Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Good. He’s not good enough for you.”
Does he know him?
“No man is,” he adds, releasing me.
“Well, I’m not going for being an old spinster. You’ll have to come around to the idea that I’m going to want to date at some point.”
“You have plenty of time before you’re a spinster. Isn’t that a barren woman?” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair.
“No, it’s an unmarried woman slipping out of what society deems as her prime years.” Fucking society and their ideals. I hate people.
“You’re nineteen, darlin’—and you’ll never be out of your prime. You have your mother’s genes.” The fact that he knows my age shouldn’t make me feel good, but I know plenty of dads who barely remember their kids’ full names, so I allow the good feeling to fill my belly.
“Anyway, I’m looking for Callan. He’s pissed I brought Nicolas back to the club…”
“Wait—you brought someone back to the club?”
Well…shit.
“I thought Tim told you that?”
“This club is for Kings. King brothers, King business. Is this guy a fucking King?” His temper flares. His dark eyes absorb all the light in the room, drenching me in dread. I hate being the reason for his anger, but I also have an overwhelming need to stick up for myself.
“I live here too. This is my home, and I’m nineteen. I shouldn’t have to get permission to invite a friend over.” I go to fold my arms but think better of it. The piercings hurt like a bitch and are tender as all hell.
“How long have you known this friend?”
Crap.
His heavy boots clunk against the wood flooring as he paces over to the cameras filling the back wall of his office. The screens flicker with activity. Cameras monitor all rooms except bedrooms. Claire’s obviously been keeping him busy for a while. He hadn’t been taking notice.
The silent figures move across each screen like characters in a movie. Diamond is in the kitchen, and my stomach yearns for whatever it is she’s cooking. “Is that him?” He jabs a finger toward the screen. Nicolas is in the game room with Claire. She’s setting the pool table up. So much for helping Maggie with the bar.
“Yes, and I know I messed up, okay?” I defend, fidgeting.
Turning to face me, his brows are pinched. “I know it’s not fair to you, but these rules are in place for a reason.”
But it’s okay when they invite a shit ton of women who are strangers to the club.
“For one, we have undercover agents always looking for an in.”
I’d be more likely to be an agent than Nicolas “Cocaine Snorting” Carnell.
“Two, brothers are territorial. You fucking know this. You’ve grown up surrounded by them your whole life.” He makes his way back to me, standing with his feet set apart, arms crossed over his broad chest, head bowed, looking down at me. “If one brother took issue with him, they’d act like a pack and tear the kid apart.”
It’s making more sense why Cutter was pissed now. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I tap my shoe on the floor and avert my gaze. Knuckles rap on the door, and Callan’s voice calls out. “It’s me.”
Great. Now they can both tell me what a fool I’ve been.
“Come in,” Dad calls out, rounding his desk once more and retaking his seat. The door swings open, and my brother, the younger version of my dad, strides in, the room shrinking at the sheer size of him.
“I came by earlier, but you were busy…” Sensing someone else in the room, he flits his gaze over his shoulder, cutting me with a scathing glare. “What the hell do you have to say for yourself?”
Holding my hand up to stop his rant, I roll my eyes. “Dad’s already given me the lecture. And Cutter, for that matter. If you have an issue with me, don’t send your minions to do the work for you,” I spit out, fed up with everyone taking turns in making me feel like a dick.
“I don’t have the time to come tell you when you fuck up because I always have to find a way to correct your mistakes.”
“Oh, fuck off. When’s the last time I fucked up?”
“Enough,” Dad barks, launching the ball from his desk at the wall. It bounces off with a thwap and hits Callan in the back. The bastard doesn’t even flinch. I would have fallen to the floor like it was a bullet shot from a magnum. “You two still bicker like you’re teenagers.”
“Technically, I am.”
“Enough,” he warns me with a glare. “You messed up bringing a kid back to the club but looks like there’s no harm done. Get rid of him and all is right in the world.”
“You haven’t told him who the fuck he is, have you?” Callan fumes, that annoying muscle in his jaw flexing. Tattling douchebag.