Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Quick as a flash, he caught the wrist of the hand in which I was holding the Mace, and he redirected the aim away from him (or any of them). He then squeezed my wrist firmly, but not painfully, and yanked the canister out of my hand.
Well, that was humiliating.
And alarming.
He then bellied up to me, forcing me to the back of the elevator. He dipped his head down. His dark-brown eyes locked to mine, nothing touching me except his hand still at my wrist.
And he spoke.
“You’re safe. We will not harm you. I’m Hugger. With me are Eight, Muzzle and Cruise. We share a Bosnian problem and we think we can help you out.”
Oh.
Well then.
The elevator doors closed and we started to ascend.
He let me go and stepped back.
I cast my eyes through the men.
Hugger was tall, but one of the others was taller, as in crazy-tall. The final two were also quite tall, one had a man-bun and a hint of a beer gut, the other one was just good-looking (as were Hugger and the crazy-tall dude).
They did not look like the shiny-golf-shirt-and-slacks-wearing gangsters who drank lattes and kept an insidious presence in the courtyard.
They looked like men who didn’t know what golf shirts were, and I would lay money down none of them owned a pair of slacks.
“I’m a brother of the Chaos MC in Denver,” Hugger carried on as the elevator went up. “Eight and Muzzle are brothers of Resurrection MC. Also in Denver. Cruise is a local, and he’s Aces High.”
“MC?” I asked.
“Motorcycle club,” he answered.
That explained the no-slacks-owning.
“And what problem do you have with the Babić?” I asked.
The elevator doors opened.
The three other men filed out.
I stood in the elevator with Hugger.
The super tall one kept his hand on the door so it would remain open.
“We doin’ this?” Hugger queried.
“What does ‘this’ refer to?” I returned.
“Talking, explaining, and us offering you and your girl protection because you by no means got that buttoned up,” Hugger replied. “They’re casing you. They’re figuring shit out. They’re making plans. And they’re gonna put them in play when they think they can get the job done without blowback.”
Thus my need to layer concealer under my eyes due to missing sleep because I knew this exact thing was what was happening.
I stared at Hugger.
If he didn’t look so serious, he’d be cute.
There was a lot of handsome under all that hair.
So much of it, even all that hair couldn’t hide it. Straight, strong nose. Thick, curling, dark eyelashes. Full, ridged lips.
But with all that hair, and his big bulky body, he was the kind of guy you wanted to tease you while you pretended it annoyed you, but you secretly loved it. The kind of guy who would chop onions beside you while you seasoned the meat. The kind of guy who would open his arms in invitation so you could curl up on his lap and he’d make you feel better just by engulfing you in him after you had a bad day.
In other words, cute.
He might not be into excessive grooming (or any grooming at all), but he was fit. He was wearing a Rage Against the Machine black tee, faded blue jeans and black motorcycle boots, but they were all clean.
And he smelled of a hint of clove, a hint of sandalwood and the barest trace of citrus—warm, outdoorsy and fresh, which seemed to define him completely, even if I knew nothing about him.
A quick sweep of the other three said much the same thing (sans the scent, they weren’t close enough I could smell them).
I made another important decision that day and stepped through the doors.
Hugger came out after me.
I stopped just outside and didn’t move.
Neither did they.
“There are cameras everywhere,” I told him (or them, but I directed it at Hugger).
“We know,” he replied.
“We’re having this chat here. I’m not letting you into my place until I understand what’s going on,” I shared.
“Acceptable,” Hugger grunted.
“Okay then,” I continued. “What’s going on?”
“Babić got a hankering for the president of the Aces High MC’s old lady. He kidnapped her to share this info,” Hugger stated.
That fucking guy.
“Ugh,” I muttered.
“She was unimpressed with his attention, and that was communicated. He then began to fuck with other old ladies of Aces. Leaving notes on the windshields of their cars. Sending them flowers and gifts at their work and homes. Subtle shit that’s not illegal, but would mess with their heads,” Hugger continued. “And it’s messing with their heads.”
“Ugh again,” I said.
Hugger ignored my utterance.
“Somehow, he got hooked up with a biker bunny who has a beef with Aces,” he carried on. “She’s cousin to an old lady of a brother of Resurrection.” Hugger tilted his head to the super tall guy and the one standing next to him who didn’t have a man-bun. “And for some reason, this has translated to him having an interest not only in Aces, but Resurrection and Chaos. We don’t know why. We just know no good can come of it. That’s why me, Eight and Muzzle are down here. To work with Aces to find out.”