Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
I tighten my grip on the mop handle, my throat dry.
"I—I called my grandfather," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. "I was expecting—” I shake my head. “I don’t know who.” I end up whispering the last part.
I know my grandfather owns The Velvet Hall, a small strip club and the Kings are always there. No, I don’t go in his business. He wouldn’t like that, but I drive by to get home and on my late nights, he is open. There is always motorcycles out front, no less than three on any given night.
I guess they have a plumbing business so grandpa decided to give them his business. At least that is what I tell myself.
"Yeah, yeah," the lean one cuts in, still grinning. "He sent us."
I hesitate. "He sent you?"
"That’s what I said," he replies easily.
"My grandfather owns this building. I don’t want to insult you, but are you a licensed plumber. I know he would want the job done right the first time.” God, this sounds awful, but something about them being here has me on edge.
The grin widens, turning downright smug.
"Does he?" The taller one winks, “Sugar, we can do any job you need us to. For Konstantin or for you.”
A sick feeling curls in my stomach. There’s something about the way he says it, something I don’t like. I fumble for my phone, pressing the call button before I even register what I’m doing. My grandfather picks up on the first ring.
"Dedushka," I whisper, stepping toward the kitchen to put some space between me and the two men. "Why are there bikers in my bakery?"
A heavy sigh filters through the speaker.
"Ally…"
"Dedushka," I repeat, heart hammering. "You own my building, right?" I don’t know why I keep asking this.
Silence.
Then, finally—
"No, Ally," he admits. "The Kings own your building. I pay the rent. They gotta do things their way.”
The world tilts.
I grip the edge of the counter, feeling like I just stepped into a reality I don’t understand.
"Wait—what?" I breathe.
"The Kings own many things in this town," he says gently. "Including The Velvet Hall’s building. I didn’t tell you before because you were happy there, and it mattered not. But I promise you, I wouldn’t have sent them if you weren’t safe. They’re gonna fix your sink, and then they will leave."
I stare at the floor, my mind struggling to keep up.
My bakery—the place I built from the ground up, the place I thought was mine—is owned by an outlaw motorcycle club.
A club that makes me uncomfortable.
A club that’s been coming in here more and more lately.
A club that’s standing in my kitchen, waiting for me to let them fix my broken pipe.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe.
"Ally?" my grandfather says softly.
I close my eyes for a second, blocking out the overwhelming reality of the situation. Then, I straighten.
"Fine," I mutter. "But I’m watching them the entire time."
One of the men—Dipshit #1—winks at me from across the room.
"Looking forward to it, sugar."
I groan.
Today is going to be long.
CHAPTER 5
DAMIAN
The morning sun is already brutal by the time I roll up in front of Frosted and Filled. The heat clings to my skin, thick and unrelenting, but I don’t feel it. My mind is on business—always is. Alabama summers can be intense with the humidity of the deep south.
The two prospects I sent to fix the pipe should be done by now. The instructions Grit gave them to repair the pipe fitting that busted were simple enough. If they fucked it up, they’ll be learning how to fix a whole lot more than plumbing. Being a Prospect for the Kings means proving yourself, and if they can’t handle a simple job like this, they won’t last long. I’ll assess the damage and determine if she needs new floors. If so, that can be their next task.
I kill the engine on my Harley-Davidson Road King, drop my kickstand, swing off, and adjust my cut. The place looks the same as always—quaint, warm, too damn innocent for the kind of men that own it. A lie wrapped up in pastel-colored window trim and the sweet scent of fresh bread.
The Kings might hold the deed, but she is the one who gives it life.
Alaina.
The name rolls through my mind like a slow burn. I didn’t expect to take much notice of her. She’s just another face in town, another person running a business that we allow to keep running. But she isn’t just another anything.
She’s fucking beautiful.
She caught my eye the first time I came in. Then one taste of her treats and yeah, I’m a man hooked. I promised myself I wouldn’t taint her with the darkness of my life, my world, my very soul. Yet, no matter how I much I should stay away, I don’t. Here fate brings us together again.