Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Curly leveled him with a cold stare, but his own lips quirked.
He shrugged. “They call ’em bedroom games for a reason, Prez. They shoulda kept that shit between their sheets and behind a closed door.”
His prez grunted, which he’d take as an agreement and the sound of forgiveness. Until Curly said, “It fucking stops, Spec.”
With a nod, Scott began to rise. “Got it.” If only it were that simple. Maybe more time with the heavy bag would help pound some of the fucked-up feelings out of his head.
Curly speared him with a look full of disappointment. For the first time since they started talking, a bit of shame wormed its way under Scott’s skin.
“I mean it. I know it ain’t fair, but I’ve already got the cops sniffing at my asshole because of my past. Can’t be giving them more reasons to be after us. You gotta get that temper under control. You’re part of this brotherhood now, and your actions can affect all of us.”
Fuck, when he put it like that…
Felt like disappointing his fellow Rangers, and it sucked.
“I got it, boss,” he said with sincerity. “I won’t be responsible for fucking shit up here.” This was too important to him, to most of them. This was his family now. He wouldn’t fail them as he’d failed Deke. Besides, he couldn’t handle anything else to feel guilty about.
And fuck, now he was thinking about Deke. Goddammit, he’d made it nearly a full hour.
“All right. Get outta here.” Curly waved him off as someone knocked on the door.
Scott pulled it open to find the mohawked and tatted Tracker smirking like an idiot. “The fuck’s wrong with your face?” Scott asked. He reached out to wipe that grin off his brother’s face, only to have his hand smacked away with a laugh.
“Someone here to see you, Spec,” Tracker said, still grinning.
He frowned. To see him? Who the fuck did he know in Florida? None of the women he’d fucked around with would be darkening his door. A few said he was too intense, and another cried because he’d left her bed two seconds after coming. Sorry, but even one minute was too long to linger. Gave those clingy bitches ideas. He was too screwed up for anything more than a few hours of bedroom gymnastics, and he made that very clear upfront.
“Who the hell is it?”
“Said her name was Olivia.” Tracker’s grin grew.
“Olivia?” He shrugged. “Don’t know who the hell that is. She’s got the wrong guy. Tell her to fuck off.”
“Nuh-uh. Do your own dirty work, man. And she specifically asked for Scott Hughes, so that’s all you.” He pressed his lips together and rocked back on his heels.
Scott rolled his eyes. “You’re dying to say something else. What?”
The idiot was having way too much fun. His eyes practically danced. “She’s a looker. All fancy and shit. Have a feeling she’s the type who doesn’t hear the word ‘no’ very often.”
“Don’t be a pussy and deal with it, Spec,” Curly said without taking his attention from his computer.
“Fine.” With a groan, Scott strode out of Curly’s office. He had shit to do, and dealing with a deranged chick he’d fucked once upon a time wasn’t on the list.
Lock pointed toward the bar where a woman stood with her back to him and ramrod straight. She wore a pale pink dress that looked like, shit, what was that? Silk? Who did he know with enough money for a dress like that? As she waited, she delectably lifted a leg and scratched the back of her calf with one foot. Scott at least knew enough about women to recognize the telltale red bottom of those heels as some designer they all flipped their shit for. At least, his sister always drooled over that nonsense. So did her friends.
He racked his brain but couldn’t place the woman from her back or spectacular ass. Her hair gave him no hints either. Light brown and twisted in some classy knot, she could’ve been any brunette he’d met. Maybe he’d fucked her a decade ago? But why come here now? Maybe it was the bike. It seemed to attract more women than diamonds.
He cleared his throat. “You looking for Scott?” What had they said her name was? Olive? Alyssa?
The woman spun on those expensive four-inch heels. It might earn him a slap to the face, but Scott couldn’t resist trailing his eyes up those long sexy stems. Damn, that dress fit her like a glove. Her shoulders were bare like her legs, revealing smooth, creamy skin. She wore a single strand of pearls around her neck. Nope, he’d never fucked her. A pearl clutcher? Not his style.
Hell no.
He continued his shameless inspection, taking a good look at her perky tits way too covered by the dress. She was much younger than he’d originally assumed. Her face was slender, her makeup flawless, and her eyes a gorgeous shade of green.