Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 33577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Ghost's expression didn't change, but I knew what he was thinking. That I was letting my feelings for Honey overwhelm me. Maybe he was right. But the thought of Flowerz's body dumped like trash at our fence line, the thought that it could have been Honey, made my decision clear.
"I'll handle the security," I added, my tone brooking no argument. "Tell the brothers I'm running an errand if they ask. They don't need to know where."
"And the body?"
"Have Rivet and Reaper take care of it. Quiet, respectful. Whatever she did, she was one of ours." I rolled my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension knotting my muscles. "And Ghost? Make sure Bug's checking for bugs. Listening devices. Cameras. If Flowerz fed them information, there's no telling what kind of surveillance they might have planted."
Ghost nodded, then hesitated. "Jack... be careful. Your old lady's becoming a liability through no fault of her own."
I bristled at his words, even though logically I knew he was right. "She's not a liability. She's..." I trailed off, unable to finish the thought. What was she to me? Something more than an old lady of convenience, that much I knew. The rest I was still figuring out. "She's mine," I finished firmly. "And that means I protect her. No matter what."
Ghost accepted this with a slight nod. "I'll hold things down here. You do what you need to do. Oh, almost forgot.” He lifted his chin. “On the plus side, Castellano approved the arrangement. Said he admired our ability to adapt on the fly in a positive way. Earlier is always preferable to later. We’re in.” He grinned.
I clapped him on the shoulder, grateful for his unwavering loyalty, then started across the yard toward Honey and Wren. My boots crunched on the gravel, announcing my approach. Both women looked up, but my eyes were only for Honey. The smile she gave me, tentative but genuine, made my chest ache.
"Pack a bag," I told her when I reached the table. "Nothing fancy. Just the basics. We're going for a ride."
Honey's eyes widened slightly, questioning but not resistant. "Now?"
"Now," I confirmed. "Meet me by my bike in ten minutes."
As she hurried off to gather her things, Wren raised an eyebrow at me. "Something I need to know, Prez?"
"Just getting her out for some air," I lied smoothly. “Been cooped up too long."
Wren didn't look convinced, but she knew better than to press. "Take care of her, yeah? She's not as tough as she pretends to be."
As I watched Honey's retreating figure, I thought Honey might not be the only one pretending to be tough. When it came to Honey, I wasn’t nearly as hard as I needed to be.
* * *
The wind whipped past us as I pushed my Harley harder, constantly checking my mirrors for tails. Honey clung to me from behind, her arms wrapped around my waist, face pressed against my back. The contact sent heat coursing through me despite the urgency of our situation. Every time we took a turn, her grip tightened, her thighs squeezing mine through our jeans. We'd been riding for nearly thirty minutes, taking a indirect route to throw off anyone who might be watching. If we had a tail, I couldn’t spot it.
I finally slowed as we approached an industrial area on the outskirts of town, pulling into a narrow alley between two abandoned buildings. The warehouse at the end of the alley looked as neglected as its neighbors. Peeling paint, boarded windows, chain link fence topped with barbed wire just like all the others created the perfect camouflage.
I killed the engine and helped Honey off the bike. Her legs wobbled slightly as she found her footing, and I steadied her with a hand on her waist. "You good?" I asked, scanning the alley behind us one more time.
"Yeah." She pushed her windblown hair from her face. Normally I’d insist she wear a helmet, but when she’d indicated this was her first bike ride, I knew she had to do it with the wind in her hair. Just this once. And I was careful. "Where are we?"
I didn't answer right away, instead taking her hand and leading her to a rusted metal door with three separate locks. Each one opened with a different key from the ring I kept separate from my regular keys. The final lock required a four digit code that I shielded with my body as I punched it in.
"My place," I said finally, pushing the door open and ushering her inside. "Real one. Not the clubhouse."
I flipped a switch, and overhead lights flickered to life, revealing a cavernous space that bore no resemblance to the decrepit exterior. Honey gasped softly beside me.
"Jack, this is..."
The warehouse had been converted into a combination garage and living space. The main floor housed six vintage motorcycles in various states of restoration, surrounded by gleaming tool chests and pegboards hung with meticulously organized tools. The far wall was a massive workbench beneath a wall of spare parts. To the right, a spiral staircase led to a lofted living area with a kitchen, a bed, and a small sitting area with a massive TV I never turned on.