Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
He stepped close until he loomed over her, but made sure she had plenty of room to escape if she felt uncomfortable. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath as she arched her back to peer up at him, but nothing in her posture read as fear.
“Your sweet ass better be right here when I get back,” he said. “Don’t move even one inch from this spot.”
“Um… yeah… I’m not going… I’ll be here.” Her cheeks flushed an appealing shade of pink as she sputtered.
“Good.” He winked, then headed off to the building, not trying to hide his smirk. Pretty sure he won that round.
He hit the bathroom, then bought some ChapStick because the combination of wind and sun was murder on his lips. Walking out of the convenience store, he drew the gaze of more than one customer. Some gave him a wide berth, while others stared, and one busty woman with over-processed hair licked her lips and winked. She probably hoped he’d take her around the side of the building for a quick fuck, which he’d very much love, but not with her.
The one he wanted had better be standing next to his bike, munching Twizzlers like she was auditioning for porn.
He was used to all manner of reactions from people when they saw his cut. Most steered clear, assuming an outlaw biker would fly into a homicidal rage if anyone got too close. Civilians wildly misunderstood their one-percenter culture. But then there were fender bunnies like the bleached blonde eyeing him like her next snack. None of it fazed him anymore.
The store’s automatic door slid open, revealing Beth right where he’d left her, only she wasn’t alone.
His spine stiffened instantly, and his hand went to his pocket, where he always kept a switchblade. He preferred a gun, but traveling across multiple state lines with one often invited unwanted attention from the local cops.
Beth stood at the front tire of his motorcycle, posture rigid and uncomfortable. She held her leather jacket closed, hiding the skin she’d freely allowed him to see, while some douchebag leered at her from the opposite side of the bike. The guy’s stance screamed gym bro with a puffed-up chest, spray-tanned muscles, and hair styled within an inch of its life.
He said something Saint couldn’t hear, but it made Beth frown as she tugged the jacket tighter, and that was e-fucking-nough for him.
Saint’s blood zinged with the same thrill that surged through him when he got to fuck someone up for screwing over his club. The same delicious sense of homegrown justice he’d experienced pummeling the fuck out of Beth’s piece-of-shit ex.
He reached his bike in time to hear the gym bro with his Instagram-muscle and shampoo-commercial hair say, “Promise I’ll be the best lay you’ve ever had.”
“Yeah?” Saint said, voice soft and deadly calm. “That’s a pretty bold claim, my man.”
Both heads snapped his way.
Beth’s eyes widened with relief and embarrassment. She shifted closer to the bike, almost using it as a shield. Gym Bro’s gaze flicked down to Saint’s cut, lingered on the patch, then popped back up to his face with forced bravado.
“Just talking to the lady, man,” the guy said. “Didn’t know she belonged to anybody.” His eyes slid over Beth again, slower this time. “Though maybe she wants to belong to someone else.”
Saint’s jaw flexed.
Wrong-fucking-answer.
He stepped in close, closing the space between them in two easy strides. “That right?” He had at least four inches on Gym Bro, but the guy had more bulk. Still, Saint would bet his bike the guy had no idea how to use those muscles in a fight.
And he’d never risk his bike.
Beth opened her mouth. “Saint, it’s fine. I—”
“No, it’s not,” he said without looking at her. His gaze stayed locked on the guy who stared up at him with unwarranted arrogance. “When a woman’s got her arms crossed and a frown on her face, it means walk the fuck away. You too stupid to figure that out?”
Gym Bro scoffed. “She’s playing games.” He lifted his hands in mock innocence. “You ladies gotta stop fucking with us. How are we supposed to know you don’t want it?” His gaze dipped to Beth’s chest again, and he smirked. “Though, sweetheart, you’re sending some real mixed signals with that slutty top.”
Beth flinched and hugged her jacket tighter.
Something in Saint snapped.
He slung an arm around the guy’s shoulders in what looked, from a distance, like an easy, bro gesture. “Walk with me a sec,” he said, steering him a few steps away from Beth and the bike, turning their backs to the parking lot.
The man chuckled nervously. “Uh, what the fuck, dude? I don’t swing this way.”
Saint’s fingers slipped his switchblade from his pocket, flicking it open with a quiet snick he knew would carry just enough to be heard by Gym Bro. He pressed the cold metal tip into the soft spot between the guy’s ribs, right through his thin T-shirt. Not hard enough to pierce skin, but enough to let him feel the pressure and know how quickly his fate could change.