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)
Our eyes locked for a moment. He didn't look away like most would when caught staring. Just held my gaze steady, his expression unreadable in the dim light. I was the one who broke contact, deliberately turning my back to him as I accepted my drink.
But my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't resist taking another look. This time I turned my body fully, leaning casually against the bar so I could study him properly. He was tall, six-foot-something with broad shoulders that filled out his plain black T-shirt in a way that made my mouth go dry. No colors, which was interesting at a gathering like this. Just dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and that shirt that stretched across what had to be a workout routine I'd pay good money to witness. You know. With his shirt off. His face was all sharp angles, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that looked like it might have been broken once or twice.
But it was his eyes that really got me. Even from across the room, I could feel their intensity. Dark and watchful, taking in everything while giving away nothing. The kind of eyes that had seen shit—real shit—not just the everyday violence of club life. His dark hair was cut short on the sides but longer on top, pushed back like he'd run his fingers through it.
He wasn't conventionally handsome. No, this guy was dangerous looking in a way that made something low in my belly tighten. Like a predator who’d focused on his prey and intended on devouring her.
"That's three," the bartender commented.
"You counting my drinks now, Rick?"
He shrugged. "Ghost asked me to keep an eye out."
I rolled my eyes and pulled out my phone, checking for messages though I knew there wouldn't be any. Ghost would be here when he got here. Pocketing the phone again, I circled my finger around the rim of my glass, then tapped my foot against the bar rail, unable to settle.
The jukebox switched to "Sweet Child O' Mine," and normally I'd be on the makeshift dance floor with some of the other club girls — or a guy who didn’t know my father — but tonight I couldn't find the energy. I stood instead, walking a slow circle around the bar, nodding at familiar faces.
I ended up sitting near the pool tables, watching a game without really seeing it. I played with my empty shot glass, turning it around and around.
"Twitchy tonight, kitten."
The voice belonged to Bull, an old-timer with Bound in Blood who'd been riding since before I was born. His leather cut was faded to a soft charcoal, patches from a dozen runs fraying at the edges, even as his name patch and his club patches were sharp and showed no signs of wear.
"Just restless," I said, setting down the glass. "Too many familiar faces who are afraid of my dad."
"Careful what you wish for," he said, nodding toward the door where a group of Copperheads were making their entrance. Their copper and black colors stood out sharply against the Valentine's decorations. "Some new faces ain't worth meeting."
I shrugged. "They're playing nice tonight. Everyone is."
Bull snorted. "Like a snake plays nice until it strikes." He looked me over, his weathered face softening slightly. "Hard to believe you're the same little wildcat Ghost dragged in five years ago. You were all bones and fury, ready to knife anyone who looked at you sideways."
"Still might," I said, but there was no heat in it.
"Nah." He shook his head with a grin. "Ghost saved your ass, and you saved his right back. Never seen that man give a damn about anything until you came along. Used to worry me, how empty he was behind those eyes."
I shifted uncomfortably. Bull wasn't usually the sentimental type, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear about the Ghost that existed before me.
"He’s still empty behind the eyes sometimes," I said.
Bull nodded "True enough. But he's got someone to come home to now. You’re stayin’ with the club for a while?"
I snorted. “Where else would I go? This is home. I have no desire to live anywhere other than at the compound.”
I scanned the room again, my gaze drifting back to the man who'd been watching me. He'd moved to a table now, sitting with a couple of Copperheads, but not wearing their colors. Still, there was something about how he held himself, an alertness that reminded me of Ghost. Like a man who was always aware of the exits and who stood between him and them.
"You know that guy?" I asked Bull, tipping my chin subtly in the stranger's direction.
Bull squinted. "New blood with the Copperheads, I think? Goes by Rocky or some shit. Keeps to himself mostly. Why? He bothering you?"