Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“‘Bout a year,” he replied, gaze still fixed on Binx. “Since I got out.” I knew what he meant, of course. Out of prison. It wasn’t a secret around here.
“Do you like it? Being part of the club, I mean.”
Chains finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting mine. “Yeah. Told you. They’re family.”
“That must be nice,” I said softly. “Having people who have your back no matter what.”
Something flickered across his face, too quick to catch. “You don’t have family?”
I shrugged, picking at a loose thread on my armchair. “My father’s alive, but we’re not close. Haven’t spoken in years.” This wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with a total stranger. In fact, the only other person in my life who knew what’d happened all those years ago was my grandmother, and she was dead. Anyone else who knew was only interested in small town scandals.
“His loss,” Chains said, so quietly I almost missed it. My heart stuttered. I wasn’t sure if he meant it, or was just being polite, but the words warmed me all the same.
“What about you?” I asked. “Any family besides the club?”
His hand stilled on Binx’s back. “No.” The single word carried weight, a door firmly closed. I nodded, not pushing further.
“Sorry,” I said. “I ask too many questions. It’s a habit.”
“‘S okay,” he murmured, resuming his petting. “Just not used to talking much with outsiders.”
“I’ve noticed,” I smiled. “But that’s okay. I can talk enough for both of us.”
A small smile curved his lips, transforming his face again. I wanted to see more of that smile. Why? I didn’t know. I just had the feeling this man hadn’t smiled nearly enough in his life. Despite my past, or maybe because of it, I knew bad men when I saw them. The pretty facade some of them used to mask their true nature never fooled me. Not after my childhood. This man was capable of violence when it suited him, but he wasn’t evil. And he wouldn’t hurt anyone or anything just because he could.
We sat in another stretch of silence, but this one felt different, more comfortable. Lucifer had retreated to a corner, still watching Chains with suspicious eyes. Salem had moved closer, now perched on the arm of the couch, though still maintaining a safe distance.
“They’re coming around,” I observed. “Salem doesn’t usually get this close to new people.”
Chains glanced at Salem, then back at me. “Maybe they know I’m not going anywhere.”
The words hung between us, loaded with meaning I wasn’t sure he intended. Our eyes locked, and something electric passed between us. I felt my cheeks warm under his gaze.
“I mean,” he clarified, breaking eye contact, “living across the hall and all.” He narrowed his gaze as he glanced at Lucifer. “Got my eyes on you, buddy.”
“Right.” I didn’t try to smother my smile. “Neighbors. Because you don’t trust my cats.”
Binx stood up on Chains’ lap, stretching before settling back down, this time with his head tucked under Chains’ hand. The big man looked down at the cat with a mixture of confusion and something that might have been affection.
“Traitor,” I whispered to Binx, who ignored me completely, content in his new friend’s lap.
Chains looked up, catching my eye again. This time, he held my gaze longer. I felt that look like a physical caress.
“Maybe black cats aren’t such bad luck after all,” he said quietly.
My breath caught. There was something magnetic about him, something that made the air between us feel charged with electricity. The words made my pulse flutter, and I found myself leaning forward slightly, drawn to him like a moth to flame. “Maybe not,” I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart hammered against my ribs as his gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made my skin tingle.
Chains shifted on the couch, careful not to disturb Binx, but the movement brought him closer to the edge of the cushions. Closer to me. I caught the scent of leather and motor oil that clung to him, mixed with something distinctly masculine that made my stomach flutter.
“You have a scar,” I said before I could stop myself, gesturing vaguely toward his temple.
His hand instinctively went to the mark, fingers brushing against it briefly. “Bar fight. Long time ago.”
“Did you win?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah. I fuckin’ won.”
“I bet you were a handful when you were younger.”
“Still am,” he replied, and something in his tone made my stomach flip.
I cleared my throat. “Want something to drink?” I needed something to do with my hands. “I’ve got, um… water.”
“I’m good,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I should go,” he said suddenly, his voice rougher than before. But he didn’t move. Neither did I.