Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
His groan shared agony as he curled into a fetal ball.
I ran out the door, down the hall and to the RA’s door.
I hammered on it as my heart continued to hammer in my chest and my breath came out in explosive bursts.
She opened it and blinked at me.
Of course, most of the dorm was probably awake, but this woman had been sleeping.
“Did you not hear me shouting?” I demanded. “My study date just tried to rape me!”
Her face went pale, and suffice it to say, my adrenaline was still flowing, I was freaking out, pissed, scared, shocked, and still, I saw the myriad of emotions drift through her expression. Surprise. Concern. Anger. But also hassle.
This was going to be a hassle for her.
Seriously?
“Um…now’s the time when you call the campus police,” I informed her.
“Right,” she mumbled. “Come in.”
I walked in.
I sat on the side of her bed.
That was when I started shaking.
Bad shakes.
Cataclysmic.
Dang.
I’d never been sexually assaulted.
I hoped I never was again.
It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but it was still awful.
Terrifying.
I knew, sitting there, it would change my life forever.
What I did not know was that it definitely would.
But in ways I’d never imagine.
Harlan
Denver, Colorado
Several years later from Diana’s attack…
Saturday
Harlan sat away from the crowd in a white resin chair in the forecourt behind Ride, the auto supply store, and in front of the other part of Ride, the custom car and bike garage that sat at the back of Chaos Motorcycle Club’s property.
He was on Chaos.
Again.
Though, this was the first time in more than a decade.
No.
More than two.
Harlan didn’t want to like what that resin chair said.
But he liked it.
It was the kind you bought for twenty bucks (if that) at Walmart.
These men, with their businesses (they had auto supply stores all over Colorado) were raking it in. Their builds from the garage were so phenomenal, they’d had magazine articles written about them.
His mom had collected every magazine, saved special in little plastic sleeves.
So now, he had them.
But that chair was not only cheap, it was bought in bulk (because there were a lot of them scattered around). They were nicked and scraped and obviously had been there awhile.
No one bothered to replace them.
No airs, no graces.
White resin chairs. A man at a huge-ass grill that was far from brand-new (and that grill had seen years of action), frying up burgers, brats and hotdogs. Potluck dishes all over a table. So much food, double the FFOs could show at this shindig and walk away stuffed. Kegs in barrels filled with ice. Massive coolers with bottles of beer, pop and water sticking out. Music playing. It was metal, it was loud, but it wasn’t so loud you couldn’t talk and listen. Kids running around everywhere.
Lots of kids.
Everywhere.
And women.
It was the women that shook him.
There were some in expensive clothes that even he could clock as pricey (though they were expensive in a casual way), wearing high-wedge sandals on their feet (that were also costly …and casual). There were others who were born old ladies and wore that proudly with their jeans and Harley tees and silver jewelry.
Christ, one of them had a cute dress on, a mass of honey blonde ringlets and looked like a goddamn cheerleader.
All of them mingled together, laughing with each other, gabbing with heads bent close, a clear sisterhood among the brotherhood.
Harlan was really young the last time he was here, and his mother was desperate. He didn’t remember much, except he felt powerless because his mom was in a situation he couldn’t help her with.
He also remembered those men treated her differently than practically anybody.
She’d been unsafe.
They’d made her safe.
His gaze drifted to Tack Allen then to Hopper Kincaid, and finally to Hound Ironside.
Yeah.
With Big Petey, they’d made her safe.
He still felt the change from then to now.
This was what Pete said it was. It was what his ma told him Tack was building.
It was family.
He heard a chair scrape and looked to his side to see Rush, Tack Allen’s son—and his heir, since Rush was now president of the Club, a position Tack used to hold—was dragging another beat-up white chair to Harlan.
Once he got it where he wanted it, Rush sat in it and slouched, testing that old chair’s viability in a way that Harlan, who had to have at least fifty pounds on the guy, would never consider doing. Rush took a drag off his bottle of brew and kept his Oakley sunglasses aimed to the forecourt.
“You gettin’ it?” Rush asked.
“Hard not to,” Harlan answered.
“No one has to know,” Rush assured him.
It was a laid-back day. Sunny. Autumn was coming in, but the weather was still great. He’d had a brat and a burger and some of the best homemade potato salad he’d ever tasted. And these were clearly good people.