Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
He knew this because, when he was done in the bathroom, he came out to see her cross-legged in it, Murtagh curled in her lap, her fingers hooked through a coffee mug, his steaming on the nightstand.
He moved that way.
She checked out his body when he did, and pure Georgie, did not hide she liked what she saw.
He was wearing a pair of dark-red sleep shorts with a black drawstring and that was it.
Last night, and right now, he’d not missed she was making another play with her wardrobe decisions considering he doubted she usually wore what she had on now to bed.
Halter top, all lace up there, cut low, lots of cleavage, semi-sheer skirt, not lace, but super short.
His girl.
He smiled at her, got into bed, put his back to the headboard, legs stretched out, and Murtagh made what Dutch thought was a lunatic decision.
This being, he defected from Georgie’s lap to take residence on Dutch’s abs.
“You’re stealing my-cat-not-my-cat,” Georgie accused.
“Cut the crap, babe, he’s your cat,” Dutch replied, simultaneously reaching for his coffee and stroking the cat.
“Whatever,” she mumbled and shifted so she was angled his way, one knee resting on his hip.
Okay.
Here we go.
Shit.
“Dutch—”
“No offense, darlin’, but you won’t get it,” he said gently.
“I know that, but I think you need to explain it to me anyway,” she returned, just as gently.
He drew in breath and let out a big sigh.
Then, instead of explaining, mostly because he had no clue what to say, he took a sip of coffee.
“I’m gonna say something and you tell me if I’m off base,” she declared.
“Shoot,” he invited.
“I watched that movie, now twice,” she began. “And your father…”
He felt his body grow taut.
Murtagh mrr’ed.
Georgie persevered.
“He was…I suspect this is not lost on you…he was revered by your Club, Dutch.”
“It’s not lost on me,” he grunted.
“That’s a lot to live up to.”
He stilled.
“And then there’s Hound,” she said.
He stared at her.
“Your Club has four pillars that hold it up,” she stated. “Kane ‘Tack’ Allen, the president, the visionary. The man who would stop at nothing to guide them to being the Club it was intended to be. Cole ‘Rush’ Allen, his son. The man who would take the reins and lead the Club into the future when they were as they were meant to be. Graham Black, the example. The man who exemplified everything they wanted to become. And Shepherd ‘Hound’ Ironside, the dependable. The backbone. The man who would sacrifice whatever he had to in order to get them there.”
Now Dutch was finding it hard to breathe.
“Two of those men are your fathers.”
“I know,” he pushed out.
“I don’t know, but I assume it’s hard being the son of either of those men. Never mind both.”
Good fucking Christ.
“Dutch, do you have any clue how unbelievably amazing you are?” she asked.
Good fucking Christ.
“Georgiana—”
“They made you that, blood and guts, they made you that, Dutch. And you let them. You became you, not someone else, because of them and because of you.”
“Stop talking,” he growled.
“No,” she denied.
Shifting out of cross-legs, she leaned over him to put her coffee on the nightstand, took his and did the same, and she stayed close.
“They had a war to fight and you grew up under their example and you’re searching for your war when they gave everything so you wouldn’t have to do that.”
“I’m not a man who can’t not have something to strive toward.”
It came right out of his mouth, what was bugging him, and he didn’t even know it was that until that moment.
“Okay, you know that isn’t a bad thing.”
“I manage our shop. The auto supply side. The inventory. I do the books and give them to Rush. I make sure the shelves are stocked. I do the ordering.”
“Dutch—”
“It’s suffocating me.”
And those words sounded like he was suffocating.
Georgie didn’t miss it.
“Stop doing it,” she whispered.
“I gotta. It’s my part of being a brother.”
“They would not want you to suffocate.”
“They got mortgages to pay and families to feed.”
“It’s driving you away from them.”
Fuck, she was right.
Fuck, she was so right.
He averted his gaze.
She grabbed both sides of his face and made him look at her.
“You can’t be you without them.”
“I joined them because I wanted to be a part of something.”
“You are.”
“I wanted to be a part of who they were…are.”
He meant his dad.
And his other dad.
She pressed in on his face. “You are, Dutch.”
“It isn’t there anymore.”
“Because you’re not letting it be.”
“What?”
“You and I are going to find Carlyle. We’re gonna figure this out for him. Do you know how much faster that would go if a motorcycle club whose members know the streets better than the cops helped us out?”
He sat up straighter, losing her hands, and Murtagh jumped off with an annoyed “Muwrrrr.”
“Babe.”
“Quiet, please, and listen—”
“They’ve been through too much. We vote on shit like this and they’ll vote it down.”