Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
His jaw works from side to side. I can’t tell which thing I said put that irritation on his face, so I ignore it.
“I told you I was planning to get her a car for school,” he says.
“We’re having fun doing the restoration together.”
His hands shoot across the table, connecting hard with my chest. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” I shove him back. “It’s fun working on a project with her. That’s all I meant.” So far all we’ve had a chance to do together is order the parts we need for the interior, but I love how seriously she takes every decision.
“Jesus, you’ve got it bad,” he grumbles.
“No shit. I’ve told you that like a hundred times.” I cock my head and choose my words carefully. “I know this is a difficult concept for you to understand, but I actually like Molly. As a person.” I raise one hand in the air and tap my fingers together like I’m working a sock puppet—maybe a puppet show would be the best way to get my point across. “I like talking to her and doing things with her.”
His harsh expression fades. “She’s not driving you nuts with all her questions?”
“No.” I snort. “She asks smart questions.” Hell, even if she didn’t it wouldn’t matter—I love listening to her voice.
His big brother tantrum finally seems to pass. A genuine smile spreads across his face. “I’m not surprised.”
Relief that I’ve finally told Remy about the show settles over me, but it’s short-lived. “I haven’t told her about the show and how long I’ll be gone for filming. So, can you please not say anything to her?”
Big brother protector returns. Remy’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck you waiting for?”
“Jesus, Remy.” I stab my fingers through my hair and turn away. “We just got together—”
“But you were sneaking around behind my back,” he adds in a let’s-be-honest dry tone.
“We weren’t sneaking.” I grit my teeth and swallow the rest of my argument. He’s fucking with me.
“Did you tell your mother you’re going to be away?” he asks.
Talk about conversational whiplash. “No. What the fuck for?”
“They’re probably not going to let you have access to your phone. If she needs to reach you and can’t…” He doesn’t finish the thought. Doesn’t need to.
“I’ll call her.” That’ll be an annoying conversation. One my mother’s bound to forget five minutes after it ends, too.
“Tell her to contact me if she needs something.”
“Bro, you don’t have to do that.” I’d ask Remy to help me bury a body before I’d ask him to deal with my mother’s craziness.
“Yeah, I do,” he insists. “If you’re doing this, you need to give it your full attention. No distractions or worries. I can deal with your mom.”
“If she reaches out, it’s just gonna be to ask for money.”
He shrugs. “Well, I don’t got any, so that’ll be a simple conversation.”
The front door’s bells jingle, announcing customers. Remy shoves away from the table. “Shit, hope they only want extra crispy wings,” he mutters.
“You want me to go take the wings out of the oven while you deal with the customers?”
Remy doesn’t have a chance to answer. The customers round the corner and we recognize the two Lost Kings MC members right away.
“Teller.” Remy dips his chin. “Jigsaw, what brings you into my fine establishment this evening?” He holds out his arms wide.
I stand and move around the edge of the table. “Teller.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it quickly. Teller’s blond hair, sharp jaw, and easy smile give him the appearance of someone who should’ve been cast in those Magic Mike movies Molly and her friends went nuts for. But I’ve witnessed him casually dispose of the body of someone who hurt his sister, so to say I maintain a respectful fear of the Lost Kings MC’s treasurer is an understatement.
“How you been?” he asks.
“All right.” My gaze slides to Jigsaw, and I search my brain for random small talk that won’t piss him off. “You’ve been hanging out in our neck of the woods more than usual lately.”
“What’s it to you?” Jigsaw growls, sounding as deadly as his serial killer road name suggests. His cold, calculating eyes always remind me of the Terminator. The jagged scar through one eyebrow adds to the menacing vibe always surrounding him. He’s fought at The Castle a few times but most of our regulars are too scared to enter the cage with him. That makes him perfect for helping us with security, though.
He lets my hand dangle for a minute before gripping it tight and flashing a smile that’s more terrifying than friendly. His best friend’s girl, Shelby, claims Jigsaw’s a “sweetheart” but I haven’t seen that side of him. The few times we’ve ridden with his club, his MC brothers have relished sharing stories of how Jiggy collects the fingers of their enemies. I never got the impression they were joking.