Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
He shakes his head. “We’re here. Kings can do more than the cops ever will. I promise you we’ll get this sorted. Right now, I want to get you out of here and let the shock wear off.”
I nod as what else is there to do? While I’m not a local, I have made friends and all of them say the Kings of Carnage MC keep our small town safe in ways the police never would. I assumed it was small town lore, but maybe it’s true.
He takes me by the hand. “Creed, I’ll touch base with a brief in two hours.” The man he was looking at nods. He turns his head to another man, “Tyrant, have a prospect get my bike. I’m gonna drive Michele home in her car.”
I gasp.
He knows my name.
How does he know my name?
Guiding me through my shop, I find myself stopping in place as I see this goliath of a man looming over the box with the head taking pictures like this happens all the time.
“Buttercup, don’t look. Let me get you outta here.” I hear him but the ringing in my ears keep my brain from comprehending him.
With a gentle tug, I seemingly snap out of my trance and move with the man as he hits the back door. My Volkswagen Jetta sits unlocked behind the store. Hesitating, I stop and look around. I don’t know if this is a cruel mistake or somehow I’ve been targeted in something I don’t even know about.
“Gotta get you outta here, babe.”
At his voice, I calm in this weird way. “Um, I don’t typically lock my car. I don’t know if this is safe.”
“Pause and pivot,” he mutters before guiding me around the outside of the building back to the front of my shop.
“Tyrant, taking Michele on my bike. Gonna take her to my place,” my customer explains. “Have Zero check out her car and bring it over later. He needs to grab some groceries and shit too. I got nothing there.”
“You sure you wanna go there?” the man he calls Tyrant asks.
“Got no place else I can trust until we know more.”
Tyrant shrugs, “clubhouse?”
The man smiles, “she fancy, brother. No way she will understand that life.”
I don’t know why this bothers me. I want to argue and tell him, you’d be surprised what I can understand. I’m not fancy. I am normal, casual, basic even. I know wild. Had that life and it didn’t go well for me. That isn’t his business or his companions therefore, I keep my damn mouth shut.
I’m not sure what to think as he calls one man Tyrant, another Creed, and they call him Rogue. I don’t want to be some rebel slave. Why would his friend question where he’s choosing to take me? Is it some dungeon? I’ve read books, does he have some kink room? Suddenly, I’m not sure this is my best path to escape the dead head in my shop.
There isn’t time to think as he guides me back out, pops a helmet on my head before gently walking me through how to get on his bike behind him.
“Sorry babe, don’t usually have passengers. I don’t have a sissy bar, so you just gotta hold onto me, okay?”
I don’t reply as he fires the engine and literally it vibrates my entire body. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around him with my chest pressed to his back, he begins to roll us backwards before then taking us away. My shop is quickly behind us and I can’t even dare to glance back once more. My safe haven is gone.
With every curve I lean into it with him. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel at ease on this monster machine with a man who is practically a stranger. What feels like mere seconds is about twenty minutes we roll up on a small ranch style house down a private driveway that is completely wooded. In fact outside of a small area around the house, it is woods. Talk about seclusion.
Oh my God! Is he the one who sent the head and this is his place to kidnap and keep me? What was I thinking? I’ve watched enough crime shows, I should know better.
The panic builds but I’m taking out of my freak out when he gives my thigh a squeeze.
“Need you to hop off, buttercup.”
“I think I should go back to my shop,” I whisper.
He drops his head in frustration. “I get you don’t know me, Michele. So here is the quick version, I’m Jennings and this is my private home. I don’t live here, I stay at the clubhouse. But you being here, no one will think to look for you because we have zero connection other than my flower order. You don’t have my name on a single piece of paper at your shop so there is no trail. I’m gonna leave you here and get back to my club. We’re gonna sort the head situation and in the meantime, you’re safe here. Code on the door and alarm is 2315. Panic button draws down the shutters to close off the windows. Door doesn’t open without the code. Only three people have that code, two of them are sitting together on a Harley-Davidson right now together, the other one is dead. A prospect is gonna drop groceries on the porch and leave your car out front once we sweep it to know it’s not being tracked. No one even realizes I still have this house outside of looking up the damn taxes. Most criminals won’t go that far.”