Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
The Fallen Sons’ clubhouse is nicer than ours. It is so well put together, and most of them live on site, in a bunch of rooms that surround a main outdoor area. Their sheds are bigger, their garage earning far more than ours, and I know the club itself is a bigger deal than ours. At this stage, anyway.
If Gage gets his own way, it won’t be.
Kael looks over to me once the truck stops and offers a small smile.
“I fell asleep,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes.
“Needed it,” he says, reaching over and sliding a strand of hair away from my eyes.
Then, we get out.
A biker is standing outside, smoke in his hand, watching us approach. He is spectacular, his face sharp but gorgeous. It’s his eyes that give me pause, though. One blue, one hazel, both sharp as hell.
He looks at me, then at Kael, and then back at me. “This her?” he asks, bringing the cigarette to his lips.
Kael nods.
“You’ve been a hot topic around here,” he murmurs. “Sable.”
“I have no doubt,” I murmur. “You are?”
He tips his head to the side. “Steel.”
“Do you have a first name, Steel?”
He stares at me. “Nope.”
I roll my eyes, and Kael grunts. “Call him Talon, he loves it.”
Talon shoots Kael a glare, then he jerks his head toward the door. “Prez is inside. Wants to see you.”
Kael nods, putting his hand on my lower back and guiding me toward the large open garage.
There are people everywhere. Some girls, some old timers, a couple of raw-faced prospects cleaning up broken glass under the pool table. All of them look up as we pass. We end up in a large room with a wooden table in the middle. No doubt where Church is conducted.
I sit down at the end, rubbing my hand over my neck where Gage had me against the truck. Kael comes over, squatting down in front of me, taking my chin in his hand and turning my head side to side. “You hurt?”
I smile, I can’t help it. “No, my hero.”
He grunts, Steel snorts.
“Just checkin’.”
A few minutes later, the president comes in. Wolfe Cross. I know him. Everyone does. He’s even more attractive up close, and I suddenly feel incredibly small in the room.
“You good, brother?”
His attention is on Kael at first, and once Kael nods, he moves it to me.
“Sable?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He walks over, reaching out a hand, and I take it. He doesn’t shake my hand, instead he pulls me to my feet, as if I am on the same level as him, not just some girl. My heart swells as I stare up at him. “How are you recoverin’?”
“Slowly,” I say, honestly.
“They find who hurt you?”
I shake my head.
His jaw ticks.
“Tell Thorn what you know. We’ll find out what we can.”
“Thorn?” I ask, confused.
Wolfe’s mouth tips up and he nods in Kael’s direction.
I can’t help but smile.
Kael mutters something and just like that, Steel and Wolfe are gone and we’re alone.
“Thorn? Do I ask?”
“No,” he murmurs, but his tone is light, playful.
Eventually, he nods to a bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re a mess.”
“Chivalry’s not dead after all,” I murmur, offering him a smile.
The bathroom is quite large and weirdly clean considering it is in a biker club. Kael turns the tap, runs his fingers under the water to test it, then finds a roll of paper towels. “Sit,” he tells me, and I do, butt perched on the edge of an old bathtub.
He wets a wad of paper towel, thumbs it gently against my skin, clearing away the worst of the dirt and muck on my face from tonight. A few small grazes from the attack have caused dried blood to cake against the wounds. His touch is careful, taking his time, his brows drawn in focus.
“You want to tell me what happened out there tonight?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing, just club shit.” But I can’t meet his eyes; instead, I look at the wall behind him, at the place where an old, ugly painting is hanging on an angle.
Kael’s gaze lingers, but he doesn’t push. Just keeps cleaning, steady and patient. He pauses and when I look to see why, I can see he is staring down at my shirt. I look down and see a small line of blood against it. My wound must have opened up a little tonight. Shit.
“Lift your shirt,” he says, without thought.
“No,” I say, so quickly it has his eyes moving to mine, narrowing.
“You’re bleedin’, darlin’.”
I look away. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
“We both know it ain’t a scratch. Let me see it, sweetheart.” When I still don’t move, he takes the hem himself, slow and deliberate, giving me enough time to stop him, but I don’t. The thought of him seeing it terrifies me, yet I do nothing to make him pause.