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)
"You're different," she said suddenly, studying me with those perceptive eyes that seemed to strip away layers.
"Different how?" I leaned closer, our shoulders touching.
"Most guys here are trying too hard. You're..." She searched for the word. "Present. But also holding something back."
Dangerous perception. I filed that away as a reminder to be careful not to underestimate Wren even as I let myself smile. "Maybe I'm just not that complicated."
"Bullshit." She threw her head back and laughed merrily, and I knew for certain I was doomed. "Everyone's complicated." She tossed back the last of her whiskey. "Let's get out of here." Wren's words caught me off guard, her green eyes holding mine with a directness that suggested she knew exactly what she was proposing. She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "I'm sick of this Valentine's circus. You got somewhere more private we can go?" My brain split in two directions instantly. I had a task here. Getting her alone and giving her a great time might get me where I needed to be, but I really didn’t like starting something with her — even if it was just sex — with a lie.
I hesitated, which wasn't like me. Hesitation would get you killed. But something about Wren made me pause, made me wonder if I was crossing a line I couldn't uncross. While my operation didn’t involve Bound in Blood, Vittorio assured me he would cover any blow back as long as I kept Wren safe and didn’t hurt her. I had no intention of hurting this woman whatsoever, but keeping my cover intact was just as important as being careful with Wren.
"You sure about that?" I asked, buying myself seconds to think.
Her expression turned guarded. "If you're not interested..."
"I didn't say that." I found myself smiling, a real one that felt foreign on my face. "Just making sure we're on the same page."
"What page is that?" She cocked her head, challenge written in the set of her jaw.
I leaned in slowly, close so my lips were close to her ear. "The one where two adults who are attracted to each other leave a shitty bar for somewhere private to fuck the shit out of each other." I kept my voice low, letting the very real desire I had for her show in my words and tone. When I pulled back, I watched her reactions carefully.
Her lips quirked up. "Oh, I’d say we’re on exactly the same page."
Decision made. I nodded, not trusting my voice suddenly. If things went well, Wren would never know about my ties with the Copperheads, or that those ties were lies to get the information Vittorio Luca and his brothers needed to stop the pipeline of forced sex workers, many of whom were underage. Once I had what they needed, I could leave that fucking place forever. And Vittorio would kill them all.
We finished our drinks and I followed her lead as she began weaving through the crowded bar. The place had filled up even more, bodies packed together in the smoke-filled space. This time, I had my arm firmly around Wren’s waist, wanting everyone in the place to know she was leaving with me.
A few Bound in Blood turned to watch our exit. An older Bound in Blood member frowned slightly, but Wren gave him a small nod that seemed to satisfy him. The network around her was apparent even in these subtle exchanges. I liked how protective the club seemed to be of the women under its care. Under other circumstances, Bound in Blood would be a club I’d be interested in patching into.
As we neared the exit, Wren paused to say something to the bartender, who glanced my way with a measuring look before nodding. Covering her bases, letting someone know who she was leaving with. Smart girl. Her survival instincts were solid. Ghost had definitely done right by her, which made me respect the man all the more.
The cool night air hit us as we stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stuffy bar. The parking lot was crowded with motorcycles, their chrome gleaming under the security lights. Music and laughter spilled out each time the door opened behind us.
"Which one's yours?" Wren asked, looking around at the bikes.
I led her toward the far corner where I'd deliberately parked away from the main cluster of motorcycles. My saddlebag contained my Copperheads vest, hidden but accessible if things went sideways and I needed to establish my affiliation fast. I'd calculated the risk of bringing it, weighing the danger of discovery against the protection it might provide if shit hit the fan with a rival club. Better to have it and not need it.
"This beauty," I said, stopping beside my black Harley with subtle custom detailing. Nothing flashy enough to be memorable, but distinctive nonetheless.