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)
Chux’s voice comes through the line this time, sharp, decisive, and very firm.
"Go with him, Ally."
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"It’s not a request." His voice is unyielding. "Your grandfather is in a meeting with me right now. If you want to make sure nothing happens to him, you’ll get in the damn car and come with Riot."
Cold fear spikes through me. “What the hell is going on?”
A low sigh comes through the receiver. "You got caught in something that wasn’t meant for you. But now it’s at your door, and that means you need to come in."
I turn back to the window. Riot is still standing there, arms crossed, looking like he has all the time in the world—but I know better.
The Kings don’t wait.
And if Chux is telling me to go? I have a feeling I really don’t have a choice.
I end the call and grip the edge of the counter, trying to calm my nerves. My body wants to run, every instinct screaming at me that this is bad, terrible even, but my mind won’t let me.
Because I know the truth deep inside my soul. This isn’t about me anymore. Hell, it wasn’t ever about me in the beginning. Chux is right about that, I am caught in something not meant for me. I’m here though. This is about my grandfather—and I’d do anything and everything for him.
Even if it means walking out of this door into the hands of the very people I swore I’d never get involved with.
I swallow my fear, give a nod to Riot who exits my shop, but turning around to watch me. I move around securing things, putting up items I had taken out before locking my shop and stepping outside.
Riot doesn’t say a word. He just nods toward the bike.
And ungracefully I get on behind him.
No helmet, unknown destination, and no clue what I’m doing, I ride. My front pressed to his back, I cling to the stranger in front of me as if my life depends on it because in some ways it does. The ride is long. Longer than I expected. What I expected though, I really don’t know. To me, it seems like we keep going and going with no final destination ahead.
Riot doesn’t say much—not that I was expecting a warm, chatty conversation from a man wearing a Kings of Anarchy vest. The only words out of his mouth since I climbed onto the back of his bike have been a gruff, hang on and don’t fall off.
Hold on I do.
We ride for what feels like forever, leaving town behind, moving past the open highway and deeper into the unknown. The air grows thicker, the trees taller, and when Riot finally slows the bike to a stop, I realize I have not the first idea of where I am.
The clearing is empty, except for a single shipping container sitting in the middle of the woods like a misplaced relic from the port. While the container is an odd burned rust color, the porch on the front looks cozy as if this mental box has been converted.
Something inside me turns ice cold.
Riot swings his leg off the bike and looks at me over his shoulder. "Come on, girl."
That’s all he says. No explanation. No reassurance. Just come on girl. I hesitate before climbing off the bike, my hands shaking.. "Where are we?"
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he heads straight for the metal structure, stepping up to the door and pulling it open with practiced ease. He waits, watching me.
I glance at the dense trees surrounding us. No roads. No signs. No way to call for help.
I inhale deeply, my pulse hammering, as I fight to tame the fear inside me. I don’t have a choice.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I follow him inside.
I expect… I don’t even know what I expect.
Cold steel walls? A dark, musty space with nothing but a cot and a chair?
Instead, I step inside and find a cozy, homely space.
Not a cold, empty box—a fully transformed and functional living space.
The walls are insulated, paneled in reclaimed wood, warm and homey. A tiny but functional kitchen is built into one corner, with a stove, sink, and even a stocked mini-fridge. The sitting area has a worn leather couch, a low coffee table, and a shelf stacked with books. There is a bed at the far end, neatly made with dark gray sheets, and next to it, a small bathroom with a shower and sink.
It’s cozy.
It’s clean.
Outside of the glass shower making me feel exposed, the house is charming. The bathroom is the only extra door in the house. At least I can pee in privacy is the positive I’m clinging to right now.
While parts of this can be simple or talked down into an okay situation, most of it is full of unknowns. And yet, my chest tightens because it’s also a trap.