Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
His hands find my waist, grip tightening. "You're saying I should just give up. Let Cash win."
"I'm saying pick your battles." I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You can't win this one, Legion. Not through the courts. Not with your record and your... lifestyle."
"My lifestyle." He says it flat, emotionless.
My heart aches for him. Legion isn’t a demon. He’s not. He’s a good man. He tries hard. And he’s loyal as fuck. I place my hands on his face, pull his gaze down to mine. Make him look me in the eyes.
“In the flesh, Legion Kane, you are perfect just the way you are. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “But…”
“But… on paper, you’re Demon, member of one Badlands MC. Ex-con. Felon. And the courts, Legion, that’s all they see. That’s all they’ll ever see.”
"Right. Because I'm trash." His grip loosens. "Trailer trash with prison ink."
"Don’t put words in my mouth. I chose you. I got your name tattooed on my wrist. I let you claim me in front of your entire club. I'm just tryin’ to figure out how we survive this without losing everything that matters."
Legion's jaw works. He's angry, but not at me. Not really.
"Let her live here. Let Cash spoil her. She’s never gonna love him. Like him, maybe. But he’s not you, Legion. And you’re the one she loves. You’re the one she’ll fight for. Let her stay. Let her go to school at Rimrock. And then… you’ll feel like you belong.”
He side-eyes me. “Like I belong… where?”
“Here.” I point to the ground. “With me. And Mercy.”
He looks off into the distance for a moment, thinking. I give him time. It’s a good two minutes before he finds my gaze again. “What about work?”
“Work?” And again, I am reminded that I don’t actually know what he does for work. “Well… yeah. You can work. Of course. You could help me.”
“Help you do what, Savannah?” For a moment, I think he’s angry. But then, he picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles. Eyes locked on mine. “Is making you scream my name while I fuck you blind something I can apply for?”
I chuckle. “It goes without sayin’ that’s your number one job here. But seriously, Legion. There’s lots of things you could do on the ranch.”
His eyes narrow at me. “Like what?”
“Like… ranch handin’. We could do it together. I like ranch handin’. Or… business stuff. That’s mostly what I do. Social media, stuff like that.” Sensing this is not the answer he was lookin’ for, I improvise. “Or… rebuild cars. Bikes. Do you do stuff like that? I feel like your clothes often have the scent of cars on them. Is that your job at the club? Do you work with Ratchet? Speaking of the club, June has called several times over the past two weeks asking about you. I think we’re friends now. How do you like that? I’ve got myself a biker-woman friend.”
He smiles. Kisses my knuckles again. Squeezes my hand. “I love you, Savannah. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
“And you’re all I’ve ever wanted too.” My heart swells with warmth and I let out a breath.
This might work.
We gather our stuff up and walk back to the Jeep.
And I can’t remember a time when I felt this happy.
CHAPTER 10
I grip the Willys Jeep's steering wheel, feelin’ every bump and rattle through my palms as we head back to the Ashby mansion. The gearbox whines when I shift, and the engine growls like something half-wild. The wind rushes through the open sides, tearing at Savannah's hair, turning it into a golden flag.
The sun hangs low against the eastern horizon, casting long shadows across the badlands. The landscape stretches out, all jagged edges and cracked earth. Broken land. Forgotten land.
I think about Martinez, this guy from Boston I met inside. Used to bitch constantly about Montana. Called it "God's ashtray" and a "waste of fucking air." Said only people with nothing left to lose would choose to live in a place so ugly.
A lot of the Montana boys wanted to beat his ass for that. Not me. I got what he was saying. This place isn't pretty like forests or oceans. It's honest. Brutal. The badlands don't lie to you about what they are.
I've never wanted to leave. Never dreamed of California beaches or New York lights. I just want my own corner of this hellhole where I can breathe without someone's boot on my neck.
The sky above us swirls with thunderheads, purple and blue, almost black in places. Storm's coming. I can smell it—that metallic tang that hangs in the air before rain hits dry dirt. The wind picks up, carrying dust across the road in thin, dancing spirals.
I keep turning over what Savannah said earlier. About Mercy. About Cash.