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)
“Their choice. Again, no one’s fuckin’ forcin’ them to be a club wh—” His head twitched. “Girl.”
“A what?”
“No one’s forcin’ them to be a part of our club. It’s a fuckin’ volunteer position.”
“Are all women property of the club or is it just these”—she waved her hand around—“sweet butts?”
“Any woman tied to our club’s under our protection.”
That answer had her narrowing her eyes on him.
Tonight she would do a much deeper dive on motorcycle clubs like the Kings of Anarchy. Whether what she found was good, bad, or ugly, she didn’t want any more surprises.
Plus, his answers so far made her doubt he’d be one-hundred-percent truthful with her if she asked him any more. She’d do her own research.
Taryn turned her focus back on the room where she might be potentially sleeping within the next couple of days.
The dusty furniture in the room might be old but was solid. “That bed’s big enough for both me and Wren to share. I’d rather he be in here with me than with Sunny.”
“Gonna let him decide.”
He would do what? “He’s six and not capable of making good decisions. That’s my job. And it should be yours, too, when it comes to your daughter.”
He grunted.
Glancing one more time around the room located at the front of the house, she figured it would do for the short time she expected to stay here.
She pointed to a door in the corner of the room. “What’s that door?”
“Stairs up to the attic.”
Right. He had lied when he said the house didn’t have one. “What’s up there?”
“Storage. Maybe some bats, rats, and spiders, too.”
She shuddered. “Got it. Don’t go into the attic.”
She followed him back downstairs and he took her into the only room they hadn’t explored yet: the living room.
The room was full of dark, outdated paneling, but it had a brick fireplace with a stack of cut wood next to it. An insanely large TV hung on the wall above it and on the opposite side of the room was a couch.
Look at that. “That couch looks pretty comfy.” Hint. Hint.
“Passed out on it plenty of nights, but not by choice.”
“You said you keep a room at your clubhouse. You could always sleep there,” she suggested.
“Who the fuck’s gonna protect you at night, then?”
“An alarm system?”
Stone shook his head. “I’m the fuckin’ alarm system.”
All in all, the house was a two-story square box. The positives were that it didn’t smell, it wouldn’t take much to clean it, and she hadn’t seen a mouse or roach yet, despite the warning he gave her when it came to the attic.
“Well, you gave me an option to consider. But like you said, it’s small. Actually very small for four people. While a little outdated, it’s well-maintained.” Basically, it was livable.
The biggest obstacle would be the fact she’d be sharing it with a biker who thought he was above the law. One who, despite being rough around the edges, was pretty damn hot, too. Luckily, she’d have no problem resisting him since arrogant, pushy men were a turn-off for her.
Add in that scruffy facial hair, his long hair, and all of his tattoos…
Stone was definitely not her type.
But then, Vic had been and look what happened with that mistake.
“Yeah. Kept the house up for Mom, ‘specially while she was sick.”
Damn it.
Stone had bought a house for his sick mother. He wanted someone responsible to help take care of his daughter. He didn’t turn his back when Vic was attacking her, when so many other “upstanding” citizens had. He offered his house for her and her son to stay in without asking for a dime.
All of that proved he wasn’t a horrible human being, despite him being a criminal, right?
She sure as hell hoped so.
Because if he truly was a lawless monster, then moving in with him might end up being a bigger mistake than marrying her ex-husband.
Chapter Seven
When Stone pulled his sled into the driveway, he was relieved to see she had done what he said: parked her car in the garage, out of view.
While Taryn’s asshole ex hadn’t been sprung from the joint yet, that didn’t mean he didn’t have anyone on the outside keeping an eye on her.
Or his son.
Because if he was her ex, that was what he would do.
As soon as his daughter got off his sled, she dropped her backpack onto the driveway and began unbuckling the strap on her helmet.
“Wait there,” he told Sunny.
She squinted suspiciously at him. “Why?”
Just like her fucking mother, his girl had to question every-goddamn-thing.
“‘Cause I fuckin’ said so.”
He didn’t bother to avoid cursing around her. Not when she spent plenty of time at the clubhouse. She’d been around her foul-mouthed, pot-smoking, beer-drinking, whiskey-shooting “uncles” since she was in diapers.
What might be shocking to some was simply everyday life to her.