Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
It was taking me to a dark place.
“No one in a uniform is catching this sick fuck,” Hansen said from his place at the head of the table. “It’ll be a man wearing a Sons of Templar cut sending this bastard to hell.”
“It’ll be Elden,” Swiss cut in, speaking for the man who wasn’t present because he refused to leave his wife’s side.
Hansen nodded.
His eyes roamed to me before he spoke again. “We’ve gotta hope that the one silver lining in this is that these crimes happened within town limits which means the sheriff has no fucking choice in pulling his head outta our asses and doing some fucking real police work.”
There were grunts around the table. Sure, we were keeping our less than legal dealings locked tight, but if the sheriff watched us close enough for long enough, he was bound to get something. At that point, we’d have to figure out a way to end the sheriff without it leading to us. It would be messy.
But that was for later.
“As it is, we’ve got somewhat of a problem with the sheriff,” Hansen continued, his eyes finding mine again. “Or you will. And I’ll urge you not to do anything to stir shit up with him.”
I clenched my fists. “Why would I do anything?”
“Because it seems he went out for dinner with Sariah last night.”
There was flat silence at the table.
Though I had not outwardly declared that Sariah was mine, my brothers had caught on to what had been left unsaid.
“She what?” I seethed.
“Wire has him on surveillance,” Hansen explained. “As well as all the women connected with the club. For safety purposes. Her cellphone pinged at the same restaurant, so he did some digging, found out he picked her up from her apartment and dropped her off there later.”
Red tinged my vision.
“Right,” I pushed up from my chair.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Hansen called after me.
As much as I was tempted to put my fist through that sheriff’s face, I wasn’t that far gone. Plus, it wasn’t the sheriff who was playing games here.
It was fucking Sariah.
And I knew what she was fucking doing. She was trying to use her considerable sex appeal to wring information from the fucker. She was still prying into this killer even though I fucking told her not to.
Hadn’t I expected that, though? Sariah was not one to do what she was told, and now that Violet had been hurt, apparently, she was not one to consider her own safety.
I wasn’t sure if it would’ve been worse if she’d gone out with him because she’d wanted to fuck him. All I was sure of was that I wasn’t myself when I barged into her apartment that morning.
I didn’t like how out of control I was. And though Sariah’d had some words to say, she fucking liked it too. I’d jacked myself off constantly to the memory of the fire in her eyes, those hard nipples and how fucking wet she’d been when I’d fucked her with my fingers.
Yeah, that made it all the more complicated.
Though I wanted her, ached to put her over my fucking knee, I’d stayed away from her since then. She wasn’t going to stop looking for the killer, meaning she wasn’t going to stop putting herself in danger, so we had to find him first.
The problem was, we didn’t have shit. We had Wire, one of the best fucking hackers in the country, and a club full of men with all sorts of skills, yet none of us could track down a murderer. Even though almost everyone wearing a patch was also one.
But this twisted asshole was different. The club killed when we needed to. When we were threatened. To protect our own.
Some members might’ve even found joy in those kills, like Swiss or Hades. But that joy didn’t come from ending innocent lives. It came from punishing those who deserved it. Those who had signed up for their death when they’d committed an irreparable wrong.
None of us could fathom the kind of monster who killed women like this.
I’d assumed my fury toward Sariah would peter out given time. That I’d be able to face her, claim her without that hungry animal inside of me taking over.
But seeing her at the barbeque, the day before she was due to leave, the memory of her pussy juice had my mouth watering.
She was wearing a dress, floral and tight over every curve, brushing her calves. She wore cowboy boots underneath it, and her hair was obscured by a straw hat. Every time I saw her, she was a different version of herself. I never knew which kind of Sariah I was going to get. And I fucking loved that. Loved every version she’d presented.
Which made it all the more difficult to stay away from her the entire barbeque.