Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
She sucked in a breath and froze in place.
“I met you because of my club,” he said, staring at her with heat. “I won’t deny it. I even fucked you because of my club. They’re the most important thing in my life, and I’d use anyone and do anything to protect them, including give up my life.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted on a silent exhale.
“But the ink? That was for me. Because no matter the reason we started fucking, I had to put my ink on that beautiful skin. For me. Not my club.”
If it was possible for a person’s eyes to fall from their skull, hers would have. Tracker left her gaping at him as he slipped out the door. Whatever she had to say would be lost in the wind. He couldn’t stick around and hear her cuss him out or say she regretted the tattoo he’d placed on her skin.
Much as it sucked for his club, ending this now was for the best. Jo had gotten under his skin.
Unacceptable.
And over.
As he strode to his bike parked a few units over, his phone rang.
“Hey, VP,” he said as he answered Tyler’s call.
“We got trouble. Get your ass to the hospital. Our guys are all okay, but it’s a fucking shit show down here, and I need you ten minutes ago.”
“On it,” he replied, but the line had gone dead. “Fuck.” From zero to fucking panicked in two-point two seconds. With his Jo obsession no longer the evening’s primary disaster, he raced to his bike and then gunned it to the local medical center at death-defying speeds. All he pictured as he navigated roads he knew like the back of his hand were visions of his president clinging to life on a hard table in the emergency room despite Ty’s reassurances to the contrary.
Maybe the prez was fine. Maybe one of the ol’ ladies was hurt. His stomach twisted.
“Fuck,” he shouted into the wind. Both Spec and Curly would unravel at the seams if something happened to their women.
In under eight minutes, the red glow of the emergency room sign appeared. He tore into the parking lot, earning a honk and a shout from a pissed-off driver. Thankfully, parking wasn’t an issue. He slid his bike into the closest available spot. Then flat-out ran to the drab building with a lead brick in his stomach.
As the automatic doors parted for him, he rushed into the bright emergency lobby. Finding his people didn’t take more than a second as they stood clustered near the main desk.
“She’s my fucking twin sister!” Lock shouted, which had Tracker stopping dead midway between the entrance and his brothers.
Sister? Lock had a sister? A twin? What the hell? They’d known each other nearly a year, and she’d never come up. If his sister was the issue, that meant none of Tracker’s brothers or their ol’ ladies were injured or sick. He doubled over, planting his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. Later, he’d feel like an ass for the immense relief at finding out no one he loved was dead or bloody while Lock suffered.
A frazzled security guard whose head barely reached Lock’s shoulder lifted his hands. “As I’ve said at least a dozen times, the patient requested no visitors and specifically mentioned your name.” He spoke in a calm voice that probably wouldn’t last much longer if four pissed-off bikers continued to antagonize him. “I am sorry. I know this must be stressful for…”
“Fuck your apology!” Lock shouted. He lunged, swiping his arm through the air as though aiming to catch and wring the guard’s neck.
“Whoa, hold up, brother!” Tracker closed the distance and then jumped in front of Lock, shoving his raging brother back with both hands.
“Get the fuck outta my way, Tracker.” Lock’s eyes held a wild, almost unhinged gleam that Tracker had never seen from the man. His hair stood on end as though he’d been pulling at the strands, and his pale skin had turned an ashen gray. “That’s my sister in there, and they won’t let me fucking see her.” His voice cracked.
“That’s it. I’m calling the cops,” the guard said as he drew out his cell phone. “This guy is out of control.”
“The fuck you are,” Jinx snarled. He stepped closer to the guard. The big man’s involvement would only light the fuse on this explosive situation. Jinx was a mammoth dude whose wolfish grin made even the most hardened of men shit themselves. This delicate situation wouldn’t be solved by Jinx’s intimidation tactics. They’d all end up with their asses in a cell for the night.
Lock wrenched away from Tracker to pace the small waiting room. “Fucking bullshit.”
“VP.” Tracker jerked his head in Jinx’s direction as his eyes followed Lock. Thankfully, Ty got the message and slapped a hand on Jinx’s big shoulder.