Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
She clears her throat. “You know what, I’ll drive you there. I need to get out of this house.”
I stare, startled. “You’ll drop me off?”
Her eyes flash with determination. “You’re twenty-three, Violet—but sometimes I am allowed to make myself feel better by acting like you’re still a child and I’m still dropping you off. Let me have my moment,” she teases.
I roll my eyes, but her concern warms my chest. “Okay, you know I’m always up for a road trip. But I pick the music.”
She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Fine, but if you start singing, I’m out...”
I shake my head and laugh, watching her tidy her purse and slip on her sunglasses. She loves me fiercely—maybe too much sometimes—but I wouldn’t trade her cautioning heart for all the open roads in the world.
Her love might be too strong, but without it, I wouldn’t be who I am.
So, I’ll take that.
1
WE ARRIVE AT MY FATHER’S house which is out of the city, a few hours later, stepping out onto the cracked concrete sidewalk under a blazing late-afternoon sun. I catch the smell of hot asphalt mixed with the faint perfume of jasmine that Mom always wears. She stands beside our sleek black SUV, fingers drumming nervously against the door. I drop my bag and slip one of my hands into hers, weaving our fingers together.
“It’s going to be fine,” I murmur, because even though she won’t say it, I know every single time her eyes meet his, something inside her breaks. “You don’t have to come in.”
“Of course I do,” she says, pushing her chin out.
Before I can say anything, the front door swings open and Chief steps out. He fills the frame—leather jacket draped over broad shoulders, scuffed black boots, riot of dark hair that refuses to lie flat. Under the sleeves of his jacket, I glimpse tattoos and I know it is a mix of dragons, roses, a blazing phoenix rising from the ashes. He’s the living emblem of the club he runs, and my pulse skips a beat every time he appears.
He’s so fucking terrifying, yet he makes me feel safe in a way I can’t understand.
I grin at him and then glance sideways at Mom. Her cheeks have turned rosy pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth like she’s trying to chew through her own nerves. Chief stands still, studies her, then eases forward with that trademark sexy grin—one finger tracing an invisible Mustache by his lip.
“Well,” he drawls, voice rough as gravel, “if it isn’t my favorite two ladies.”
“Caden,” Mom says, her voice a little breathy. “It’s so...nice to see you.”
I launch at him before he can answer, and hug him tight, burying my face in his jacket. His scent—leather, motor oil, something uniquely him—fills my lungs. Pulling back, I give him a grin and he winks at me, before his attention is back on her. Like it always is. It’s as if their eyes can never quite turn away.
I watch them both. Mom looking up at him like she’s seeing her first love all over again, and him gazing at her as if time has paused just for this moment. They hold the kind of silence that trembles with unsaid things—years of half-spoken promises, memories they both cling to. I’ve learned that love sometimes lies tangled in words you can’t quite voice.
Chief breaks the incredible silence. “Mandy,” he murmurs, tipping his head. “Good to see you. Been a while.”
Mom tries to speak, but the words scramble in her throat. “I—I just wanted to drop her off and make sure she’s okay, she, ah, said you might be going away.”
He lifts an eyebrow and that smirk returns. “I’ll be gone half a day. You know I don’t leave my little girl unprotected.”
She swallows. “I know, Caden. It’s just—she’s an adult now...”
“Exactly,” he cuts in, turning to me with a wink. “An adult, and free to roam. But under my watch, always.”
She pushes her lips together, and I know she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, because deep down, she knows he’s right. She finally exhales and pulls me in for a hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
I squeeze her tight. “Love you, Momma.”
She presses a kiss to my forehead. “You too, Angel.”
Then, just like that, she’s gone.
Chief watches her vanish, then swivels toward me, grin returning. “Come on, Mischief. Let’s get you inside.”
Mischief—my lifelong nickname from him. The moment I popped into the world, he christened me Mischief, a lighter echo of his own Chief. We move into the house, warmth washing over us: polished hardwood floors, black leather sofas, the hum of distant rock music from speakers hidden in the ceiling. The place reeks of whiskey, and pizza.
He clearly had a good night.
“Is Jaq here?” I ask as we pass a row of motorcycle helmets by the stairs.