intoxicated me beyond reason.
“Morgue?” My voice was a little hoarse, but I loved the sound. Like my man had been making me scream in ecstasy. Oh, wait…
“Yeah, baby?”
“There’s two things I want to know before you leave.”
“Anything, baby.” He was still catching his breath and sucking on my neck, his beard a shade ticklish.
“Um, well, first of all, do you still mean it when you told me you were mine as long as I wanted you?”
He pulled back, frowning at me. “Yeah. I meant it.” He looked like he was sensing a trap, but also like he was pissed I’d make him repeat his promise.
“I only ask because I never want you to not be mine. And I want to never not be yours either.”
His frown deepened. “Neither of those things will happen. I’m yours. You’re mine. End of story.” Yeah, that was kind of cute. Not that I’d ever tell him.
“Well, you see, if that’s the case, I mean, do you believe in getting married and stuff?”
“Yeah, Dorothy,” he said. His frown not showing any signs of letting up. “I do. And you will absolutely marry me. You get me? Also, you need to know being my old lady makes you part of Iron Tzars. You ain’t a member, but you’re a permanent part of this club. We don’t divorce. I keep you happy, you stay with me. Forever. Not up for negotiation. No one leaves the Tzars.”
I had to hold back a grin and barely managed. I didn’t figure this was a good time for him to feel like I was laughing at him. I wasn’t. It was just so cute the way he thought I’d balk and not want to stay with him.
“Yeah. I get you. And if you’re good to me -- which I know you will be -- then I won’t want to leave.” I bit my lip then. “Which brings me to the second question.”
He lifted his chin. “What.”
“Well, I’d kind of like to know, um, your name?”
There was silence. Morgue’s lips parted, then he closed them again. With a sigh, he lay back on top of me and kissed me again. This time it was slow and languid. He didn’t stop for a long time. When he did, he put his lips by my ear and whispered, “My name’s Max,” he said. “Max Grimwood.”
Then Max “Morgue” Grimwood, the most deadly man in a club full of deadly men, gave me the most wonderful, lust-filled ride of my life.
Several times.
And I loved every blistering second of it!
Chapter Ten
Morgue
The plan was simple. It was Friday night. The women I was looking for always went to the same club. Wylde confirmed they were still on for the evening by hacking into their phones and monitoring their phone calls and texts. There were three of them. I had Stitches, Deacon, Blaze, and Ace with me to remove the women from the club, and Clutch driving the cage to take us out of the city.
Once again, Deke from Bones was waiting in a secluded area an hour outside of Lawrence, Kansas. He’d fly us back to a point just outside of Evansville, to an abandoned farm that just happened to be owned by someone who didn’t exist but which had advanced security protecting it from prying eyes. And the occasional hunter. Sting and the rest of the officers would meet us there. We had a barn with a basement specially made for situations like this. Because these women were going to die. Just not right away, because we needed more information from them.
The club the women frequented was small but loud. It worked in our favor in that no one would care if they screamed. Hell, everyone was screaming. The bass thumped, and partiers jumped around in what I assumed was dancing. The only thing I really cared about was getting the three women out of here without anyone noticing anything was wrong. Wylde was on the cameras and all of us who’d gone inside the club had covered up our tattoos just in case. Nothing was foolproof.
It was kind of fitting. They’d brought Dorothy to a club and let her be drugged and kidnapped. So, when I watched as Deacon slipped a Molly in the drink of the woman he was flirting with, I couldn’t help but smirk. What was that movie line? Life’s a bitch, and her stripper name is Karma. Yeah. I didn’t feel sorry for the bitch. None of them.