Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
The kid went white, eyes snapping up to my face. "I wasn't... I mean..."
I took pity on him. "Relax. Ghost isn't even here yet. But seriously, eyes up."
"Yes ma... err, I mean, Wren." He shifted uncomfortably. "Ghose, he... he talks about you a lot. Says you're the reason he believes in second chances."
Something warm and uncomfortable settled in my chest. I glanced away, uncomfortable with the emotion. "Ghost talks too much."
"He said you'd say that, too."
I laughed despite myself. "Go get me another whiskey, prospect. You'll live longer if you're useful." I took a chance ordering the guy around like that. Even though this was a laid back function, I always tried to show proper respect for the patched members of Bound in Blood, but fucking with prospects was practically expected.
As the kid scrambled off, I leaned against the bar and took in the room. Classic rock thumped through speakers that had seen better days, Guns N' Roses giving way to Aerosmith. Cigarette and weed smoke hung in the air like a storm cloud, despite the No Smoking sign the county kept trying to enforce. The entire place thrummed with the particular energy that comes when predators agree to play nice for a night.
"Look at these flowers," said a woman's voice nearby. I turned to see a group of old ladies from various clubs arranging centerpieces.
"Barbed wire's a nice touch," another woman replied. "My man said the decorations were too girly last year. Told him I'd wrap his dick in barbed wire if he complained again."
They cackled together, and I found myself smiling. These women were the backbone of the clubs, as dangerous as their men and twice as clever. Most had seen more blood and bandaged more bullet wounds than combat medics.
"Wren! Get your skinny ass over here," called Lacey, Ghost's on-again-off-again steady lay. Currently on, from the proprietary way she waved me over. Not cool, but also not the time to cause a ruckus. I snagged my refilled whiskey from the returning prospect and joined the women.
"Who did your hair, girl? That purple's fucking gorgeous," Lacey said, reaching out to touch a strand.
"Did it myself. Figured if I had to wear a dress, I'd balance it out with some proper color."
Lacey nodded approvingly. "Ghost saved himself a hell of a daughter when he found you." Of course, she had to go there. Lacey must be on my dad’s shit list if she was complimenting me.
A few of the women glanced at me, obviously wondering how I’d react. Yeah. She was definitely on the way out for good this time. Just as well. She was a skank.
Most of the women here knew pieces of my story, how Ghost had found me five years ago, a seventeen-year-old runaway with fractured ribs and worse memories. How he'd killed the men who hurt me, then brought me home like a stray cat he couldn't leave in the rain.
"Speaking of," said a woman with steel-gray hair I recognized from the Iron Horses, "how's he handling you turning into a grown woman? Nearly took Mikey's head off last month for looking at you too long."
I snorted. "Ghost knows I can handle myself."
"That's not what I asked," she said with a knowing look.
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction. "He trusts me to make my own mistakes."
"And bury your own bodies?" Lacey asked with a wink. I came close to vomiting a little in my mouth.
"He taught me where the shovel is." I raised my glass in a toast, and they all laughed.
The music changed, the bass thumping harder as more people filtered in. The Valentine's Ball was in full swing now, the strange mix of romance and danger that defined everything about club life. I belonged here, among these people who lived by their own rules. Who'd taken in a broken girl and shown her how to be strong instead.
But as I glanced around the transformed bar, at the tough-as-nails women proudly adjusting their rose-and-barbed-wire creations, at the men who pretended to hate it while secretly enjoying the one night a year when everyone set aside daily grievances and feuds, I felt the familiar restlessness creep under my skin. I belonged here, but sometimes I wondered if belonging was enough.
I ordered another whiskey, drumming my fingers against the spotless bar top while the bartender poured. Despite how the place looked unkempt and reeked of smoke and alcohol, the bar was always spotless. It was the only reason most of the women drank anything at all. Myself included.
The crowd had thickened, bodies pressing together in the smoky haze, but I couldn't shake the prickling sensation between my shoulder blades. Someone was watching me. Not the usual appreciative glances my tight dress invited, but something more deliberate, more focused. I turned slowly, scanning the room until I caught him, a man leaning against the far wall, half-hidden in shadow but definitely staring in my direction. I didn't recognize him, which made him either new blood or from one of the visiting clubs who didn’t normally hang here.