Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I don’t know why I’m trying to reassure him. That’s not my job, and it’s certainly not my role in his life. And most of all, it’s not a role he’s asked me to fulfill.
He knocks back the gin and tonic in two quick gulps before he snaps his fingers for another.
The woman, Frankie, ignores him.
“Fuck,” he growls and reaches over the bar for the bottle of Jack.
“Let’s do a shot, and then we can get out of here.”
I shake my head. “I might do a lot of dumb shit, but I’m not getting on a bike with you after the amount of gin she put in that glass and then watch you down another shot. You can stay here with your friends.”
“So you’re really leaving? Got what you wanted, and now you’re gone.”
I let out a bitter laugh at that. “What I wanted? Silly me. I thought we both wanted it. Now I know.” I stand up straight and put some distance between us. “Didn’t mean to force you into something you didn’t want.”
“Why are you putting words into my mouth?”
“I’m not. I heard what you said loud and clear.” I hike the duffel bag up on my arm and take two steps back. “And for the record, Preacher? You never asked me to stay.”
I walk away from him then, out of the stupid but really cool clubhouse and into the sunny day.
The beautiful day is no reflection of my sour mood as I walk across the parking lot toward the street. Preacher will never ask me to stay, especially now that his whole club distrusts me. Thinks I’m some kind of homewrecker or club-wrecker I guess. As if I have the power to split those guys up even if I want to, which I don’t.
He didn’t ask me to stay because he didn’t want me to. That much is clear. But his stupid male ego can’t let me go until he’s ready to be done with me. Well, fuck that. Mom doesn’t want me at home, and Preacher doesn’t want me either.
I’ll find someplace that’s just for me and Ro, who always wants me around. That’s next on my list, so I need to get somewhere I can sit and think for a while.
“Gia!”
I hear Preacher calling after me, but I keep walking, not because I want him to follow me, but because I need to get away before he starts to think that’s exactly what I want him to do.
He calls my name again, but it’s muffled under the roar of an engine. Not a bike engine but like a really old car.
“Gia!”
I turn this time and see Preacher waving his hands in my direction in some code I can’t quite decipher. The roar gets louder as if multiple bikes are riding by, which pulls my attention from Preacher just long enough to notice the black van barreling straight toward me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Preacher
I stand a few feet from the clubhouse door, a little buzzed from the gin and tonic, not to mention the two shots of Jack, watching as it all unfolds.
My biggest fucking nightmare.
“Gia,” I call out to her once again. The stubborn damn woman is angry and hurt and too emotional to be reasonable. At first, I just want to talk to her, but then I hear the roar of multiple bikes in the distance. The near distance. My heart rate speeds up because this can’t be good.
Bikers don’t roll up that deep to another MC’s territory if they’re not coming to make trouble.
“Dammit, Gia, get over here. Now!”
She turns in my direction, a look that’s a mixture of sadness and anger on her beautiful face.
I wave my hands, motioning for her to come to me. To get over to the clubhouse and to safety before those bikes get any closer. “Come. Now.”
She looks over her shoulder, and even from this distance, I can see her body stiffen in fear and in shock. It’s not the motorcycles leading the pack. That loud roar is from a black van with blacked-out windows, deeply in need of a new muffler, maybe even a new fucking engine. She turns back to me, and it all clicks, what I’m trying to tell her.
Gia throws her bag and starts to run toward me, pumping her arms and legs as fast they can go as the van picks up speed.
I run in her direction, hoping to intercept her, or at the very least, get in the way of those dirty fucking Iron Kings before they can get their paws on Gia. She’s mine.
Mine.
“Run, Gia!” We’re getting closer, so close that I can see the fear in her wide blue eyes.
She pumps her legs higher and faster, using her arms to push more air behind her to quicken her pace. Our door is close enough she might make it.