Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“My mother would—”
“And how’s she gonna protect your boy? She a good shot? Former fuckin’ military? A pig? A damn black belt? What?”
A pig? She could figure that one out without Google.
Her mother was none of those things. She was a sixty-two-year-old grandmother.
Taryn closed her eyes and pulled in a deep, calming breath. Okay, he was right. As unstable as Vic was now, he could do something serious to her or even kidnap Wren. She also didn’t want to put her mother at risk.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It was clear that the man before her would not be afraid to do what needed to be done to protect them. He had stepped in that day without anyone asking. He went to prison for over a year for helping her.
Even after all of that, to this day, he was still willing to help.
She owed him.
She reminded herself that living here would only be temporary. Until she could find a better way to protect herself and her son. Until she could figure out a way to disappear by moving somewhere Vic would never find them.
Once Wren was eighteen, Taryn would let him decide whether he wanted a relationship with his biological father or not. Until then, it was up to her to protect him, too.
That was why she needed to take his offer. It might be the lesser of two evils.
She reminded herself it was only temporary.
A few months maybe.
That was it.
Since it sounded like Stone had connections with questionable people, maybe he could help her disappear. Finding a remote tropical island somewhere and becoming a private chef at some billionaire’s fifth vacation home would be perfect.
Okay, before any of that could happen, she first had to get through today. And tomorrow. She needed to take one day at a time.
Everything didn’t need to be decided this very minute. Including moving in with some outlaw biker who was most likely a career criminal.
“Let’s finish this tour. I need to go pick up Wren from my mother’s.”
He grinned at that.
Grinned.
Because he knew he’d won and was being cocky about it.
Only, he shouldn’t celebrate just yet.
Nothing was set in stone.
He tipped his head toward the bedroom door. “C’mon, gonna show you the rest of the house before you go.”
After crossing the short hallway at the top of the stairs again, he pointed toward the full bathroom between the two bedrooms. She peeked her head in to see it had a tub she could use for Wren. It had also been updated in the last decade, luckily.
Was it perfectly clean? Not even close. But that was an easy fix.
“Besides watching Sunny when you’re not here, what else would you expect from me?” Please don’t say sex. That was not going to happen.
When a wicked smile spread across his face, Taryn shook her head. “Not that. You mentioned cooking the other day.”
“Yeah.”
That was easy enough. “Cleaning? Laundry?”
“If you want. Or can get one of the sweet butts to do it.”
She followed him into the primary bedroom. “A what? Is that the name of a cleaning service?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“How often do they come?”
The creases at the corner of his eyes deepened. “Daily.”
She frowned as she glanced around his room. “Then they’re slacking. It looks like this place hasn’t been cleaned for a couple of weeks or more.”
He dropped his head and scratched the back of his neck.
“You might want to fire them if this is the quality of their work.”
His bedroom had clothes tossed into the corner. A boot here. A boot there. The bed hadn’t been made. She wondered when the last time the sheets had been washed. Dust covered the furniture, too.
“Can’t fire them,” he said eventually.
She glanced his way. “Why? Do you have a contract with them?”
“Can’t fire someone you don’t pay.”
Her brow dipped low. “Are you stiffing them?”
“Could say that.”
“Then, no wonder the house looks like this.”
“Know that little computer you got in your hand?”
“My phone?”
“Yeah, that. Might wanna do another search.”
She stared at him. With pursed lips, she pulled up the search engine again and typed in… “Is it one word or two?”
“Don’t fuckin’ know or care.”
Fine, then. She typed it out as two first and once again read the resulting definition out loud. “Women who hang around the club and make themselves available for sex.” Oh. “Those women…”
“Yeah.”
“They’re…”
“Yeah.”
She quickly scanned the page further. She had to close her gaping mouth to ask, “They’re property of your club?”
“Basically.”
“Juicy?”
“Yeah.”
“She and that blonde…did they have sex with you because they had to or because they wanted to.”
“Nobody’s forcin’ any of our sweet butts to do shit,” he grumbled.
“So, they can say no.”
“Sweet butts don’t say no.”
“Are they the only two?”
“Fuck no.”
“Just how many—” She lifted a hand and shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know how many women allow themselves to be used like that.”