Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
We pass a couple of prospects at the entrance to the clubhouse. I can’t remember their names, but we met them at Beau’s garage. They do the head nod as we pass and go inside. I look around the room, taking it all in. Spider comes over and trades hellos with Griff and then me. I like him. He’s young, but he has a good head on his shoulders. I wondered why they brought King in, but I do think he’s what is best for the club. The more I talk to Spider, the more I realize he never wanted to be president either. I can understand and respect that, because that’s exactly where I was when Griff took over our chapter of the KOAMC.
“King’s running late. Little Etta had a fever. He wanted to make sure he had her settled before he headed over. He said if he couldn’t make it, he’d send BB or Skull.”
“Sounds good. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to us. We just wanted the signatures before we headed back home. We can do it next time we come, if that’s better,” Griff says.
I’m trying to pay attention to what Spider says in return, but the sound of laughter distracts me as it wraps around my damn dick. I don’t have to look to know who it is, but I do anyway.
Across the room, Izzy’s leaning on one of the pool tables. She’s talking to Apex, Playboy, and three of the club girls. A couple of the girls are close to Playboy and Apex. One seems to just be chatting with Izzy. Pez is standing beside Izzy—entirely too damn close. The more I watch them, the more pissed I get. She looks entirely too comfortable around not only the men, but the women too. Was she just being a bitch to me? Hell, watching her, makes it clear she’s totally at home. They all seem to like her.
My gaze roves over her, drinking her in. Izzy is wearing blue jeans that look as if she’s been poured into them. Her curly red hair is straightened tonight. It’s darker too—almost cherry in color. It looks good on her, though I kind of miss her curls and natural auburn color. She has on a warm beige silky tank that clings to her, showing way too much cleavage, and looks so damn good I want to rip it off of her.
Fuck. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything in my life.
When the smile on her lips disappears and she winces as she stares at me, my gut burns. I planned on staying away from Izzy tonight, but I know that’s not going to happen now. I’m going to get her alone. I just have to be careful in how I do it. I have a feeling that no matter what I do, Izzy won’t make it easy on me.
Griff and I walk over to the bar, sliding up onto a stool. Griff orders us two beers as a barely dressed, bleach-blonde chick with pretty fantastic tits turns to us and leans on the bar, making sure Griff and I both can get an eyeful of her cleavage. I’m a man and other than a woman’s mouth, tits might be my favorite thing about a woman’s body. So, I look without thinking. She walks away with a wink to get our order as the strangest thing happens. I actually feel guilty. It’s an emotion that is so foreign to me it practically steals my breath at first. There’s no reason whatsoever for me to feel guilty at all, and yet I do. Hell, I even find my gaze looking over my shoulder at Izzy. What I see makes my blood run fucking cold. Pez is bent into Izzy. He’s whispering into her ear, and her hand is placed on his forearm, touching it lovingly. Watching them makes my heart beat rapidly and anger curls in the pit of my stomach.
“C? Are you even listening?” Griff asks, and I notice our beers are in front of us and the woman is laughing with one of the Devil’s Blaze prospects at the end of the bar.
“What?” I growl, mad as hell because the woman I want is with another man.
“What the fuck, man?”
I take a breath and force myself to turn away from Izzy and look at Griff. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“What has gotten into you?” Griff questions, his voice tight.
I scrub my hand against my jaw, raking my callused fingers against my scruff, while trying to calm my mind. “It’s Izzy,” I mutter.
“Izzy?” he asks, totally clueless.
“BB’s sister. She’s over by the pool tables and some man is hanging all over her,” I gripe.
He turns in his seat and then searches the area with a frown. “She change her hair?”