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)
He brushes past me, all too close, his shoulder bumping mine, as if he couldn’t deny himself the chance to touch me. Does he have a fucking death wish? I hope agitating ten angry bikers is worth making me shiver.
“Watch it,” I snarl, somehow self-conscious about needing to seem more angry than I am, as if otherwise our secret will be written all over my face. And—fuck—when I smell his cologne, its musky aroma, sweet and bitter like our budding… thing, takes me right back to the garages and the moment my climax started to build while he rocked on top of me.
Rooster, the fucking prospect brat, rolls his eyes at me. “At least it’s not a fist in the guts.”
Road grabs him and tugs on his arm, sending him back toward the road through the passage he carved with sheer will. “Oh? Who did you piss off this time?” he asks, and when he passes me, his fingers slide over my hip. I barely bite back the groan pushing at my lips, because the touch, so dangerous even with all the bodies to obscure it, feels as if Road managed to dip them into my flesh and caress the nerves responsible for carrying pleasure over my entire body.
Rooster scowls at Road, unaware of the game his enforcer is playing with me. “I didn’t do nothing! Just gathering mushrooms.”
I watch Road with eyes that I can only hope look cold, because the inferno inside me might soon turn them red. When he stops and meets my gaze, my heart stops beating.
“That true, Clyde? He didn’t cause trouble?”
I shake my head and dismiss him with a gesture so we can end this stupid game. But he’s a crazy guy and has proven it many times before, so my dismissal isn’t enough, and he comes so close adrenaline oozes off my club brothers. “Answer. Me. Clyde,” he shouts in my face. I smell cherry tobacco on his breath, but also his cologne, and the fearless determination a part of me always admired him for. He’s deep in my personal space, nose maybe two inches away from mine, but we do not touch, even though right now he is definitely not telling me to speak about Rooster’s behavior.
He’s pissed off about me not texting him back, and he’s making it my problem.
I don’t flinch, don’t even blink. It’s such a turn on that he wants me so much.
“You always so needy for acknowledgement?” I ask quietly, while Grizzly waves his hand at us.
“Leave it, Clyde, not worth the hassle.”
Before Road can answer, I speak to him only. “It is worth the hassle.”
I’m moving a lot of parts in my life to make room for him, so the least he can do is be patient.
My heart beats faster when his nostrils flare, as if he were smelling me too. Tension grows around us, since everyone expects him to say something abrasive, but after a wordless moment, he nods and shoves Rooster forward, following him.
I’m so fucking aroused.
“Good day. We’ll be on our way,” Prophet says and gestures to the remaining Vultures, who reluctantly retreat to their bikes.
I shake off the tension and grab a cigarette to ease my nerves, but I still discreetly glance back at the man occupying all my recent daydreams. Maybe me not answering is a subconscious power play with him, because deep down I know I want to be under him, and I can’t lose myself in that.
Relief floods my body when the Vultures leave my club behind, but Puck, fucking Puck, just has to spoil everything and takes two steps behind Road. I ball my hands into fists, torn on whether I can stop him in time, and whether I even should, but Road spins around and throws the knife he’s been playing with—my knife—at my road captain.
The air thickens. Grizzly reaches for his gun, others freeze, but the tension dissipates when Puck glances at the blade embedded in the tree right next to his head.
“Keep it,” Road tells us, with a pointed glance my way, before walking off while I have to stand there, stewing in my own nerves.
Did we even understand each other? I don’t want to text him as if I’m desperate for approval. He shouldn’t even need that. We’re not in high school. We’re two grown-ass men trying to establish a mutually beneficial arrangement for a fuckfest.
Puck shakes his head as the Vultures drive off. “I’m gonna fucking kill the bastard.”
I pluck the knife out of the tree on my way to my bike. “Let’s go,” I say curtly, because we’re done here. “We have a meeting in two hours.”
Chapter 11
Road
I stare at the tapestry with the symbol of the Vulture Hollow MC, a menacing vulture perched atop a skull and surrounded by lightning bolts, some of which bear a close resemblance to knives. The noise keeps growing, but I’m unwilling to join, locked in my own skull cage, along with all my dirty thoughts about Clyde Turner.