Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Clyde strokes my forearm, so I’m gonna take that as a win, even though I’m not sure how to be gay in public either. I’ve never told anyone before Clyde, and while there have been moments when I’ve wanted to talk about it online, to strangers who lived far away and couldn’t possibly have any bearing on my life, I chickened out each time. As if clicking send might get me swatted by homophobes.
But I want this. I want Clyde. And at this point, I can either go with the flow full force or lose him. I can’t have that.
It’s not a big hospital, not like the behemoth of a building where he and I both recovered after the explosion at the warehouse, but it still takes us ages to get anywhere close to the exit. There’s tension among the staff, and Prophet hovers his hand close to the gun at his hip, but I hope the neutral ground rules still stand, and that I won’t die in a shootout right after miraculously surviving.
Not before I marry Clyde.
It just rolled off my tongue to say that he will be my husband, but now that I’ve put it out there, I need it more than I need air. I want to make sure he has a place with me, that he knows how committed I am to what we have, and that everyone knows too and treats him accordingly.
We turn the corner, blinded by sunlight, and the scene at the parking lot is a standoff. One pack of wolves eying the other. The bikes of the Butchers glisten in the bright sun, and there’s more of them. On our side, most of my club brothers wait on their motorcycles, along with Rooster sitting on the hood of a car.
Only now it hits me that my bike must have been left by the lake, but in the state I’m in, it’s better if I go by car.
Grizzly straightens, his eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. “Don’t make me come get you, Clyde.”
I really fucking want to grab him by the collar and beat him to his knees in front of his men, but I’m faint like a runway model before the most important show of the year, so that’s not on the cards today.
“You two can chat at Thanksgiving,” I shout back, trying to focus on my friends, who don’t look like they might shank me the moment I approach. Still, they eye me with a wariness I’m not used to from them.
Rooster opens the car door for me, but stares down Clyde as though he’s toxic waste. “Why is he coming?”
“So he can suck all your dicks!” One of the Butchers yells from the other side, triggering Clyde into action.
“You got a fucking problem with me?” he yells, already reaching for the same gun he shot Puck with last night. Like clockwork, his former brothers-in-arms pull out theirs.
Shit.
I don’t have the energy to deal with this, but I still step in front of Clyde and grab his gun hand, to keep it low. “Hey, Grizz, you let your men talk like that about your own blood?”
Grizzly spits on the ground between us. “He’s no blood of mine.”
Fucking grim. I know Clyde well enough to spot the tremor in his jaw. He’s barely holding it together.
Prophet steps in, holding up his hands. “This is neutral ground!”
One of the Butchers revs his engine as if to suggest that we will be fair game as soon as we leave. I know my brothers will try to delay them so the car can carry me to safety, but I don’t want any of them hurt over this. I flinch, noticing Creep’s eyes sliding over Clyde and me. His pale face expresses nothing, yet I can’t help the unease of being regarded like this. I’ve always trusted Creep, but he can be unpredictable, and that was before he found out I’ve been seeing Clyde in secret.
“This would be way easier for everyone if you really died, you damn snake,” one of the Butchers shouts, and the hum that follows means they all share that sentiment. I don’t see the expression passing over Clyde’s face, but his grief is pulling at me almost physically, and I open the car, trying to maneuver him inside.
He hides his gun, and it’s painful to see a man as confident as him so lost. I know what he’s feeling. Whatever issues he’s had with his club, it was an anchor in his life—he’s told me that much himself—and now he’s adrift.
I worry he might want to lash out at them with bullets after all, but then not one but three police cars arrive and park next to us. I look around, but my guys don’t seem surprised, while the Butchers hide their guns. The cops roll out of their vehicles and I spot two who are Prophet’s buddies.