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)
Shell climbed out of the car and strode toward them with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She wore short denim shorts and a body-hugging tank top. Copper had hit the jackpot with his ol’ lady, and every man in the club knew it. She was as sweet and loving as she was gorgeous, but she took no shit and would kick any man who crossed her square in the balls. Only a formidable woman could bring a man like Copper to his knees, and Shell had been running circles around their president for a decade and a half.
“Hey, baby,” Copper said as she strode up to the table. His whole face softened in a way Saint had only ever seen when the prez looked at Shell or Beth, their daughter. He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her as though he’d been at sea for a year rather than having met her for lunch three hours ago.
Gator let out a low whistle. “Get a room, Boomers,” he muttered under his breath, but the fondness in his tone matched Saint’s feelings about the first couple of the HHMC.
Saint didn’t bother to look away. Overt displays of affection were part of everyday life around the club, especially with the OG members who were all wifed up and disgustingly happy. If they didn’t want him to stare, they’d do it behind a closed door.
When Copper finally allowed his wife to breathe, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glossy, but still sad.
“What’s wrong?” Copper asked immediately. No teasing, no delay, just straight to it.
Shell sat on the small free space on the bench next to her ol’ man and directly across from Saint. As soon as her ass hit the seat, Copper tucked her close with a possessive arm around her shoulders, his fingers absently rubbing circles on her upper arm like he could soothe her before she even spoke.
“Beth missed our call…again.” Shell leaned heavily on her ol’ man as she spoke.
As the words left her mouth, Copper’s face darkened, worry morphing into anger with a force Saint could practically feel radiating across the table. “Fuck. Third week in a row, right?”
Shell nodded.
Saint wanted details. The urge to pry rode him hard. Beth might not be his blood, but she was club family—princess of the whole damn kingdom—and every man at that table knew what that meant. As he debated the wisdom of opening his mouth, Gator, the nosy fucker, took the decision out of his hands.
“What’s up, Prez? Need me to talk some sense into Beth’s independent ass?”
Copper’s expression turned so thunderous that Saint had to work to keep from shuddering. The man whacked the back of Gator’s head.
“You get within a hundred feet of my daughter’s ass, and I’ll peel your skin like a fucking grape.”
“Ow!” Gator’s eyes bugged, but he still grinned. “Hey now, I meant like a brother. A very respectful, not-trying-to-die kind of brother.”
“But you said ass and Beth in the same sentence. Foolish, my man,” Thunder said, snickering.
“My bad.” Gator lifted his arms in surrender, but his smirk did nothing to make the submission believable.
Saint shot him a look that, with any luck, said, Keep your trap shut, but the way Gator continued to smirk didn’t give him hope.
“Everything okay?” Thunder asked Copper as he threw his bottle cap at Gator, who tried to smack it away but failed. It bounced off his forehead and onto the table with a clink.
Shell sighed. “I have a standing weekly phone call with Beth. This is the third week in a row she’s missed it. The first two times, she texted with a flimsy excuse, but this time, she’s ignoring my texts too. She never ignores my texts.” Her voice wobbled on the last word. She lifted her chin and stared up at her ol’ man. “Something’s wrong, Cop. I can feel it.”
Copper’s arm tightened around her shoulders. His jaw flexed hard enough to crack a tooth, but his hand stayed gentle, fingers still stroking her shoulder.
Saint frowned right along with him. He didn’t know Beth well. When Makenna and Thunder had gotten together, he’d been a damaged teenager not interested in hanging around the clubhouse. By the time he’d gotten his shit together and decided to prospect in his late twenties, Beth had been off with her friends more than at the clubhouse, and at some point, she’d moved out of state. She was a good deal younger than him, so their paths rarely crossed.
But he did know the entire club loved her to pieces, and it was common knowledge that Copper would murder any member who glanced his daughter’s way with anything more than brotherly affection.
The last time Saint ran into her was Christmas, when she’d come to visit for the holiday. He’d walked into the clubhouse kitchen for coffee and found Beth laughing at something Screw said with her head thrown back and that strawberry blonde hair catching the light. She’d turned and smiled at him, a friendly smile, nothing more, and his whole chest had gone tight.