Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“No, I’m… done with that. We’re together.”
Her perfect lips open. “Oh my god! You’re like… together-together?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
I expected the surprise, but worry? I don’t like seeing it on her face one bit.
Emi leans closer, and we both watch Creep haul a massive barbeque grill alongside Yeti. “The Vulture Hollow MC might not be a super violent gang, but they’re still one-percenters. I know it’s exciting to date a guy who doesn’t respect the rules society imposed on us blah-blah—” She rolls her eyes. “But are you sure you thought this through? It would be awfully easy to disappear people in that secret compound in the woods.”
My ears grow hot as rage builds deep inside me. Creep might be my guard dog, but I itch to protect him too, and meet her gaze, struggling to keep my voice in check. “Why would you say that when you’re literally here too?”
Emi blinks. Clearly, that wasn’t the reaction she expected. “I’m just here as a performer. Might fuck someone after and call it a day. It’s not the same as dating one of them.”
“I don’t think you know that much about them,” I say, more snappy than I’d have liked, and she looks back at me with her brows high.
“Are you saying he’s different?” she finally asks, with the shadow of a smirk on her lips.
Yeah. Actually, yes. Creep is different. He’s good. No, he’s better than good, and I can’t stand listening to anyone demeaning him, even if Emi’s point is against outlaw bikers as a whole rather than him in particular. “I’m not reckless—”
“You are, actually,” she says in a soft voice, and I shut my mouth.
“I know but… we met when he saved me from harassment, okay? And he’s sweet under all that denim and leather. I feel that… he’s right for me,” I mumble and meet her dark eyes.
Emi’s sipping her beer as she chews on my words, but then her phone buzzes, because it’s time for her to perform with two other strippers. “Just make sure he treats you right. I have no need for a hairdresser with broken fingers,” she says, winking as if it’s only a joke, not something she’s telling me out of worry.
I’ve experienced men flipping from gentleman to bastard, so I should know better, but Creep eases all my worries. He’s so strange and awkward I feel he wouldn’t be able to hide his true self no matter how stealthy he is. And I like him just like that. I like grooming him, saving him in social situations, and I love how raw his need for me is.
I can see myself settling down in Vulture Hollow instead of leaving for some big city. I could be with a man so enamoured with me it makes my teeth rot from the sweetness. I could work in hairdressing and grooming without much stress. I’d feel needed by the community, and I’d be a part of something bigger, cocooned by the motorcycle club. Maybe Brigid would take me on as an apprentice?
I’m giddy thinking about a future with Creep and that tells me more than logic ever could. When I see him from afar, talking to Prophet next to the growing bonfire, I’m buzzing to do something nice for him. The first and simplest choice is getting him some snacks, so I turn and walk toward the food trucks with a spring to my step.
Emi meant to discourage me from staying with Creep, but talking to her has only strengthened my conviction about our budding relationship. He makes me feel safe and seen in ways I’ve never felt with a lover. I want to make him happy, not because it would improve his mood, but because he deserves it.
He’s always there when I need him. He listens as if every word coming from my mouth is a drop of nectar, and when he’s next to me, tickling me with his breath, I know there’s nothing to fear. I want to do the same for him and be the safe haven where he doesn’t need to fear judgment nor rejection.
I speed up at the sight of a hot dog stand, because my man likes soft things that don’t make too much noise when eaten, and the sight of a bottle of sauce that might just be sweet chili puts a smile on my face. I’m about to walk past the two trucks that brought the wooden tables when a hand tightens around my wrist and pulls me into the shadows in a tug so hard I couldn’t have resisted even if I put all of my strength into it.
A dull ache radiates from my shoulder, but before I can voice my protest, a big hand shoves me at the side of the truck, and I end up hitting the back of my head.