Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
I look toward the stairs, wishing Kate away. Luck isn’t on my side today. “The Manor at noon.” I have to touch her just one more time, stroking her flushed cheek as she nods her agreement. “Good girl.” I give her one last affectionate kiss on her forehead, marveling at the heat of her skin for a moment, then I have a brief argument with my legs before they relent and carry me away. I close the door behind me and drink in air, placing my hand on my chest to feel the consistent, steady beat.
Alive.
I’m so alive. And despite having to leave her, I’m blissful.
How does Ava O’Shea do that to me?
15
Drew is coming down the steps of The Manor when I arrive, and my pace falters slightly when I catch the expression on his face—a look of pure filth that could turn me to stone.
“I come here to relax,” he snaps as he passes, annoyed as he opens his car door with a vicious yank. “It’s like a fucking soap opera in there.”
I look to the doors of The Manor, just as a female member, Natasha, breezes out. Her smile is instant as she struts down the steps, stopping before me. “Oh,” she coos, resting the tip of her finger in the center of my chest and circling it slowly. “I’m just leaving, and you’ve just arrived. Shame.” She blinks slowly, running her tongue across her bottom lip. I move back, out of her reach, shying away from her touch. It feels all wrong.
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking away from her, finding my mate. His face is still screwed up in repulsion.
“I’m taking Natasha back to mine to relax.” His head cocks. “If you get my drift.”
Natasha brushes past me, pulling on her jacket. “Care to join us?”
I scoff. Never have I fucked with a close friend. And never will I. “Have fun,” I mutter, not needing to ask them why they’re taking their pleasure outside the walls of The Manor. “For fuck’s sake.” I gingerly take the steps and brace myself for what I’ll be faced with.
It’s quiet. I glance around, listening carefully, not hearing any commotion.
Sam appears at the top of the stairs, fastening his fly, a smile on his face. I cock him a questioning look and take the few steps needed to get me to the bar entrance. I look through the doorway, seeing someone slumped over the bar, a tumbler of amber liquid in their grasp.
Mike.
I quickly backtrack before Coral’s husband sees me. I need to know what I’m dealing with. “Drama,” Sam says from behind me, and I sigh.
“Where’s John?”
“Your office.” Sam heads into the bar. “Put your armor on. He’s not a happy bunny.”
“Bunny?” I laugh, and Sam grins over his shoulder, settling on a stool next to Mike, whose head starts to lift with some effort. I make tracks to my office, wary, still looking around, still listening. It’s quiet. Which means John has calmed the situation down or Sarah has sewn Coral’s mouth shut.
I walk into my office and the first thing I see is the big man with a face like thunder. Then I see Coral on one of the couches, her face a tear-stained mess. And guarding her, Sarah, leaning against a cabinet, her arms crossed over her leather bodice, her lips twisted in displeasure. She shakes her head at me. “Glad you found it in yourself to return to sort out your shit,” she spits, dipping and picking up her whip off the floor and stamping toward me. She stops by my side, looking up at me. “You need to get your priorities in order.” She carries on her way, slamming the door with brute force. Oh boy.
“Jesse,” Coral sobs, jumping up from the couch and throwing herself into my arms. I hold my breath, catching her, not at all comfortable.
“What’s going on?” I ask John, who’s rising slowly from the chair, removing his wraparounds to ensure I see the fierceness in his glare.
He raises his hands, holding up all ten fat fingers. “Number of members who canceled their memberships this evening.”
My eyes widen. “Ten?” That’s unheard of.
John steams past me. “Outside,” he orders, swinging the door open, obviously not prepared to let Coral free from my office. I negotiate her dead weight over to the couch and ease her down, the smell of alcohol, both new and stale, wafting up, making my nose wrinkle and my eyes water.
She flops back against the cushion on a whimper, and I hear John growl, prompting me to follow him out of my office. He closes the door. Slips his shades back on. Stuffs his hands in his trouser pockets. I remain mute, waiting for him to give me a thorough dressing-down for all the things. Only John can.