Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
I wish I would fucking die right now. Truly, watching the pain Cill’s in, I pray for death as I choke on my sobs and apologies.
“I need to ride,” he says and I can only nod.
I swallow thickly and agree with him. “Okay,” I manage and then the selfish part of me spills out when I say, “Promise me you’ll come home.”
“You still love me?” he questions as he stands by the broken table, towering over me as I’m on my knees and it’s torture that he has to ask.
I did this. I deserve to feel this hell that rages inside of me. The turmoil causes my cheeks to burn.
“Come with me now.”
“Cill?”
“I can’t stay here. You fucked him here, didn’t you?” His words slap across my face and all I can do is nod.
“I don't want my bike right now,” he decides, his tone holding no negotiation. “Put on your clothes and get in the car.”
I can barely look him in the eye as I push up off the ground and brush past him to get clothes, but he grips me first. His hand lands on my arm and pushes me against the wall.
My back hits the threshold and before I can object, before I can do anything but gasp, his lips are on mine.
My body’s reaction is instant, holding him back for dear life. My pulse races and my blood heats.
His kiss is possessive, harsh and brutal. But it’s him. He kisses me and I savor it, in case it’s the last.
When he stops, he doesn’t move anything but his lips away from mine and I stand there breathless and waiting for judgment.
His gaze moves to my shoulder, where there’s a small scrape when he asks, “Are you all right?”
Nodding gently, ever so gently so he doesn’t move, so he doesn’t let me go, I tell him, “I’m fine.”
With his forehead pressed against mine he whispers, “Get dressed. Now.”
I do as I’m told, quickly dressing to make myself presentable. All the while my thoughts race, the regrets and the raging emotion.
My heart pounds as I make my way downstairs to a waiting Cillian. He gets in my way when I try to take the keys. He doesn’t say anything, just pushes past me and gets into the driver’s seat.
A minute later we’re speeding down the street away from the city and thankfully the opposite direction of the club and Reed’s place.
All the while, I glance at a brokenhearted Cillian, hating that I put that scowl on his face. Hating the bruise that’s already marred his stubbled jaw. He barely looks at me and I struggle to speak. To tell him how much pain I was in. How it was a mistake … but how I fell in love with Reed and needed him.
How I ended it because it was wrong. I ended it with Reed. I ended it with Cillian too.
Cill makes a right, then a left. My heart pumps adrenaline throughout my body. I want to believe it’ll turn out okay, but I haven’t felt this scared since Cill was arrested.
A gas station comes up on our right. The lights above the pumps are blinding against the night sky.
The corner of the street is nearly dead this time of night. A tire store on one end is closed although the parking lot is packed with the cars of men who are a block down at the strip joint. On the other side is a gas station and the corner store. It’s a bit run down but that’s the way it is in this city. The lower down the hill, the worse the condition. As you drive up the hill and the blocks go from Twentieth Street up to First Street, the houses are nicer, the parks cleaner.
I think it’s the way all old cities are.
“No fucking way,” says Cill under his breath. His tone alerts me that something’s wrong.
I turn my head and see the parked car. Fuck. No.
Before I can stop him Cill pulls over, the brakes screeching. We’re facing the wrong direction on the road.
“Please,” I cry out, “Cillian, don’t!” It’s like fate set him up. “He’s not worth it,” I say as Cill finally stops nose to nose with the parked car. My heart races.
No, no. Please, Cillian. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
He’s angry and right in front of us is an object of his hatred. Duncan Tray. The fucker who tried to take advantage the moment Cill was locked away and then again when his father passed.
I know the cherry red muscle car is his and as I glance from it to Cill’s expression, my chest tightens with a knowing dread.
He’s always been a problem for the MC. My father used to tell me to keep a lookout for him. There was a rumor in the club that he gave the police some of the information they used to arrest Cill. I’m certain Cill heard it too.