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)
Lately though, some things about Konstantin have been different. He’s edgy, his books aren’t given in the same consistency and the numbers don’t align with past histories. More than that, the smug bastard carries himself much like a pakhan, a Bratva boss.
His changed demeanor makes me doubt everything and everyone. I don’t trust a damn soul right now. Not my own men, not my own system. Something slipped, and she got caught in it. In my world, nothing slips. This mistake, or intentional move touched someone pure. She’s paying the price for someone else’s crime.
Now, she’s locked in a box in the middle of the woods that no one knows about, thanks to Riot’s heavy-handed sense of damage control. I told him to secure her, keep her safe. I never thought he would take her here and lock her inside without an explanation.
Ledger “Riot” Masters, my only sibling. My baby brother who can be impulsive, hot-headed, and a jackass, but he’s as loyal to the club as they come. Whatever vibe he got from her, this was the path he thought we should take. Without hesitation, he walked right into this fire, or started it depending on how it’s viewed.
I need to go inside and talk Alaina down. I’m sure being tucked away here has her on edge and ready to climb the walls.
My jaw tightens as I kill the engine and swing off my bike, dust kicking up around my boots. I shove my gun into the saddlebag, leaving it behind, along with my phone and wallet.
I don’t need any distractions.
I don’t need anything but time to think and answers from her about what she knows. How deep is she embedded in things? Especially with her grandfather. Is she part of this and plays coy well? My gut tells me she’s on the up and up, but I need confirmation.
Riot is already waiting near the container door, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the low light. His vest bears his name patch in bold letters, his rank beneath it.
Riot– Tail Gunner.
He’s a necessary evil in this club. A man who handles the back end always, no questions asked. He is also always on watch, on guard. Usually, his input, presence, and overall companionship give me a sense of peace. But right now, all I see is a mistake waiting to happen.
"You sure you wanna go in there alone?" he asks, watching me carefully.
I don’t answer. Just stare him down until he exhales through his nose and unlocks the door.
The steel groans as he pulls it open just enough for me to step inside.
And then—the door slams behind me.
The lock clicks.
I barely hear it.
Because the only thing I’m focused on is her.
She’s curled up on the couch, legs pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Her blonde hair is a wild mess, strands falling loose around her face, her eyes wild.
She’s been crying.
I feel that anger again—sharp, visceral, clawing at my insides.
She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be anywhere near the likes of me and my kind.
She shouldn’t be scared.
And yet, when her eyes lock onto mine, something flickers in them—something just as dangerous as my own rage.
Attraction.
Heat.
Passion.
Desire.
I take a slow step forward.
She doesn’t move.
She doesn’t speak.
She just breathes, ragged and uneven, her chest rising and falling too fast as I get closer.
The space is small—too small—and she knows it just as well as I do.
Her voice finally breaks the silence, quiet but sharp. "What the hell is going on?”
I take my time crossing the room, my boots heavy on the wooden floor, my gaze never leaving her.
She doesn’t shrink away, but she doesn’t move toward me either.
She’s on edge—breathing too fast, fingers digging into her bare arms, her whole body coiled tight like a rabbit caught in a snare.
And fuck me—I shouldn’t enjoy this.
Shouldn’t enjoy the way her chest rises and falls, the way her lips part slightly when she pushes down her fear, the way her skin is flushed, her pulse visible at the very base of her throat.
But I do.
Because I am in control here.
And she knows it.
I drop onto the couch beside her, my body stretching out, legs splayed wide, my arm draping over the backrest like I own the place.
Like I own her.
She stiffens, her whole body reacting even though I haven’t touched her.
Not yet.
I smirk, slow and deliberate. "Relax, sweetheart."
Her jaw tightens. "Screw you."
A chuckle rumbles in my chest. There she is the spit-fire. "Now that’s not very polite," I murmur, tilting my head as I watch her squirm.
She shifts slightly, her hands balling into fists, trying to control the panic threatening to spill over.
I lean forward just a little, close enough that she can feel my heat, feel the weight of my presence without me even laying a finger on her.