Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
I force myself to look over at her and she’s watching me carefully, licking her lips. “You better go,” she whispers.
“This won’t take long and when you get back, we’re going—”
“To watch a movie and talk. Despite what just happened, I don’t think I’m ready for more just yet, Griffin.”
Disappointment hits me, but I push it away. She’s staying the night with me and agreed to share my bed—even if it is platonically. I’ll take it for now. I’ll eventually break through her defenses. Georgia just needs to trust me and in time she will. I’ll see to it.
“Okay, baby. I’ll miss you,” I agree, kissing her lightly and pulling away when Georgia begins to lose herself. I won’t take advantage of her. I’m going to play by her rules. With that in mind, I force myself to get up and damn if my knees don’t feel weak. I reach down in my pants and adjust my aching dick. When I hear Georgia’s gasp, I look down at her with a grin. “See what you do to me woman? You’ve got me so hard I could hammer nails into a concrete pad.” Her face moves from shocked to fits of giggles. The laughter only increases when I lean over her and start tickling her body any place that I can touch her. “I’m going to get you and show you what happens when you laugh at me after making me need you so much,” I fake growl.
“Stop!” she screams, although the word breaks off into more laughing. “Stop, stop! I’ll be-be-be good,” she adds, the words stuttering in between gasps of giggles, as she twists her body one way to the next, trying to get away from me.
The sight before me fills me with so much pleasure that I stop and just kiss the hell out of her. “I’ll be back soon, baby. I’ll have all my men occupied so stay here until I get back, okay? I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay,” she says softly with smile.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect, Georgie,” I tell her, my heart feeling like it might burst in my damn chest.
I force myself to kiss her forehead and leave the room without looking at her again. If I do, I’ll never leave. I need to get this meeting over with and get back to my woman. It may sound crazy as hell, but I know in my heart that for the rest of my life—no matter what happens or where life takes me—I’ll always come back to Georgia Cutter. My world now revolves around her, and nothing could make me happier.
15 GRIFTER
As I walk down the hall, the clubhouse feels colder tonight. Of course, that could be because I just left my woman’s arms and the warmth of her laughter. This damn place feels dismal as hell, too. I need to talk to the men about fixing it up some. We just have other, more pressing needs and until I can get our businesses bringing in more money, I need to tackle the most important shit first and let others fall through the cracks.
As I open the door to the meeting room where we have church, I feel gazes shift to me. I concentrate on the concrete floors, cinderblock walls, and the echo of my boots as I cross the room. The air seems thick with oil, leather, and the faint stench of old beer. The TV hanging on the far wall is turned off, but the lighting in the room hums low and shines brighter around the red flag on the opposite wall. It hangs behind where I sit, and I take a second to glance at it before I sit down. Kings of Anarchy is stitched bold and proud across it in block lettering. Kings Of is arched at the top, Anarchy is curved below. Our club emblem is in the middle of the lettering. It’s a wicked looking skull wearing a crooked gold crown and wearing a silver-and-black bandana. There’s an anarchy symbol carved into the skull’s forehead. It’s the kind of emblem that delivers a message. It’s one that warns outsiders not to fuck with us and I need to make sure that message is delivered loudly now that I’m the leader.
There’s no furniture in this room, save one massive, sleek, black oval conference table and ten expensive, black leather chairs surrounding it. It’s clean, simple, and cold—exactly how this room should feel. This is for business only—no bullshit.
My men are already seated when I walk in. Not one of them, except for C and Scorpion, look happy to see me. That doesn’t bother me in the least. I don’t need smiles. I need loyalty. C sits to my left, my second-in-command, my anchor. Scorpion’s to my right—Enforcer, muscle, and the closest thing I’ve got to a brother in this club. The rest fill the other chairs. Cowboy, Savage, Sidetrack, Hellfire, Hades, and Skeeter. That’s the club essentially. The prospects aren’t here—they haven’t earned the right to be a member, to wear our patch and have a vote. Some probably never will.