Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
What he doesn’t expect is Daphne starting to shadow his every move—even straight into the line of fire when an arms deal goes sideways. Now, Daphne’s reckless behavior has made her a target for ruthless enemies aiming to take aim at the biker club.
But Daphne has her own agenda—playing matchmaker for her mom and the brooding biker she’s sure is the perfect man for Sabrina.
As danger closes in, Callow is determined to shield Sabrina and Daphne from the enemies closing in. Because he sees in them the family he never knew he wanted, but can no longer live without…
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Sabrina
“Okay, you got this,” I told myself as I stared at my apartment door with its crooked ‘6’ that refused to stay upright.
Whoever told us that the baby phase was hard must have been incredibly lucky to have produced offspring who, in their teen years, didn’t turn out to be mini versions of their own wild, moody, recklessness reinvented. With new slang that required its own dictionary. In a world that forced them to grow up just a little faster than the generation before.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, that baby phase was… a whole thing. I was pretty sure I didn’t sleep for a full year, running on jangling nerves and, as soon as she stopped nursing, double-shot coffees.
But at least the baby version of my daughter didn’t roll her eyes at me and shoot me glances that said she thought I was the most out-of-touch person in the entire world. Or use that voice on me. The one that suggested she’d rather be talking to anyone else. While also informing me I was an idiot. Without directly saying so.
This was one of those situations where most people would feel the need to apologize to their own mothers for putting them through this when they were young.
But my mom cut and run when I was ten, taking off to Europe to “find herself” when, in reality, all she did was leave me and my father behind.
Sure, I had been a bit of a nightmare youth, complete with my very own teenage pregnancy, whose music I could hear through the apartment door, despite telling her a dozen times not to play it so loud since, you know, we had neighbors. But there’d been no one to actually suffer from my teenage antics since my old man worked long hours then drank himself into oblivion afterward.
I once took a road trip in the middle of the school year to go visit a party college. He hadn’t even known I was gone.
So as I stood there, trying to get the nerve to go in and speak to my daughter, all I could do was remind myself that, hey, I turned out alright. Despite the years of attitude and antics.
I reached for the door, letting out a sigh as it turned in my hand before I even stuck the key in.
I had to mention at least a dozen times a week that she needed to remember to turn the locks.
To her, she was invincible.
To me, who’d narrowly escaped quite a few shaky situations with my own safety, all I could do was imagine all the horrific things that could happen to a young, pretty girl alone in an apartment with an unlocked door.
I was sure the true crime documentaries I binged at night when I couldn’t sleep weren’t exactly helping the whole situation.
The door caught on a pair of kicked off shoes that I reached down to set in the shoe organizer just behind the door, kicking myself for not stopping to get myself a coffee on the way home. It was already a long day. And it seemed like it was going to get longer.
How did one, objectively small, person create such a mess in so short a time?
Daphne had only been home for three hours yet shoes were scattered, books and notebooks were all over the coffee table along with three drinks, a bowl of colorful milk from cereal, and an open bag of chips.
I glanced over to the kitchen seeing, yep, the milk was still on the counter.
I made my way over, feeling it. Finding it cold, I stuck it back in the fridge, reminding myself to pick my battles.
I mean at least she clearly did her homework already. On a Friday afternoon instead of Sunday night when I would have to nag her about it, then struggle to get her out of the bed in the morning to get to school.
Really, I should have been suspicious of the work being done as I piled the books and notebooks up then took the dishes to the sink before making my way down the hall to my room.
I kicked out of my own shoes, then reached immediately for the belt that had felt like it’d been cutting off circulation since my—admittedly supersized—lunch.
What can I say? Work had been a nightmare. I’d been eating my feelings. But the uniform made the belt necessary.
I made my way to my closet, mildly resentful that I now heard my daughter’s words in my ear each time I reached for an article of clothing.
Apparently, the band tees that I got from actual concerts I’d attended when I was her age were ‘cringe.’
I still slipped one on. Along with my skinny jeans that she’d have to pry from my cold, dead fingers.
Feeling a little more myself, I finally made my way down the hall toward Daphne’s room, knocking on the door, but the music was too loud for her to hear me, so I moved in.