Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
He throws both arms up like he's conducting an orchestra, and the entire place goes silent. Even the ceiling fan seems to pause. He steps into that silence like it belongs to him, crossing the room in three long strides before slamming his palm on the bar hard enough to make bottles jump.
"Feels like a damn funeral in here," he announces, voice filling every corner. "Someone better pour this girl a drink before her nerves chew through the fucking cushion." He looks at me, eyes narrowed but mouth quirked up. "Time to welcome the girl who broke the bad boy's brain, don't you think?"
The scene shifts faster than I can track. Music erupts from hidden speakers—something with a growl and a bass line that crawls up my spine. I flinch at the sudden assault, curling closer to Legion. The men at the corner table laugh, the sound rough like gravel. Someone cranks the volume until I feel it in my teeth.
The room transforms like a beast waking.
Like the blood came back.
"Come on, pretty girl," Diesel yells, gesturing toward the bar. The way he says it sounds like an invitation wrapped in barbed wire.
Legion's hand finds my knee, squeezes once. "Go with it," he says quietly. "Try. Breathe." His eyes search mine, desperate for understanding. "This is our only chance, Savannah. This night is it. Once the vote is done, it's over. It's law. And if they don't let you stay—"
He doesn’t finish. But he doesn’t have to. It’s already been said.
"Come on," Legion says, cupping my face.
"Pretty Girl!" another man calls. "We're all waitin' on ya!"
"It's not that bad," Legion says. "I promise. They're good people."
I don't even respond with words, just a look. Which makes Legion laugh. "I get it," he says. "I know what you see. But that's because you're not family yet. If we get the votes, you will be. And then you'll see. Then you'll understand. These men will protect you ‘till the end of time. You'll never know how you got along without them."
And that's that. His speech is over because he doesn't even give me a chance to respond. He just gently pushes me off his lap, stands up, tucks his cock back into his jeans, and zips up like nothing happened.
Then he shoulders into his cut, the leather settling across his back like armor, and walks toward the bar without looking back.
I sit alone on the couch, naked.
The gaze of forty or fifty outlaw bikers tracking my every breath.
I stare at Legion's back as he walks away. I'm supposed to follow. I understand that much. But what waits for me at that bar, where the men gather with hungry eyes?
I have no idea.
Something inside me wants to say no. To curl up right here on this stained couch and refuse.
But if I do, we lose everything.
I won't be protected.
Won't be allowed to stay.
And Legion won't be allowed to leave.
The rational part of my brain understands they're not just gonna kick me through the gate and tell me to walk home. We're in the middle of absolute nowhere. I don't even know where the nearest town is. Hell, I don't even know where I am right now.
Legion wouldn't abandon me. He'd get me somewhere safe.
But then he'd leave. And I'd be alone.
I'd be fine, obviously. One phone call to my lawyer would get me money, clothes, a car—anything I needed. Eleanor Ashby's daughter is never truly stranded.
But I cannot go home. Not after what they did.
Legion is my home now.
I stand up slowly, deliberately, letting the room watch me gather myself. I pull on his t-shirt, slide into his jeans, zip up his hoodie. Like it never happened. Like I wasn't just naked beneath the gaze of fifty strangers.
My mother taught me how to smile through anything, and this is just one more performance.
I walk toward the bar, chin up, shoulders back. Every step feels like a mile. My bare feet stick to the floor—beer spills and God knows what else making each footfall a tacky reminder of how far I've fallen. The conversations around me dip and swell like prairie grass in wind.
"Rich girls slummin' it," someone mutters from a dark corner.
Another voice says something I don't catch—something that makes three men laugh low and mean.
I keep walking anyway.
The music kicks harder, some growling anthem about women and whiskey. The crowd shifts around me, bodies rearranging like I'm a stone dropped in still water. A few people lean in, curious, waiting to see what happens next.
I reach the bar where Legion stands with Diesel. Legion positions himself beside me, close enough that his body heat reaches through the borrowed clothes. He doesn't touch me. Doesn't speak. But his presence steadies me like a hand on a spooked horse's flank.
The night has started. Whatever happens next will decide if I get to stay or if I have to run. I grip the edge of the bar, feel the sticky wood under my fingertips. I breathe in through my nose. Hold it.