Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Hey,” he called out just as she reached the edge of the living room.
She stopped in her tracks and turned. Had he decided already?
“I’m expected to be at a club party this Saturday night in West Virginia. I wanted to give you a heads up since I have no idea how many hours, or even days, I’ll be gone.” But before she could respond, he added, “I plan on keeping an eye out for her. Don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.” That was a complete lie. Her list of worries seemed endless.
She was worried now that he had her here taking care of Val, he wouldn’t be in any rush to search for Sadie.
She worried she’d never see her sister again.
She worried that if she did find her sister, it would be too late.
She worried that Sadie would allow herself to be used to the point of abuse, all so she could get high.
All of that, and more, kept her stomach in a constant state of knots. It kept her awake at night. It distracted her from her daily work tasks.
She figured the sex with Decker last night would relieve some of that stress, even if only temporarily. She had been right. It had. For the short time it lasted, she forgot everything else but the man, currently left standing in the kitchen, and what they’d done in the hot tub last night.
For too long now, she’d put everyone else ahead of herself, especially Sadie. That list grew when she moved in and added Val and Decker to it.
So, yes, it was only fair that he helped take her mind off things in a way that would be beneficial for them both.
She only hoped he agreed.
Chapter Fifteen
After arriving at the Viper’s Den—the Demons’ party house in the middle of Bumfuckville, West Virginia—Decker unloaded the two kegs of beer from the back of the Ford Ranger. The last time he was tasked with this bullshit, he hauled those heavy fuckers across the fucked-up front yard and almost ate dirt by tripping on the uneven ground in the dark. This time he used his noggin and backed the truck up to the house.
The second he set the kegs down on the porch, another prospect he didn’t know appeared and hauled them inside, grumbling, “About fuckin’ time.”
Since when were the goddamn Demons on a strict schedule?
He bit back his acerbic response and jumped in his truck, parking it as far from the house as possible. By doing so, he could take a slow stroll through the haphazardly parked vehicles, and small groups of bikers jawing with each other, to search for Sadie. He peered into every vehicle he passed, checking backseats carefully.
After not seeing any signs of Sloane’s sister out front, he headed inside. He’d search the property from top to bottom now and, if he didn’t find her, he’d do another round in a few hours.
If by then she still didn’t turn up, he’d repeat that same pattern over and over until he found her or the party was over, whether it was hours from now or even days.
He hadn’t exaggerated when he told Sloane he wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone this weekend. Being a prospect, he was at the mercy of the patched members.
Bottom line, he was their bitch.
He sucked on his teeth in annoyance as he made his way down the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen at the back of the run-down house. The crowded farmhouse stunk like a bloated deer on the side of a highway on a scorching August afternoon.
Next time he would bring along a travel-sized container of Vicks and spread that shit under his nostrils to cover the stomach-churning smell. A valuable and lunch-saving trick he learned after responding to incidents when a body was found days, sometimes weeks, after death.
It was hard to rid your nostrils of decaying flesh. It stuck with you both physically and mentally.
He swallowed down the bile threatening to work its way up his throat as he had flashbacks of some of the gruesome scenes he’d worked.
After squeezing his way through the packed kitchen, he snagged a bottle of beer out of the sink full of ice, twisted off the cap and tossed it over his shoulder, not giving a fuck where it landed.
He tipped both his beer and his chin at several members, both patched and prospects, then slipped back out.
He casually made his way over to the stairs leading to the second floor.
“Whatcha doin’?” he heard shouted at his back as he was planting his boot on the second step.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder to see Scooter from the Uniontown chapter standing with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. If Yosemite Sam was human, Scooter would be his doppelgänger. His road name did not match the man in the slightest.