Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Thanks, Beast,” I offer an appreciative smile, though inside I'm wondering exactly what kind of protection I might need tonight.
He strides ahead to lead the way, Yana trailing close behind. Beast stops short, wheeling back toward me. “Close your eyes.”
“I can handle whatever's happening, Beast. You're not the first bikers I've been around,” I reply, sidestepping.
My gaze lands on the sofa, and my stomach hits the ground.
Beast and Yana's furrowed brows blur at the edges, the loud laughter, swaying bodies, and thumping bass simply fade with white noise. Hella’s arms spread over the top of the couch, legs spread, and a blonde head dipping rhythmically in his lap.
You're better than this, Melissa.
You've survived worse.
This is why you use and abuse men.
This is why you don't date, and this is fucking why you stay the hell away from him.
I force my eyes up from the motion in his lap to catch his stare, sharp and unchecked, flames licking through it. Warmth floods my cheeks as his gaze drags down my body. His fingers weave into the blonde's hair, his lower lip caught between his teeth while his eyes drill deeper into mine, a lazy smirk curling across his face.
My jaw tightens, thighs squeezing together. What sick pervert gets turned on by this performance? Me, apparently.
His stare pins me in place. I should run before I do something embarrassing like show I care, but instead, my head tilts and the corner of my mouth twitches.
“Hon? Are you okay?” Yana asks, her grip tightening on my arm.
“I'm fine,” I reply, ignoring the sickening churn in my gut.
“Okay. I'm going to do something real quick.” She walks to the opposite side and joins Ripper, Nyx, Hannibal, and Skid. She leans in, speaking with them as their eyes dart to me every few seconds.
Deciding I've had enough sobriety for one night, I make for the bar and order shots. I should have stayed at Jada's, watching Jesse Pinkman be an annoying little shit on TV.
“You okay, pretty girl?” Old Fella asks, pouring tequila into a shot glass.
“I'll be fine,” I repeat with a smile I’ve mastered over the years.
I down the contents before placing the glass back on the bar. “Hit me, keep going until I say stop, and then keep going anyway.”
Why should I care? What gives me the right to be pissed at him getting his dick sucked? I’ve been around this kind of culture all my life. Even now, there’re orgies happening on pool tables, girls putting on a show for whoever will watch.
I shoot back another shot and signal for more. I can't be mad at Hella. I have no right. I refuse to justify it with, “He's a biker, it's what they do,” because that's bullshit. You'd never catch Beast pulling this crap, and he's about as “biker” as they come. It's Hella. It's who he is. A fucking prick, plain and simple.
Can I be mad? No, we fucked once. He’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t settle, or have any emotions. I can't be mad at him. But hurt? That’s allowed.
I've lost count of my shots by the time Yana returns, but judging by the tequila bottle Old Fella clutches, it's half empty and the words “Jose Cuervo” have blurred into shapes. My happy buzz kicks in, and the pain dulls. People say alcohol doesn't fix anything, but right now, it's mending a wound that existed long before tonight.
Yana passes me, pausing to whisper in my ear, “Thank me later.” She winks before walking away.
I really hope Beast meant it when he said he would protect me here, because I’m about to make some spectacularly poor choices.
Fifteen
Melissa
Nyx finds me at the counter, his fingers gently closing over mine. His lips move, but the pounding music swallows his words, so I laugh and shake my head.
I slide off the barstool and lean into his ear. “I can't hear you!”
A familiar boyish grin spreads across his face, and he shrugs, keeping his fingers laced with mine. The opening notes of Nerd's “She Wants to Move” vibrate through the floor, traveling up my legs and pulling a giggle from my throat. Tugging his hand, I lead him through the sweating mass of bodies to the centre of the dance floor, positioning us directly in Hella's line of sight.
On fucking purpose because of course.
His arm clamps around my waist, pulling my body hard against his. “Make me forget, Nyx,” I whisper into the crook of his neck. He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. “Please,” I plead, my hands gripping his cut.
He nods, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
My hips sway to the rhythm, moulding against him as my backside grinds along his denim. The friction builds between us until I spin around, my fingers sliding up to tangle in the hair at his nape. Flashing lights illuminate the beads of sweat on his brow, the music consuming everything until there is only this.