Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Jag — I took the fall for my club once and it cost me everything. Freedom doesn’t feel like freedom when your past is still hunting you. Kiss of Death MC is different now. Safer. Smarter. And full of things I don’t trust. Like kindness, loyalty, and Ada. She sees too much. Asks the hard questions. And somehow makes me want things I buried a long time ago. Wanting her is dangerous. Touching her could destroy us both. But when an old enemy resurfaces and targets her to get to the club, walking away isn’t an option. I’ll protect her. Even if it costs me everything… again.
Ada — I know the difference between monsters and men who’ve survived hell. Jag Kross is the most dangerous man I’ve ever met. And the most broken. He doesn’t want saving. He doesn’t believe he deserves love. And he definitely doesn’t want me anywhere near his darkness. Too bad. When someone starts watching me, following me, threatening everything the club protects, Jag becomes my shadow. My shield. My temptation. He says he’s not a good man. I say he’s exactly the one I want. I’m not afraid of the scars he carries. I’m afraid of what happens if he leaves
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Jag
The gates of USP Terre Haute swung open with a mechanical groan that I’d heard a thousand times from the other side. This time, I was walking out.
The guard shoved a manila envelope into my hands without meeting my eyes. “Use your prison ID until you get your state issued ID. Inside the envelope you’ll find your release papers and a debit card with two hundred dollars on the account. I was informed you didn’t need a ride.” He finally looked up at me, bored, and raised an eyebrow in question. When I didn’t answer, he shifted his weight with a huff. “Well?”
“Was there a question?”
“Do you have a fuckin’ ride or not, buddy?” He slapped a piece of paper down in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, nodding to the form.
He slapped a pen down on top of the paper. “Says you understand the terms of your release supervision and that failure to comply can, and likely will, result in an extended stay in the Hilton back here.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the prison.
Instead of answering him, I picked up the pen and signed my name at the bottom across the highlighted line. “Anything else?”
When the guy shook his head, I stormed by him, pushing my way out the door. I had no idea if Knuckles had followed through with his promise to have guys waiting on me when I got out. I hadn’t called him, but he’d told me I wouldn’t have to. When I was released, there would be a couple of brothers from Kiss of Death to offer me a ride back to Nashville, if I wanted to go. I hadn’t really been sure if I’d take him up on the offer even if he did actually show, but when the prison asked me where I planned on setting up residence, I’d told them Nashville.
I stepped across the threshold, the highly recognizable line between captivity and freedom in the form of a smaller gate through a big-ass fucking prison gate. I squinted against the natural light. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, then relaxed.
Nothing happened.
“Expecting the air outside the yard to smell different than it did inside the yard?” The guy had one elbow resting on the open window of a black F-150 in the slot two spaces over. Another, a truly massive man, rested against the bed of the truck next to the first guy, like they’d just been having a chat. He’d crossed his legs at the ankles and his arms over his chest, his pose casual.
“Jag?” the giant asked. “I’m Tiny. This is Rancor.” He was soft-spoken, his voice a gruff rumble.
I nodded once, acknowledging but not inviting further conversation.
“Ready to roll?” Tiny asked, gaze friendly.
I shrugged and nodded again, fingers digging into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me.
Tiny straightened. “Front or backseat, man?”
“Back.”
Tiny nodded respectfully, obviously expecting my choice since Rancor hadn’t offered to move. He climbed behind the wheel while I opened the back passenger-side door. I tossed the small bag holding my few possessions across the seat to the far side of the vehicle. Sitting behind the passenger left Rancor with a huge blind spot. While the driver could still watch me, he needed to watch the road, too. I didn’t think these guys meant me harm, but I also wasn’t going to get shanked my first hour out of prison.
The interior of the truck smelled like leather and tobacco. Clean. No blood. No piss. No sweat. No puke. Definitely nice for a change.
The rumble vibrated through the seat and into my bones, a foreign sensation after years of concrete and steel. Of all the things I’d missed in prison, I’d missed riding my bike the most. I’d been away for thirty-seven years. My bike had probably long since been sold off.
As we pulled away, I allowed myself one last glance at the prison. The limestone walls and razor wire had been my entire world. I’d learned to kill there. I’d learned to survive there. I’d forgotten how to live anywhere else.
Tiny met my eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “Long ride to Nashville.” He handed me something I recognized as some kind of smart phone. I’d never held one, but I’d seen them on TV, watched as people used them in commercials or movies, when I’d been allowed to watch movies. A few of the guards didn’t bother with the “no phones out of the locker rooms” policy.
“Scroll through.” He used his finger to drag the screen upward, revealing more. Yeah, I’d seen that before from some of the guards. “It’s my social media feed. I set it to show articles you might be interested in about Nashville. I like to call it my ‘Long-Term Incarcerated’s Guide to the New World.’” I took the phone from him. “It gives you some information about our club, the shelter we help fund and protect, as well as terms you might not be familiar with. A bunch of the guys got together, at our old ladies’ insistence, and made a list of things hardest for them to adjust to when reentering society.” He shrugged. “Some of the guys found it helpful. Including me.”