Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 83872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“She killed the man who owned me,” Tammi whispered. “It’s how I was able to get free. I got out of jail because they found me innocent. Jamie pleaded guilty, effectively releasing me and adding more charges to her sentence.”
“Ah, so she’s your knight in shining armor?” Amelia asked, putting her gun back at the small of her back.
Tammi snatched up a knife, and I grabbed her wrist, bending it backward and applying pressure to her pressure point before she could stab Amelia. I was seething with anger. She cried out in pain, but I only tightened my grip, shooting her a look holding a thousand promises of pain. “It looks like you’re still trying to do Jamie’s work outside of jail.” I looked at Lorenzo, shoving Tammi toward him. “Get her out of here. Lock her up somewhere. She is never to be left alone. I don’t give a damn if she’s pissing or taking a shower. An eye will always be on her.”
He nodded and looked down at Tammi, smirking. She cringed, her eyes filled with fear. “Love,” Amelia flinched at the name and subconsciously rubbed her belly, “you better be glad we’re all against rape here, or I’d treat you like the slutty bitch you are.”
“Lorenzo,” I snapped. Fuck, I swear, sometimes I wanted to punch these men in the fucking face for their thoughtlessness.
He cursed and looked at Amelia. “Forgive me?” he asked her, pouting.
Amelia rolled her eyes at him, sighing. “As much as I hate the bitch, no one deserves that kind of torture. I forgive you though,” she assured him.
He smiled and pulled Tammi after him as he walked away. My dad walked over. “We’ve got a problem. FBI agents just rode into the lot, demanding to search the place. They’ve got warrants.”
“Let them search,” I told him with a shrug. “We’ve got nothing here, and we’re all licensed to carry concealed.”
Amelia moved away from me and walked outside. I followed behind her, knowing how she could get with her temper. “Oh, it’s the old bastard,” she snapped, glaring at an older man as he stepped out of the car. “Are you going to fart around or do something productive?” she asked him.
“It’s such a pity that they released you,” he told her, shooting her a glare. “You would have been safer there. We all know you’re heading down a road that will only get you killed.”
Amelia rolled her eyes and glared at a black-haired man. I grabbed her arm before she could storm over to him. The last thing I needed was for her to land her ass back in jail. “You!” she yelled, her body shaking with rage. “You fucking bastard!” she seethed. “What you did to me was fucking illegal!”
“Don’t forget you’re only out on bond,” he reminded her, a sick, twisted smirk on his face.
I put my hand over her mouth before something that could send her back to jail flew out of it. “You need to calm down,” I growled in her ear. “You don’t need to get sent back to jail just because you’re temper got the best of you.”
The black-haired FBI agent walked up. I tensed. It was taking a lot for me to not knock him on his ass, but I needed the FBI away from here, and we needed off of their radar. “Cole, is it?” he asked me.
“Yeah.” I shook his hand, forcing myself to be pleasant. I just had to play nice while they searched the clubhouse. “What’s yours, agent?”
“Agent Blake.” He smirked. “You’ve got a feisty one on your hands,” he said, gesturing to Amelia.
I looked over at her as she walked away and then looked back at him. “What do you have against her?” I asked him.
“You’d love to know, wouldn’t you?” he asked.
He walked away and into the clubhouse. Amelia sat on the ground against the building. Her face was pale, and she had her head between her knees. I knelt next to her. “Baby, you okay?” I asked gently.
Before she could answer, she leaned away from me and threw up on the ground. “Water,” she muttered. “Get me some water.”
I got up and jogged into the clubhouse. I shoved past Peanut and got Amelia a glass of water. When I came back outside, an agent was holding a bottle of water to Amelia’s lips. “Morning sickness sucks, doesn’t it?” the woman asked her. “I never would have survived my pregnancy without a ton of water and any kind of crackers. How far along are you?”
“Thirteen weeks. I didn’t start throwing up until a couple of days ago,” Amelia muttered, taking another gulp of water from the bottle.
I watched from a distance as the woman sat beside Amelia, letting her keep the water bottle. “You know, I didn’t start throwing up until I was probably about sixteen weeks into my pregnancy. I was absolutely miserable. My boyfriend was busy a lot. He wanted to be there for me, but he couldn’t. He had to do what his president wanted.”