Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
My brothers were older and were sporting crow’s feet and silvered hair. Their kids were now grown. Some had chosen to move on, while others had not only patched in but now had a significant role in the club. Prospects were now brothers, and more had been called to prove themselves worthy. Hell, even the clubhouse itself had changed and was now updated with fresh paint and new furniture.
Nothing was the same—nothing except me.
I was still just the same ol’ Q. I wore the same jacket, drove the same damn bike, and I was still flying solo. I’d come close a couple of times, but I still hadn’t claimed an ol’ lady. A few years back, I’d thought Cotton’s oldest daughter was the one for me, but falling for the president’s daughter turned out to be a bad idea. In fact, that shit blew up in my face.
Lauren wasn’t interested in me. She never was. Her eyes had always been set on Flynn—the kid who lived across the street from Cotton’s place. I should’ve seen it coming. They’d been close for as long as I could remember, but I refused to see it.
I didn’t want to see it.
Not that it mattered.
Lauren was crazy about the guy, and they’d been together for almost five years now. They were even talking about starting a family, and that was a hard pill to swallow—especially when I’d always wanted a family of my own.
I was stuck, like a damn stone planted in the middle of a river. Everything seemed to rush past me while I remained rooted in place. I couldn’t help but wonder when I would finally break free, and those rapid waters would carry me along with them. Sadly, that day hadn’t come.
And as I sat there at the clubhouse bar with Big and Clutch, I feared it never would.
After a long week, we’d all come to the bar to blow off steam. I’d just taken a pull from my second beer when Stitch and Maverick came over. I couldn’t help but notice that Stitch looked absolutely pissed as they both sat down next to us. He reached for a beer as he grumbled, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“I know you want to, but you can’t kill him, brother.” Maverick chuckled under his breath as he added, “He’s just a kid.”
“He’s no fucking kid. The asshole’s almost twenty-five.”
Stitch was the club’s enforcer—a position he’d held since the day I’d patched in, and rightly so. The man was still a force to be reckoned with. When he had one of our adversaries in his chambers, he would bring the wrath of hell down on them, making them wish they’d never attempted to go up against the Fury brothers. Maverick’s smirk remained intact as he goaded, “Yeah, he’s twenty-five, and he’s dating your daughter.”
“That’s exactly why I’m gonna kill him.” Stitch’s eyes grew narrow as he growled, “The asshole’s been fucking with her head, and I’m not having it.”
“Fucking with her?” All the brothers were fond of Mia. She was a smart girl, beautiful, with a good head on her shoulders, and she had a heart of gold, just like her mother. The thought of someone giving her a hard time drew me to ask, “What the fuck is this guy doing?”
“The motherfucker’s up her ass all during the week, but when the weekend rolls around, he goes MIA.” Stitch grumbled curses under his breath before adding, “He’s always giving her some fucking excuse like he had to work or had some family emergency, but you know as well as I do it’s bullshit.”
“Sounds like it... You really think he’s messing around on her?”
“Fuck if I know, but it certainly looks that way.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid it does. I’d be a hundred shades of pissed if some guy was pulling that shit with Lexie.” Like Stitch, Maverick was extremely protective of his daughter, so I wasn’t surprised when he nodded his head in my direction and asked, “You want me and Q to check this guy out and see if he’s really fucking around?”
The words had barely left Maverick’s mouth when Bones came up behind us. He was no longer the quiet, little Wyatt who’d kept his face buried in his electronics. Now, he was six-two and built like a linebacker, and he had no problem saying whatever was on his mind. His brows furrowed as he asked Stitch, “See if who’s fucking around?”
“Nobody,” Stitch grumbled under his breath.
Bones was Stitch’s stepson, and even though they were polar opposites, the two were inseparable. It didn’t matter to either of them that they weren’t blood and had nothing in common. Stitch was his father—through and through, and they were as tight as a father and son could be. Knowing how close the two were, none of us were surprised when Bones gave him hell about being pissed. “Please tell me you aren’t still bitching about that Tucker guy.”