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)
Not for her. Yes, she’d been lucky enough to have a comfortable and secure upbringing but had been denied the right to choose her own path. Her family viewed the world in two separate right versus wrong camps as well. She, as a woman, shouldn’t be a cop but spend her energy on being beautiful and gentle. Tracker’s ability to see beyond stereotypes and societal norms not only found a family in an unconventional group of men and women but saw her for who she wanted to be.
That was a gift she’d be a fool to ignore.
“I’m going to make sure they’re protected, Tracker. No matter what I decide about my career, I won’t let your family suffer.”
He shifted their joined hands from his own chest to hers. “And I’ll make sure you’re protected in return.”
It felt like he meant those words on a deeper level. Her heart beat a steady rhythm against their hands. The delicate organ felt safe and cherished. It was way too early for terrifying words that began with L. Too early to say it and probably too early to feel it, but she was falling, and soon she’d land.
Hopefully, he’d be there to cushion the impact.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“YOU KNOW IT can’t be the same as it is with Brooke or Liv, right?” Curly asked Tracker as they each lugged a cooler across the sand.
“What are you talking about?” Sand shifted beneath his feet, making it difficult to walk. Jo would make fun of him to no end for wearing his motorcycle boots and jeans to the beach, but fuck it, he was not a sandals kind of guy. None of them were.
For this dinner on the beach that Brooke forced upon them, they’d all be dressed in typical biker gear. The ladies could deal.
Curly stopped walking. He had the wavy hair that had given him his road name pulled back in a low ponytail. If he didn’t, the Gulf breeze would turn it into a rat’s nest in no time. Even still, strands escaped, whipping around the president’s solemn face.
“Look, we aren’t your typical one percenter club when it comes to what we share with our women. Spec and I are both open with our ol’ ladies about most club business. No, they don’t know everything, especially not details that could end up hurting them, but they sure as fuck now more than any ol’ lady from my former club.” He shrugged and shifted, hefting the beer more securely on his shoulder. “I like it that way. It works for me to have a partner in Brooke as well as a lover. Works for Spec too. Can’t be that way for you and Officer Baker.”
Office Baker. Right. Like he wasn’t aware of her profession and how fucked up their situation was. He hadn’t been able to think about much else for the past few days. Well, when he wasn’t thinking about Jo’s ass. Or her tits. Or the noise she made when he first entered her. That little satisfied moan, as though only he could fill the empty ache. Fuck, he loved that sound.
Tracker blew out a breath as he squinted against the glare of the setting sun. “I get it, Prez. You can call her Jo. I’m well aware she’s a cop. No need to rub my nose in it like I pissed on your carpet.” He started walking again, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm.
“Tracker, wait one fucking minute.”
He stopped with a sigh. Fifty feet across the sand, Brooke watched them from the bonfire Spec had started with a concerned frown. Since Curly would kick his ass if he upset Brooke, Tracker turned.
“I’m not trying to piss you off. I like her, brother,” Curly said. “I like her for you, and to be honest, I like her as a cop. She’s fair, reasonable, and nothing like the rest of the assholes in her department.”
Ain’t that the truth.
“My ol’ lady likes her too. She fits. But she’s still a cop. There’s no pretending otherwise, which means no matter how much we like her, she can’t know too many details. And not just for our protection but for hers too. A wife can’t implicate a husband in court, and a girlfriend lying to save your ass will come with penalties, but nothing near what a cop would face for perjuring herself. See where I’m going with this?”
“Yeah, Curly, I do.” For now, he wouldn’t divulge Jo’s misgivings about sticking with police work. They’d play it as though she planned to remain a cop for the next twenty years. As Curly said, it was the safest course of action. “We both get it and know this whole thing might crash and burn because of it. But…”
How did he explain the inability to walk away from her when he could barely understand it himself?