Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Nothing screamed ‘biker clubhouse’ to me as I passed by.
As I got to the stop sign at the end of the main street, though, my gaze was immediately pulled up. Toward the mountains.
There it was.
A giant concrete building with a ton of lights. And all of it surrounded by razor wire-topped fences.
A prison.
No wonder the area was kind of abandoned.
This was a prison town.
I mean, sure, actual prison escapes were few and far between these days. But people were paranoid. Especially women and young families.
There appeared to be a single street full of grand houses, each different from the next, but all tall, imposing, expensive.
Not exactly an area that screamed ‘bikers.’
Seeing no traffic around, I went ahead and drove slowly through that ritzy area, the suburbs, past an apartment building and then a mobile home park.
Finally, I found myself facing a gas station and convenience store. And across the street? A motel.
“Perfect,” I said, feeling a bit of the tension leaving my shoulders.
That was one thing figured out.
I made my way in that direction, cutting the engine, and climbing out.
My legs nearly wept at being able to move around.
Sugar seemed similarly relieved, actually tugging me so she could go for a little walk.
I needed to secure a room, but I owed her some fun after being so good in the car for all that time.
Once she tired herself out and had a little water, we made our way back toward the motel.
It was an eyesore.
A long, low building with canary-yellow brick, and nothing about the place looked like it had seen an update since the seventies.
I didn’t have high hopes for the rooms.
If it was bedbug free, that was about all I could hope for.
I walked toward the office, finding a cramped space. The claustrophobia was made worse by the filing cabinets that lined one whole wall, paperwork spilling out of drawers and stacked in toppling piles on top.
The desk in the center was no better—covered in papers, newspapers, books, and five abandoned coffee cups.
The only item worth anything in the whole damn space was the desktop computer on the chipped faux wood vinyl desk.
And at that desk?
A man with shaggy brown hair, blue eyes, and facial hair that was more than scruff but less than a beard. He had on a gray tee under a blue and white flannel. He was handsome in a way that suggested he didn’t care if he was or not.
“Huh,” he said when he spotted me.
“Huh?” I asked. “That’s how you greet guests?”
“Guest, huh? Figured you were lost. You sure you want a room here?”
“Unless there’s a nicer motel in town…”
“Ouch,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Rooms are fifty-eight a night, nights and weekends.”
“You’re not going to ask about my dog?” I asked, since she didn’t have her service vest on.
“Honestly, don’t give a shit,” he admitted.
“She’s a service dog.”
“Sure,” he agreed, shrugging. “Any preference for room location?”
“Not really. Unless you’re full, I’d prefer not to be right next to anyone.”
“It’s cute you think this place could ever be full.”
“Yeah, I’m hoping the rooms are better than the outside.”
“They’re not,” he said.
“Why hasn’t the owner updated?”
“Because the clientele is mostly ex-cons, johns, and fuckers who got kicked out by their wives. Also, I don’t feel like it,” he said, reaching for a key. An actual key, not a card.
“You’re the owner?”
“Yep.”
“I should probably apologize.”
“But you’re not gonna,” he said, shooting me a smirk.
“Nope.”
“How long you staying?”
“Let’s start with the night. Then we’ll go from there.”
“Room Two,” he said, passing me a key after I handed him the cash.
“That’s it? No paperwork?”
“Something tells me you’d prefer not to have a trail leading to you right now. Nice moving truck,” he said, nodding outside.
“Thanks,” I said, waving the key, then making my way out of there. “How bad do you think it’s gonna be, girl?” I asked as we moved outside and walked toward our door.
And, well, yeah.
It was about as tragic as I’d been fearing.
The carpet looked original to the building. So did the hideous mauve and emerald-green paisley bedspread and matching curtains. Because that was what the room needed—more of that hideousness.
The nightstands were fake wood, water-stained and warped on top. The TV was an old dome one, hanging from the wall on a metal shelf that locked it in place. As if anyone would steal the damn thing. As if it was worth anything resale.
“Well, we’ll be using the laptop to watch stuff, I guess,” I told Sugar as she started sniffing around every inch of the room.
I made a beeline for the bed, ripping back the covers until the mattress was bare, then scouring every hidden inch, seam, and zipper.
No creepy crawlers.
The place might have been a hole in the wall, but at least it was bug-free.
And I had the foresight to grab a pillow, a few blankets, and a fitted sheet, so I didn’t have to touch the scuzzy hotel bedding.