Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I elbow him in the ribs, earning a grunt. “It's called determination.”
Yana tilts her head. “I can't picture Melissa doing backflips off balconies.”
“There's a lot you don't know about someone when you haven't spent most of your life being around them,” Blake says, his gaze lingering on me with that mix of protectiveness and respect I've known my whole life. “She might look like sugar and spice now,” his grin widens, green eyes blazing. “But she'll always hit you like Cyanide.”
My lips roll behind my teeth. “Aw. Guys. Stop. I might think you love me.”
The truth is, they knew me. They knew the whole of me. Right up until Uni, when I had to rebuild myself into someone else. Something else.
Beast approaches, his massive frame casting shadows in the emergency lights. Zane steps toward him, lowering his voice, but sound carries strangely in my drug-enhanced state.
“Thanks for the backup these past couple days,” Zane says, clapping Beast on the shoulder. “Sorry we couldn't help with the Old Man.”
Beast nods, expression grim. “Any idea who was behind this?”
“Wasn't the Russians,” Zane confirms, “or any other MC. No colours claimed it.”
“That's what worries me,” Beast rumbles.
Their voices drop lower, but the fragments I catch send ice through my veins. No one knows who attacked the clubhouse. No one knows who might come back to finish the job.
I press closer to Hella, trying to ground myself as the reality sinks in beneath the drug's fuzzy edges. The explosion wasn't random. Someone targeted this place, targeted these people.
Targeted my family.
Sobering. Completely sobering.
As soon as Zane and the others leave, Hella shifts beneath me. “Alright, since no one else is asking, when did this become a thing?” Hella jabs a finger through the air between Yana and Beast.
Yana's gaze flicks to Beast, uncertainty dancing across her features. “I don't know. Good question.”
I roll my eyes, my stomach twisting with something I refuse to name. Not that I have anything against them, they seem carved from the same cloth or whatever that term is, but watching Yana with him, with anyone, changes everything I thought I knew about her.
Beast glares at Hella, taking Yana with him to get her arm checked. Phoebe dashes to her car to grab her charger, and now it's just me and him.
I squirm against his hold, pushing against his chest.
“What're you doing?” His eyes narrow down at me.
“Why are you wrapped around me?” I breathe out, the irritation obvious.
He deadpans. “Would you rather I let you go?”
“Yes.” Pretty sure spit just flew through my teeth.
His eye twitches. “Too bad because I'm not.”
“Why!” I protest, the annoyance dying out beneath all the alcohol and poor choices of tonight.
His grip loosens, and I stand, immediately missing his warmth. Bad sign. You stupid, masochistic bitch.
Slipping into the chair opposite him, I zip up the hoodie I’m wearing. Where the hell did this come from.
“Is Hella your road name?” I ask out loud, still unsure whether that was my intention.
He lights a cigarette, watching me through the smoke. “Hella isn't my road name. Had it since I was a kid.” His lips curve around the cigarette as he inhales deeply. “So people couldn't find me to kill me and bitches couldn't track me down after knowing what it feels like to fuck me.” He leans forward, eyes never leaving mine as he exhales a cloud of smoke that drifts across my face in a gray veil.
“Well, I've had your dick in me, and I gotta tell you...” I drop my voice to a whisper, close enough that my breath disturbs the smoke lingering around his face. “I'm disappointed,” I lie.
His eyebrows shoot up. “That the best you can do? I left an opening for at least four different insults, and that's your comeback?” He rounds the table, gripping my waist and pulling me against his chest.
His lips brush mine with maddening gentleness. “If this verbal foreplay is what you need to get wet, you don't have to try so hard.” He bites my bottom lip. “I can just spit on it.”
There’s a war that rages between us. Lust. Hate. Wanting something you know you shouldn’t.
His tongue slides along my bottom lip and my breath catches.
My eyelids flutter shut as I press my palm against his chest in some weak form of protest, but his fingers dig deeper into my waist, anchoring me against him.
“Here,” his knuckles graze my belly from beneath the hoodie. “Let me check.”
I shove harder. This time he release me, stepping back with a laugh. “If you fuck like you fight, I'm calling a rematch because I obviously didn't get the full experience.”
“I fucking hate you,” I gasp, but excitement feathers over places I’d rather it didn’t.
Dimples sink into his cheeks as his smirk widens. “Yeah?” His eyes fucking sparkle, devouring every inch of my body before locking back on my face. “Show me.”