Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"I've got a good teacher," she says, and there's that smile again. The one that's just for me.
I drop my forehead against hers, knowin' I can't stay. Cash is just in the other room, and Diesel needs me now. Whatever it is, it's not gonna wait.
"Hold that thought," I tell her, my fingers tracin' the line of her collarbone. "I'll be back. And I'll finish what we started."
I'm pressin' Savannah into the wall when the heavy thump of Cash's boots hits the marble floor behind us. I pull back from Savannah but keep my hand on her hip, my thumb pressin' into her hipbone through that prairie dress.
Savannah doesn't jump away like we're teenagers caught. She just looks over my shoulder at her brother, this little smile on her face.
Cash stands there in the foyer, Stetson in his hand, lookin' at us with his jaw tight and his eyes tired.
"Don't mind me," he says, but his voice says somethin' else entirely. "Just headin' out to check on the cows."
There's a warning in those words. A reminder. Property lines and fences. Who belongs where.
Cash shoves the Stetson on his head and yanks the front door open, lettin' in a blast of cold air before he steps through and slams it behind him.
Savannah starts laughin' the second the door closes, pressin' her face into my chest to muffle the sound. I can feel it shakin' through her ribs. Her fingers curl into my cut.
"I'm sorry," she says, but she's not. Not even a little.
I lift her chin, press my mouth to hers one more time. She tastes like dinner wine and trouble.
"I'll be back," I tell her. "Promise."
I slip out into the early evening sun.
Cash is standin' next to my bike. "I need to talk to you," he says.
I pull my helmet off the handlebars of the bike, slip it over my head. Don't bother lookin' at him.
My phone buzzes again. Diesel. Whatever's goin' down, it's not good. "It'll have to wait. I've got shit to take care of."
"Well, that's kinda what I need to talk to you about."
"What?" I'm truly at a loss because the thoughts in my head about the club are clashin' with the words comin' from his mouth.
"Just… find me when you get back. I don't care what time it is. We need to talk."
Then he's walkin' off towards the barn.
Leavin' me to wonder what the hell he's gonna spring on me now.
My phone won't stop buzzin' in my pocket. Every few minutes that violent little hum against my leg reminds me somethin's wrong. Diesel doesn't call like this unless it's bad. Real bad.
Can't answer while I'm pushin' ninety on the highway.
Can't text, can't call. All I can do is ride.
The sun's droppin' fast now. Red-gold light burnin' across the horizon, turnin' everything it touches to fire. Reminds me of this mornin'—that perfect sunrise I rode through. Sky all stretched out like God cracked open a vein and bled across Montana.
My phone buzzes again. Sixth time. Seventh? Lost count.
I hit the dirt road leadin' to Badlands. Dust kicks up around my tires.
The compound comes into view as I round the rocky hillside, and there's somethin' wrong. The gate's standin' wide open. No guard. No security.
Every brother we got is standin' in the dirt parkin' lot. Tight circle. Nobody movin'. That's never good.
I pull in hard, cuttin' between bodies, kickin' up gravel. The circle opens up for me like I'm Moses and these fuckers are the Red Sea. And there, in the center of it all—
Crow.
Barrel of a .45 pressed against his temple so hard it's leavin' a mark. His hand shakin' but his eyes—his eyes are calm. Dead calm. Like he already pulled the trigger in his mind.
I cut the engine. Let the silence settle. Nobody breathes.
"The fuck is this?" I ask, but I keep my voice steady. No sudden movements around a man with a gun to his head.
"You were supposed to take care of this shit!" Crow's voice comes out like somethin' tore. Like somebody reached down his throat and shredded it from the inside. "You were supposed to end it! Why'd we kill all those brothers if we're just gonna keep doin' it?"
I'm standin' still, hands where he can see 'em. "Doin' what?"
And that's when Crow's face changes. His eyes narrow just a fraction. He sees it on my face. I don't know what the fuck he's talkin' about.
"I told you," he says, quieter now. "I told you I came from the cartels in El Paso."
"Yeah. Said you grew up in it."
"No." The gun presses harder into his skin. "I didn't grow up IN it. I was trafficked BY them."
Somethin' cold opens up inside my chest.
"They kept me for... for things." His voice drops even lower, and suddenly I'm seein' it. Seein' him. Maybe twelve years old. Thirteen. Locked somewhere dark.