Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I couldn’t breathe.
It’s stupid. It is hokey as hell. People would call me crazy, and I’d agree with them. Still, I know it’s true. I know it deep, deep down inside of me. I’m as positive about that as I am knowing the sun will rise in the morning. I fell in love with Hunter Evans at a crowded wedding without even saying one word to him. I watched him the entire reception. I burned inside with anger and frustration as he danced with other women. I listened to his cousin call him Hunter when everyone else called him BB. I left quietly when I saw him leaving with a woman. It was clear what they were going to do, and I hated it. Yet, I still didn’t make a move.
What was I supposed to do? Walk up to him and say I fell in love while you were laughing. Don’t leave with her. I know she’s gorgeous and everything I’m not, but I could make you happy. I know I could.
Yeah, that doesn’t sound ridiculous and skeevy at all. So, I decided to go to that stupid party. I felt I had to. I’d been pining for him since that day. I had to take a chance. So, I did. Once there, I watched Hunter make his play and when he came to me, I thought it was fate. Hell, maybe even divine intervention. He wanted me just like I wanted him. I didn’t even think—which in hindsight was not smart at all. I followed him to his room—likely the same one he fucked the red head in after the wedding. I spent the night with him, thinking this was it. The beginning of every dream that I never dared dream. I thought that’s what he felt, too. I fell asleep in his arms, knowing I wanted to do that same thing every night—for the rest of my life. That’s how deep I was in. Instead, he kicked me out of bed and called me a cunt. That hurt so much that I can still feel the burn. There are scars you wear on your body. If you’re lucky, you get to the point that they become badges of honor. Then, there are scars no one sees. Scars that are hidden deep inside you and you wear those every day, too. These scars though, don’t heal over and become numb to the touch. These fucking scars inflict damage daily. They latch onto your muscle and spread through every inch of you. You can’t run from them. You can’t hide. They’re there and they will hurt you—haunt you—for the rest of your life.
I already had a million of them. Hunter’s just added more.
“Beau? Are you with me?”
I look up to find Callum staring at me. I see the worry in his eyes, and I force a smile on my face. “Sorry, I was miles away for a moment. I’m in my head, trying to figure out the design I want on the bike Grifter sent over.”
I’m totally lying out of my ass. I already know what I’m going to do with Grifter’s bike. He took over the Kings of Anarchy a couple months ago. He has his hands full. Word is the club is having some problems. Still, Grifter keeps pushing work my way and paying a hell of a lot for it. I moved him up on my list because the money is welcome since I’m turning down shit from the Devil’s Blaze. It helps that I like Grifter, too. At least he’s never called me a cunt after spending the night wringing orgasm after orgasm out of my body.
“You need to go out there and talk to them. I’m tired of being the one that does it. They’re starting to get pissed and I can’t deal with that shit. I’m liable to fuck them up and if that happens, we’ll have them coming after me and the garage.” I roll my eyes and pin him with a look as I lean on the counter. I wait him out because we both know he’s not going to do that. “Damnit,” he growls. “You know I don’t like dealing with people. I never like dealing with people. I’m more of a recluse than you are, Beau. I’m asking you to quit making me deal with these assholes because I’m at my fucking limit,” he huffs.
Shit. “Okay, fine. Who is it?” I ask, because there’s no way I’m going out there if Hunter is the one that showed.
“The head honcho.”
“Send Sean. I don’t know King and don’t really care to.”
“Shit, sorry. I can’t get used to the changes yet. It’s Skull and the crazy guy with the T-shirts.”
Okay, double shit. This sucks, because I actually like Skull and Torch … like a lot. It will be hard to tell them no and I hate to be put in this position. I mentally put another mark against Hunter in my diary. Side note, I don’t have a real diary, it’s all make-believe. I was taught to believe we don’t write our emotions down and work through them. Hell, my dad raised me as a boy and I’m content with that. I didn’t have a pink room filled with girly shit. Mine was neutral with varied accent colors—depending on what I was into at the time. I also had posters of hot cars on my wall growing up. To this day, I still don’t have girly shit in my closet—except maybe my underwear cause a girl has to have a few surprises. Which leaves credence to the fact that I’ve never owned a real diary in my life. So, mentally I open up my diary which has a picture of the kickass bike I’m going to complete for Grifter on the cover and not a bunch of hearts and roses. Inside the plain white pages—because seriously, I’m not a hearts and roses kind of gal—I write reason nine hundred and ninety-nine on why I hate Hunter is because he’s making me hurt two men who are like family to me. Two men I love and one of those men who has been through hell, losing his son.