Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
His fingers brushed my spine as he pulled the zipper closed in a slow, deliberate movement. His fingers lingered at the base of my neck and I suppressed a shiver. "You sure you gotta go?" His voice was low, a rumble against my ear as he stepped closer.
"Ghost will be looking for me." I pulled away reluctantly, scanning the floor for my boots. "And I'm not in the mood for a lecture about disappearing all night."
Rocky nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Ghost sounds like a protective type."
"You have no idea." I spotted my boots under the edge of the bed and sat down to pull them on. "He once tracked me for three days when I took off after an argument. Found me two states away. Didn’t matter I was twenty with my own bike and my own money. The phrase ‘daddy’s girl’ was thrown around by him several times before I gave in and came back." I stuck my finger up accusingly. “For the record, he guilted me into coming back. He did not manhandle me back to the compound.”
Rocky chuckled. “He totally manhandled you back to the compound.” I gave him what I hoped was a death stare. He didn’t look the least bit intimidated. "That's some serious dedication." He didn’t bother to hide his smile.
"That's Ghost." I stood, feeling more like myself with my boots on. My club vest lay draped over a chair, the patches catching the morning light. I slipped it on, the weight of it familiar and grounding.
"Suits you," Rocky said, watching me adjust the vest. "The whole badass biker chick thing."
I flipped him off casually, but couldn't help smiling. "Where's my knife?"
"Bedside table." He nodded toward it. "Had to move it after it nearly stabbed me in my sleep."
"Poor baby." I strapped the knife to my thigh, the leather holster a comforting pressure against my skin. "Next time don't sleep so close."
"Next time?" His eyebrow raised, a small smile playing at his lips.
I ignored the question, grabbing my phone from the nightstand and checking the screen. Three missed calls from Ghost. Great. As I crossed the room to retrieve my keys from the counter where Rocky must have put them, my boot caught on something at the corner of the couch. I looked down to see a backpack tipped onto its side, contents partially spilled out. "Sorry," I said, bending to right it. "Didn't mean to kick your shit around."
"It's fine," Rocky called from the bedroom, where he was finally putting on a shirt. Pity. "Nothing breakable in there."
I gathered the scattered items and stuffed them back inside. As I zipped the main compartment, something caught my eye in the front pocket. A flash of copper threading against black fabric. Curious, I pulled it out slightly, just enough to see what it was.
A patch. Not just any patch, but one with a distinctive copper snake design coiled to strike. I'd seen patches like this before. Copperheads MC colors. But what would Rocky be doing with one? It wasn't attached to anything, just a loose patch sitting in his bag.
"You collect club patches?" I called out, keeping my voice casual as I examined it. The craftsmanship was good, definitely official, not some knockoff.
Rocky appeared in the doorway, pulling a fresh T-shirt over his head. His eyes flickered to the patch in my hand, then back to my face. "Yeah, something like that." His smile was friendly, but his expression, once open and welcoming, now looked shuttered and I knew I was in trouble.
I shrugged and tucked it back where I found it. The Copperheads were bad news. Ghost had warned me about them plenty of times, said they were into shit that crossed lines Bound in Blood always respected. “I really do need to go. Thanks for the breakfast.” I gave him a cocky smirk. “And the late night activities.”
Rocky slipped a leather jacket on as we headed out. “I’ll walk you out.” He placed his hand at the small of my back as we navigated the hall and stair ways. The touch felt proprietary and possessive. I wanted to shrug him off but the fact was, I liked the weight of his hand. I liked him touching me. If I never saw him again, or if he turned out to be playing me to get to my club, I wanted to enjoy this last moment. I wanted to remember the perfect night and not remember it ending in a devastating heartbreak. For me. Because, like it or not, I doubted I’d ever experience a night like I had ever again. I was willing to admit I was in over my head with Rocky, but such was life.
The morning was bright and cool as we stepped outside, the parking lot quiet except for a few birds arguing in a nearby tree. My bike stood where I'd left it, purple paint gleaming in the sunlight.