Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“I’ll take her,” Carnell offers, his attitude replaced with a serene smile and a dark flicker in his gaze.
“I have a ride, thanks.” A Tim drove for me.
Daddy still doesn’t like me going out without a chaperone. Many poor Tims have had to lurk outside parties, bars, and malls for years, waiting to drive me to the next location.
“Let me come with. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo too.” He rounds the table, closing in on me.
What’s this guy’s deal?
“Leave her alone, Nic.” Matt sighs, exasperated.
“Mind your fucking business, Mick, or we’ll have a problem.”
It’s matt and you know it, you dick.
Throwing his hands up, Matt takes a couple steps backward, allowing Carnell better access to me. Once he’s out of his line of sight, Matt grinds his jaw and subtly shakes his head in warning from behind Carnell’s back.
Rolex guy grasps my hand and places a kiss to the back of it. “It was a pleasure.” He smirks, getting to his feet more gracefully than I did, and nods to Carnell before his long strides carry him from the room.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” I call out, ignoring Carnell brushing up against my arm. A churning of disgust and mild curiosity stirs my stomach. The rest of the party disperses to a different part of the penthouse, leaving me alone with the asshole.
I drag my gaze up the length of him. He’s tall and slim. The designer suit he wears sags on his frame like it was made at a time when he carried more weight. A stained white shirt with no tie shows through the open jacket. Reaching his face, I try hard not to wince. High cheekbones jut from his skin. Sunken eyes with dark circles beneath make him look haunted. Thin lips turn up at the corner. Does he think I’m checking him out? “I’m not going to fuck you,” I state, putting it out there, so he knows that’s off the table. The smell of sweat and chemicals wafts from him when he moves to stand directly in front of me, his shoes touching the tips of mine.
Dropping his gaze to the sliver of cleavage on display from my shirt, he asks, “Will you let me snort coke off of those fat tits?”
The request is juvenile, said with a mocking smirk.
“Hard pass. And if you try anything with me, I’ll cut your balls off and hang them from your ears. You get me?” My shoulders straighten, and I glare right up into his eyes. The blacks of his pupils eclipse almost all the color.
Holding his hands up in surrender, he licks his bottom lip and nods his head in agreement, a chuckle creeping from his lips. “Let me come with. I’ll behave. Scout’s honor.” He holds up two fingers in a V and sticks his tongue between them.
“I don’t think that’s the proper salute.”
Grasping his chest, he stumbles backward. “That’s what my scout leader told me when I had to do it to get my vag badge.” He gasps in mock horror. If there was a vag badge, I doubt he’d ever earn it.
“You can come, but the second you step out of line, I’ll boot your ass to the curb.”
“Fair enough.”
I don’t know why I’m taking him with me. He’s a massive douchebag but also lonely. And I can relate to that. I love the brothers at the club. Growing up surrounded by hard, foul-mouthed bikers isn’t every little girl’s ideal setting, but for me, it’s home. It’s where I felt the safest, the most loved. Until things with Cutter progressed into something more. Now, I find myself detaching, scared I’ll have to leave them to be with Cutter if the club won’t accept us. The thought is too painful to bear.
“So, are you related to Michael Carnell?” I ask once we’re outside Matt’s penthouse and descending in the elevator, more to distract myself from my thoughts. The ripple in the atmosphere is palpable at the mention of Michael’s name, the glass walls reflecting his shock back at us.
“He’s my brother. How do you know Michael?” He takes a step away from me like I’m going to jump him or something. A scowl creates creases across his forehead like cuts.
“Who doesn’t know him?” I say casually, noting it’s a sore subject. “He’s famous.” Kind of…a little bit, and gorgeous—and a friend of my brother’s—also the owner of the hottest clubs around.
“So, you get along well with him?”
“Why are you asking questions about Michael?” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small silver vial and twists the top off, drawing out what looks like a tiny, thin blade no bigger than a toothpick with white powder sitting in a small groove up the middle. He snorts the substance up his nose then pinches his nostrils, blinking. “Did he send you here?”