Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
There were geographical advantages to Shady Valley, too. The Death Valley mountains stood behind it, hard to pass, making it difficult to sneak into town from that direction. Everywhere else was flat. You could see people coming down the road for miles. Add in the ghost town vibes and the prison that kept most normal families away, and, yeah, I got it.
“Nice to meet you,” Rian said. “Who?” he asked, tense.
“The guy who just got out. The rapist,” Colter explained.
“Huh. Well, one less thing to worry about,” Rian said, clapping Colter on the shoulder before walking back into the pub.
The police came, checking on the body, putting up tape, and pushing us back. All the usual shit.
“What is this?” a woman asked, moving into the small crowd that still remained.
She was tall and slim, with the kind of curves that made men’s mouths water. Her inky black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that only put her gorgeous face on display. She was dressed in tight black pants, a black tank top, and black combat boots. And she had a slight Russian accent.
“Hey, Stas. The guy who just got out of prison,” Colter explained.
“The rapist,” Stas said.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, my. What a… shame,” she said, her tone dry. When I glanced at her, there was an icy smile toying with her lips. “Anyway… who is this sweet baby?” she cooed at Molly as she reached to pet her.
My gaze found Colter’s over her bent body.
And we both thought the same thing.
Knew the same thing.
Stas had killed the rapist.
Judging by her tone, it wasn’t even because she’d been assaulted by the guy. She had just been… cleaning up the streets.
“She’s gonna have puppies,” I told her. “If you are looking for a dog in the future.”
Stas straightened. “Let me know if there are any females,” she said. “Bitches are more loyal.”
With that, she strutted off like nothing had happened.
“So, that’s Stas,” I said with a little laugh.
“I’d say this was unusual for her,” he said, glancing over toward the lot.
“But she’s every bit the cold-blooded killer she comes off as?”
“Exactly.”
“I kinda like her.”
“Of course you do,” Colter said, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close enough to press a kiss to my temple.
We stuck around to give our statements, which all matched since we didn’t actually see anything—just heard the pop, saw the body, and called the cops.
But it was almost two hours later when we got to head back toward the clubhouse.
“I’d say this was an unusual night,” Colter said, “but shit is always going down around here.”
“Sounds like the perfect place for people like us to call home,” I said.
“Yeah, it does.”
Colter - 3 weeks
Molly was the one who was pregnant, but it was Dylan who was heavy into nesting mode.
Before she moved in, my room felt, I dunno, homey enough to me. But that wasn’t really saying much, since I was used to nothing being a home, to everything being kind of cold, hard, and temporary.
To me, my room was decorated because it had a bed, nightstands, and a dresser. And I only had the nightstands because Coach had built them for me.
But Dylan was quickly showing me how empty it had been.
First came the carpets—two of them, because the room was so big.
“The dogs need them for traction,” she told me as she unrolled one rug while I held up the edge of the bed for her to slide it under.
The dog beds were expected.
Then there was a couch.
Lamps.
A decorative storage cabinet she asked Coach to make to store extra treats in.
Then there were extra blankets and pillows.
A desk and chair so she could sit and watch dog training videos and take notes.
Next came Molly’s whelping pen.
Which was practically fucking designer. I was tempted to sleep in the damn thing. Molly agreed. She kept stealing all the toys for all the club animals and putting them in the pen. Apparently, that behavior would only get stronger as she got closer to delivery. All the blankets, towels, or pillows she could find would end up there. So Dylan was prepared with a bunch of them just for her.
“Need a hand?” I asked as she pushed open the bedroom door and came in carrying four stacked delivery boxes.
“No, I…” The top box crashed to the floor. “Yes,” she admitted with an eye roll.
With a little chuckle, I got off the bed and helped her with the boxes.
“What’d you order?” I asked.
“Just some things for the puppies: shampoo, little collars, enzyme cleaner, litter boxes, substrate. I’ve been watching some videos from some ethical breeders explaining how they start potty training puppies way before they ever go to their forever homes. I want to give it a try. Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?” she asked, petting Mack’s blocky head as he slept on our bed, his cone of shame around his face.