Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
The club grounds are right behind Chief’s house, so a lot of the guys use it as a place to store things. He has a massive garage they work out of that is attached to the back, and that leads to the large compound that they run the club out of.
He pauses, frowns. “Yeah. Why?”
I cross my arms. “She’s no good for you, father,” I tease lightly, only calling him that to stir him.
He grunts and shoots me a grin. “My little one, all grown up and protective. You flatter me.”
I frown harder. “Seriously, though, dad...she’s nasty.”
His grin fades. He steps forward, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Come on now, kid. Go easy.”
“Sorry,” I huff. “She’s just awful.”
“She awful to you?”
His voice is like ice.
“No, but believe me, if she was, I would handle it. I can take care of myself.”
He flicks a finger under my chin. “You’re my girl. You don’t take care of you yourself. That’s my job, yeah?”
“Yes, boss.”
He grins and opens the hallway door. I duck inside my sanctuary: walls painted bright, unapologetic pink, a holdover from when I begged him at twelve, because I was so damned sure it would look amazing. He grumbled through every stroke of the roller, copping it from the club when they saw pink splattered on his coveralls. But here I am, cocooned in bubble gum hues, teenage posters on the walls, a fluffy rug underfoot.
I never had the heart to change it.
It makes me happy.
We haven’t even hit the landing when Jaq comes around the corner, stiletto boots clicking. Her nails, chipped black, trail along Chief’s arm as though she’s staking her claim. She could be pretty, if she didn’t overload her face with makeup so thick, it’s terrifying. She grins at me, and in a forced voice, says, “Violet.”
“Wonderful to see you, Jaq, I see you haven’t learned how to do your nails correctly since the last time I saw you.”
She scowls at me, and I purposely avoid Chief’s glare, because he will absolutely scald me for that one. Maybe Mom is right, maybe I am likely to get into more trouble now I’m older. I don’t have to be nice to this woman, just because she’s with my dad.
Not anymore.
Jaq scowls at me, then turns to Chief. “Baby,” she purrs. “I just came to tell you that Travis called, he’ll be here shortly.”
My heart lurches—Travis Phoenix. Chief’s adopted son, not literally, but he practically saved him from a life far worse than death. My childhood best friend, first crush, the boy who strolled in here one day and changed my life.
Chief sighs and the expression on my face. “Yeah, Travis is back in town.”
“Back? Since when?” I demand.
“Two months.”
“Two months?” I echo, hurt blooming in my chest. “And you didn’t tell me?”
That’s not what hurts me. What hurts me is that I have been here basically every weekend in the last two months, and not once have I seen or heard from Travis. Nor did anyone tell me. It’s not like he wouldn’t have known I was around. Everyone knows I come here.
It stings in a way I struggle to hide.
Chief shrugs. “You two haven’t seen each other in a long time. Figured you didn’t care.”
Ouch.
“He was my best friend,” I murmur.
He leans in, placing his hand behind my neck and pulling me close. “I know, baby. I’m sure you’ll figure it out when he’s here. Get yourself settled,” he releases me, turning to Jaq. “We need to talk in my office.”
If that’s code for I want to fuck, I’m going to vomit.
The two of them disappear. I huff and then step through the door. My pink room welcomes me and feels like the only place old memories are safe. I unpack my basics and then I collapse on the beanbag, plug in my phone, slide earplugs in, and let music wash over me.
An hour slips by in dreamy waves. Then I am jerked out of it when the doorbell rings. Who the hell rings the doorbell? Everyone just walks in this house. Ding dong again, more frequent. Why isn’t Chief answering? Drag queen diva duties, I bet.
Ding dong, a third time. I yank out an earbud. “Alright, I’m coming—keep your shirt on,” I mutter.
My god.
I stomp down the stairs, and when I reach the door, I see it’s locked. That’s why the doorbell is going. I mutter a curse, then swing open the door and freeze. Every muscle in my body tenses at once, like I've been hit with an electrical current.
Travis Phoenix stands on the threshold, backlit by afternoon sun, one shoulder propped against the pole outside like he owns it. My heart slams against my ribs—a wild, caged thing—and my mouth goes dry. The air between us feels charged, dangerous.
His eyes flash with something dark, something different, and it sends shivers down my spine.