Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
They chatted for a while about Curly’s vision for the club and the basics of how it would run. Dues, legit business opportunities, partnering with the club on business if necessary. Curly had money to spare and a deep interest in investing in the community, but he wasn’t going to toss his cash around without thought. Nor was he quite ready to admit his financial situation to these guys.
Lip service was great, but loyalty would only be proven with time. After all, he’d been through, trust wouldn’t be handed over in one meeting no matter how many promises they made or how well they all clicked.
After a while, the conversation shifted from business to random bullshit, and Curly found a few rickety folding chairs in his garage so he and Ty could sit with the guys. They drank and laughed, already comfortable with each other.
Jinx was the only man who didn’t already own a bike, but Tyler had a hookup for him, so he should have that settled by the end of the following week.
“Any of you guys try out that new strip club?” Jake asked after passing another round of beers out. “The one on State Street.” He’d told them all to call him Lock as his friends and family had called him by the nickname for years.
Tracker nodded. “Been there a few times. They got some quality dancers.”
Jinx frowned as he looked at Tyler. “That the one your mom works at, Ty?”
Curly snorted, almost shooting beer out his nose. Damn, that guy had some quick fucking wit.
“Cute,” Tyler said, flipping Jinx off. “You come up with that all on your own?”
“Sure did,” Jinx said with a laugh.
The only one who’d stayed relatively quiet was Gabe. His behavior didn’t qualify as standoffish, but he didn’t jump in as the others did. Maybe he was just reserved, or maybe he wouldn’t be a good fit. Only time would tell.
The doorbell chimed, killing the conversation.
Tyler frowned. “You expecting anyone else?”
With a glance at the clock, Curly frowned. “Shit.” Seven on the dot. With the unexpected presence of his new club members, he’d forgotten he’d invited Brooke. What would the sexy little dog trainer think of the crew of burly bikers overflowing his house?
As Curly rose to his feet, Tracker jumped up as well. “I got it, prez,” he said with a wink, then darted for the door as though they’d known each other for years rather than a few short hours.
“Don’t be an ass,” Curly called out, which was followed by Tracker’s laugh.
The rest of the guys at the table sat with raised eyebrows and curious gazes. When he invited Brooke, they’d only expected to be getting together with Ty, but here they all were, buzzed and acting a fool.
“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” came from the door, followed by a low growl.
“Quiet, Ray, it’s okay. Um, hi. I hope I don’t have the wrong house. I’m looking for Curly.”
Brooke was there.
She’d showed up, which meant she wanted his help. Surprising since he assumed her encounter with Prick would only ramp up her desire to go all Lara Croft and take the guy down herself.
She intrigued him with her feisty independence, her ballsy take no prisoners attitude, and those caramel-colored eyes he could have stared at all day. The second she’d snapped at him for helping with the dog kennels, she’d earned his respect and his genuine curiosity.
A woman like Brooke was so different than the women he’d spent his former life with. She reminded him of many of the Handlers’ ol’ ladies who were in complete contrast to the needy, manipulative, status-hungry club girls he’d been with as the Outlaws’ president.
Still, he needed to keep his eye on the prize: putting a stop to the illegal dog fighting ring. A woman didn’t factor into his life plan in any way beyond a bit of stress relief. Certainly not a relationship.
Been there, had the thick scars to prove it.
CHAPTER NINE
BROOKE COULDN’T DECIDE whether the man who’d answered the door terrified or intrigued her. Ray seemed to be just as ambivalent. His ears drew back, and he stood at attention with a slight forward tug on the leash. She patted his head to let him know everything was fine.
For now.
Covered in tattoos, the man who stood in the doorway wore a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and tattered jeans along with scuffed work boots. A strip of inky black hair ran down the center of his scalp—his tattooed scalp—while the rest of his head was smooth and hairless. Two silver rings glinted from one of his nostrils along with a ring in his eyebrow. Each ear had a gauge at least a half-inch wide, and finally, a silver hoop clung to his lower lip.
If it wasn’t for the amused grin and sparkling green eyes, she might have turned and fled back to her car. Guess the four bikes outside the house should have clued her in that Curly wasn’t alone.