Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“I’m happy for you. I’d like to meet the girl who has the potential to take your heart, considering I kind of like to think I own some of it.”
He steps forward, grinning, and pulls me in for a hug. “You’ve got a good 2% of it.”
I giggle and shove him back. “You’re a bully.”
He leans in, kissing my forehead. “You’re my best girl. I’ve got to run. I’ll call you later.”
Leaving the kitchen, I watch him go with a smile on my face.
I get myself ready and make my way over to the club. I spend the entire drive attempting to build up my confidence, in hopes that I don’t come across as the broken wreck I actually feel like inside. Parking my car, I climb out and walk through the front gates, greeting the two bikers standing by it. They’ve upped the security since the shooting, and still, I don’t know what it was about. The club doesn’t share anything that’s going on, but there is always something.
I enter the main house and greet a few people as I move down the hall and toward the office where Colt asked me to meet them. I knock on the door, and, a few seconds later, Fury answers. He gives me a small smile, and his eyes move to my neck. The marks have faded, but I know he’s thinking about it. Aren’t we all?
“Hey, Fury,” I say, giving him a weak grin.
“How are you, Bon?”
“I’m alive,” I answer him. It’s sarcastic ... kind of.
He pushes the door open and lets me inside. I walk into the office where Western and Colt are both waiting. I avoid Western’s gaze, and instead stare at his dad. Colt zeroes in on me and gives me a small nod. His expression is far less angry that it has been, which I’m guessing means he got news of Western’s little strangling event.
“What can I help you with?” I ask, crossing my arms, not in a defensive way, just in a way that makes me feel safe.
“You know about Bill’s little article, by now the whole town does, but what you don’t know is the problems it is causin’ the club. We have heat on us now, the kind of heat we don’t need. Need you to get proof, so we can take this fucker down once and for all.”
They want me to get proof to take him down, when they’re doing the very same thing? Is it so the heat will leave them and they can then have the business all to themselves?
“What exactly do you need?” I ask anyway, not letting on that I know far more than they think.
“We need you to follow him to his next sale and get the proof we need to bring him down.”
I shake my head. “You can’t be serious?”
“I’m dead fuckin’ serious,” Colt answers, his face blank.
“First of all, how the hell do you think I’ll get that information? And second, how the hell do you think I can pull off following him?”
“We’ll get you the information. We got a guy.”
I shake my head. “Then, if you have a guy, why the hell don’t you follow him?”
“He’s got fuckin’ eyes on us, Bon,” Fury answers before Colt can. “He’ll know if we’re followin’ him.”
“Oh, and he won’t notice me?”
“He won’t be expectin’ you, so in that case, he won’t be lookin’,” Colt answers, as if it is that simple.
“Oh okay, well if that’s all ...” I mutter.
“You either want our protection or you don’t,” Colt growls.
“Some protection that’s turning out to be.”
Western’s eyes flash. He still hasn’t spoken this entire time.
“You’re not gettin’ hunted down by Bill Whart because we agreed to help you. Things could be a lot fuckin’ worse for you. Now, are you goin’ to do as we ask, or are you goin’ back out there on your own? Either way is fuckin’ fine with me.”
Colt’s words are harsh.
In situations like these, Colt doesn’t pull any punches. He gets shit done, and he really doesn’t care who he puts in the way of that. I mean nothing to him; as far as he’s concerned, he’s willing to throw me under the bus to get his club back on track.
It hurts, more than I’m willing to admit.
“What proof, exactly, do you need from me?”
“Simple, you go to the meeting point where he’ll hand over the boy, and you take photos. The moment that boy is reported missing, we release those photos. Ain’t no comin’ back from that.”
“This boy ... Is someone going to make sure he doesn’t actually go missing?” I ask, scanning the three faces in the room.
“That’s not your concern,” Western finally speaks.
My eyes whip to him. “Actually, it is. I’m not going to watch an innocent life forever damaged. If you want my help, I want you to promise that boy won’t be hurt.”