Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“You did it so you’d have cover.”
“No, I did it because it needed to be done,” I said bluntly. “You were in a bad spot and . . . Hell, I don’t know, Tinker. It seemed like the thing to do at the time, and seeing as I’m not some kind of charity, I obviously did it for a reason. I haven’t figured all that out yet. I do know that I want you, and I’m not the kind of guy to sit back and wait for good things to come to me. These weeks I’ve spent here have been hell. I think about you every night. I can’t remember—”
“Did you think about me while you were screwing your girlfriend?” she asked, her tone snide.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did,” I answered, and her mouth dropped. “I probably shouldn’t have copped to that, but you don’t like being lied to, so here’s reality—I do what I have to do for my club. Sometimes I won’t be able to tell you all the details, but I won’t lie to you again. You hear that? I will not lie to you again. Period. All I want is for us to start over—you think that’s workable?”
I knelt down in front of her, putting my hands on her knees. Tinker met my eyes and we looked at each other. Wished to hell I could see what she was thinking. At least she was listening.
“You’re full of shit,” she said softly.
I shook my head. “No, this time I’m really not.”
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Tell me about your motorcycle club. I’ve heard about them, and what I’ve heard isn’t good. Of course, most of that was from my ex-husband and he’s a bit of a douche, so enlighten me.”
“Were the Nighthawks around when you were growing up?” I asked. She nodded. “Things have changed since then, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “They used to be regular guys who were part of the community. Then a bunch of them got caught up all at once and went to prison, so obviously there was more going on than what we saw on the surface.”
“My club—the Reapers—are more like the original Nighthawks,” I said. “We’re part of our community. We do a lot of charitable things, we hang out together. We’re a family. A big, loud family that has a shitload of fun.”
“But you commit crimes together, too,” she replied, meeting my gaze steadily. “Brandon prosecuted a major case against a club. I’m not an idiot.”
“We’re one percenters,” I told her. “Do you know what that means?”
“Not a clue.”
“It means we don’t let the law get in the way of living our lives,” I continued. “We ride our bikes, we party. We have a hell of a good time, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep that life. For the most part it has nothing to do with the civilian world—our battles are our own, and you should know that the Reapers are the dominant club in this region. That means we have alliances with smaller clubs like the Nighthawks, but ultimately we call the shots. What the Nighthawks have been doing—harassing the community, that kind of thing—that’s what happens when a club falls out of balance. I came here to fix things. Marsh Jackson is going to prison, and so are his boys. It’s time to rebuild the club in Hallies Falls, turn it back into what it was when you were growing up.”
A sudden pounding on the door startled us, and Tinker sighed.
“God, I swear, if that’s Mrs. Webbly . . .”
I snorted. “I told her I’d get to the toilet tomorrow. She has two bathrooms.”
“Let me talk to her,” Tinker said, pushing my hands off her knees. She stood and had started toward the door when the pounding came a second time, and a man shouted, “Are you okay, Ms. Garrett? This is Tony Allen, with Hallies Falls PD. Can you open the door?”
Fucking hell. Tinker hesitated, then shot me a quick question with her eyes. Did this have anything to do with me? I shook my head in quick denial, following and standing behind her as she opened the door. A young deputy—hardly old enough to shave—looked at us with wide eyes.
“Um, we got a call requesting a welfare check,” he said slowly. “A friend of yours called, said he was concerned about a man coming into your home. Can you step outside, Ms. Garrett?”
Oh, that fucker. That cowardly little fucker. Guitar Boy hadn’t had the nerve to stand up to me so he’d called in the cops for no damned good reason. Just what I needed.
“Of course,” she said, following him. I knew the drill here. He’d talk to her separately, make sure I wasn’t forcing her to do anything. If she truly wanted to jack me up, now would be her opportunity. I considered that. Tinker was pissed at me—really pissed. She could tell him I’d lied about my identity, not that much would come of it. The club’s lawyers could fix anything that needed fixing, and the local cops followed the Nighthawks’ lead. Still, I was a little surprised when she finished talking to the guy and came back inside.