Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I guess when you had such a dangerous business, you didn’t want outsiders in your inner circles. It was probably why the club never hired outside contractors to do anything. It seemed like over the years they’d had various club members master everything from plumbing and electrical to roofing and general construction.
After the associate brought me back to the main building, Matteo and I got to bullshitting, and I lost track of time.
The next thing I knew, I was looking outside, and the sun was starting to set.
Matteo walked me to the door but hung back when his phone started to ring.
So I walked around the back of the building, taking the long way back to the lot, just enjoying the grounds and the quiet.
Well, the relative quiet.
Thumping from the barn was stripper song after stripper song. Given the guests, I imagined it was a male stripper in there putting on a show.
Why the thought of Gracie being in there seeing that made a strange, tight, uncomfortable sensation move across my chest was fucking beyond me.
Then, though, almost like I’d fucking summoned her, there she was.
She stepped out of the side door of the barn, sucking in a deep breath, then wiggling her shoulders on the exhale.
She didn’t clock me, making me figure I must have mostly been cast in shadow since I was hard to miss usually.
Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, watching the sun sink down behind the trees, a soft look on her face.
I couldn’t really see her brilliant blue eyes this far away, but I imagined they looked even brighter than usual.
Standing there in her yellow outfit with the glow of my favorite color all around her, yeah, it did something to me. Something that felt even more dangerous than the simple attraction I felt earlier.
I wouldn’t admit under the pressure of fucking torture how long I stood there looking at her like a damn creep.
It wasn’t until I heard the squeal of tires that I snapped out of it.
I wasn’t close.
I was several dozen yards away.
But at the first sound of the tires, I broke into a dead run.
I didn’t pause to look, to decide if there was an actual threat.
This was a mafia venue.
I was an outlaw biker.
She was a princess.
It was better to overreact right away than to delay and have someone lose their life.
So I ran.
And watched as she stiffened, as she turned.
There was something primed about her posture, like she was taking in something, assessing it, deciding how she felt about it.
I didn’t dare look.
I didn’t want anything to distract me from reaching her before, God fucking forbid, someone else did.
But I knew it the second she became aware that it was a threat.
Her whole body went ramrod straight.
Whether she noticed it or not, her feet instinctively turned, ready to run.
Either someone was running toward her.
Or there was a gun pointed at her.
Either way, my only thought was to get to her first, to put my body between her and either of those fates.
A third of that instinct was pure desire to protect an innocent woman. Another part was knowing the club would have my head if I let her get hurt in my presence. The last third, though, that felt different. More personal somehow. Despite only having a handful of conversations with Gracie over the years.
There was no time to analyze that as I finally closed the distance between us and flew at her.
I was quick enough to wrap my hands around the back of her head to brace against the impact as I tackled her.
But, fuck, we went down hard.
My body crushed to hers, my much bigger frame likely knocking the wind out of her just as much as the impact itself did.
There was no time to think about that, though.
Not as the bullets rang out.
I’d been in the criminal underworld—and specifically as an arms dealer—long enough to know that the rapid-fire pop pop pop belonged to the kind of assault weapon that could do unimaginable damage to anyone in its path.
That many rounds meant that many chances to strike a target and snuff out life.
My body braced, every muscle tightening, some part of me waiting to feel a bullet slice through flesh, to wedge, to do major damage. Another several months in bed. Or, worse yet, in a casket.
Still, better me than Gracie.
So while I knew she would be more comfortable, I didn’t dare lift up at all, didn’t risk a single inch of her body being exposed to possibly catch a bullet.
More bullets exploded from the gun. Most seemed not to reach any local targets at all. But others made thudding sounds as they sliced into trees. Or into the barn itself. And hopefully not into the bodies of the women or the male stripper inside.
My pulse was thready and frantic. And I was pressed tightly enough against Gracie to feel her own heartbeat thundering in her chest.