Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Javier was one of our youngest patches. And most recent. Which meant Javier did not have enough self-preservation to know that he was essentially signing his own death warrant by even thinking about fucking Violet.
Swiss, her stepfather, considered that girl to be his blood, and he was the most fucked-up, ruthless and vengeful of us all …which was really saying something.
Just the thought of Violet’s creamy skin being marked by Javier—even with her consent, especially with her consent—had me grinding my teeth tightly, red slowly creeping over my vision.
Fuck.
I took in a see breath.
“No, you fuckin’ won’t,” I clipped out, taking great pains to keep from growling. I didn’t look at Javier, didn’t trust myself to. Instead, I focused on my president, Hansen, whose eyes were on me. I didn’t like the small uptick of his mouth, the knowing glint in his eye. He saw too fucking much.
“I’ll take care of it,” I grumbled.
The uptick grew, and I clenched my fists harder.
Colby was also smiling. He was Violet’s best friend in the club. I hated that friendship too. But he didn’t look at her like he wanted to fuck her. Hadn’t made a move. So he was breathing.
“It’s settled,” Hansen declared. “You’re on deck for Violet if needed.”
I nodded once. She’d hate it. Hate me. But that was fine. That was good. That was how it was meant to be.
VIOLET
I was walking around angry.
Although angry seemed too light of a word for how I felt. Too thin. Too pedestrian. You’re angry that you missed your flight. Angry that a friend of yours told a secret she promised to keep. Angry that they killed off your favorite character in that show you’re binging.
Anger is a fleeting emotion that burns hot and quick. It promises to be temporary. But this … thing was not temporary. It was living, pulsating inside me. Leeched onto my insides like a parasite. Except, as much as I wanted to tell myself this anger was something foreign, the worst part was, it was me.
An ugly, unknown, impatient, intolerant, toxic part of me. The part that had resulted in a constant, painful ache on the left side of my head from grinding her teeth so hard in my sleep. I could barely eat due to the agony that came with the simple motion of chewing. The part of me that laid awake at night, staring at the images of whatever show I was using to try to lull me into unconsciousness, my body fighting sleep until the early hours. Then my mind battled wakefulness when I did manage to lapse into a thin slumber full of turmoil and too graphic dreams.
It seemed so fucking stupid to be walking around a college campus of people who were my age, laughing, walking in groups, already friends. I felt very alone. More alone than I ever had in France, an unfamiliar city in a country where I didn’t know a soul. But maybe that’s why I felt so alone here. There were many people who cared about me, but few who truly knew what was going on in my life. And the one person who knew everything had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me.
I’d walked aimlessly around the campus, trying to find the feeling I was supposed to have here. Then I’d followed directions off campus and down tree lined streets, barely paying attention, turning only when the robotic voice on my phone told me to, stopping when it said I’d arrived.
“You Violet?” a masculine voice asked me as I lingered in front of the charming Victorian that would serve as my home for the next year. We had the option to extend the lease through our undergrad studies, if we chose. But I didn’t know the girls I’d be living with. I didn’t even know if I wanted to be here to finish my degree. Except I had nowhere else to go. Garnett was too dangerous now. Full of pain. I didn’t fit in there. This was it. The place I was meant to be.
I jerked, turning around to see four motorcycles parked on the curb as well as a moving truck. I had not heard any of them pull up.
The man was older with a long, gray beard, faded tattoos and a beer belly. But he still had the certain … je ne sais quoi everyone wearing a Sons of Templar cut seemed to have.
The men behind him were younger, one wearing a ‘Prospect’ cut, who looked closest to my age, lanky and moody. The other two were a little older, both with muscles, tattoos and strong jawlines.
There were a bunch of sorority girls across the street gaping at them. I wasn’t sure if it was in disapproval or appreciation. I didn’t much care.
“I am Violet,” I said to him, holding out a hand.