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)
The Evo's engine purrs as Phoebe takes the coastal road way too fast, music thumping through the speakers. Wind whips through the cracked windows, carrying salt spray scent of the ocean.
“You know,” I lean back in the passenger seat, “one of these days you're gonna wrap us around a telephone pole.”
“Please. I could drive this road blindfolded.” Phoebe downshifts, taking a corner that makes my stomach lurch. “Besides, what's life without a little danger?”
Yana grips the back of my seat. “I vote for less danger.”
“Seconded.” I watch familiar landmarks blur past—the lighthouse, the old pier, the bait shop. The closer we get to the clubhouse, the more bikes line the street. Chrome glints under streetlights, exhausts still ticking hot.
“Looks like a full house.” Phoebe pulls into the lot, music cutting as she kills the engine. “Northland is in town, the mother charter, mind you.”
My stomach dips. More bikers means more eyes, more attention. More men who think their cuts give them the right to whatever they want.
More for me to play with.
“Remember,” I say, pushing open my door, “I'm here for drinks and dancing. That's it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Phoebe grins. “No bikers. We know the rules.”
I slam the door closed, noticing the pile of bikes spread beneath the long carport that joins with the barn.
I swoop up a discarded beer can, pitching it in a nearby bin as we head toward the mayhem. “Gonna be hell for the old ladies to clean tomorrow.”
The usual eyes track us—comes with the territory when you roll with the charter princess. The club girls keep their distance, probably because there's only two old ladies here anyway.
“Hey!” Blake's whistle pierces the night. Phoebe flips off her brother, who's got some blonde perched on his lap. “What took you so fucking—” He shoves the girl aside like trash, sending her sprawling.
I watch her hit the ground with a dull thud. Same old shit, different night. These girls keep coming back for more, though God knows why.
“You!” He points at me and I swear everyone grows quiet, newcomers included. His frown dissolves into a wide smile as I slap his hand away from my face.
He jumps, catching me by the waist and whirling me around in the air. “Happy birthday, Wild Child!”
“Fuck!” I slap his back roughly. “Put me the fuck down, Blake!”
His laughter vibrates over my stomach, infectious enough to trigger mine as he runs me around the clubhouse like a maniac, before finally placing me back on my feet.
I blow my hair out of my face, a smile wide looking up at him. He catches my stray hair. “You wanna get some dick tonight?”
“Ew!” I shove him away. “Not yours.”
His face scrunches. “Ew. Girl…”
We both burst into laughter as Phoebe rams a beer against my ribs. "Both of you shut up and get—" she smacks her brother's knuckles. "—your filth away from my best friend. Okay? Thank you."
I press the bottle to my lips, still laughing as I drop onto the tree stump serving as a chair when someone's stare hooks me from across the fire. Four patched men stand shoulder to shoulder, each one built like a brick wall, wearing different colours than our crew.
The mother charter.
But it's one. His eyes, piercing blue, hold me from the other side of the bonfire, the curves of his features sharp and steady. The corner of his mouth shifts as he drags his attention away from me and to the man beside him.
“Beast—” Phoebe points to the bigger one of the bunch with dark eyes and a shaved head as Yana wriggles onto his lap. “Hella—” the sex god I kind of want to sit on. “Ripper,” she continues, but I'm back on the sex god.
Yana flies up from her chair, storming off into the club.
Beast's hard features are unflinching. Cold. Detached. As if he doesn't give a fuck that he just said something mean.
“Wait!” I rush after Phoebe as she follows her into the barn, kicking Blake's chair, which earns me a “Fuck you.”
We follow Yana through the barn doors, weaving past pool tables and scattered chairs. My heart pounds as she darts into the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough that the hinges rattle.
“Yana?” Phoebe jiggles the handle. “Open up.”
She tries to muffle her sobs with a cough, as if masking in front of two people she's talked to every day for the past four years will hide anything.
I press my palm against the wood, sharing a worried look with Phoebe. “Talk to us. What's wrong?”
“I don't know why he hates me.” The door cracks open, and both of us slip through before slamming it closed.
I cough. “Smells like ass in here, couldn't you find a better room to have a meltdown in?”
Yana rubs her mascara-stained eyes, a watery chuckle escaping before breaking out into full-blown laughter that bounces off the grimy bathroom walls. “I hate you, you absolute bitch.”