Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I pull my phone from my pocket and hand it to him, he messes around with it for a minute and then hands it back to me.
“Why are you still here?”
Colt’s voice comes from behind me, and with a long, exaggerated sigh, I turn to face him. He’s standing, fully dressed this time, with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. He glares at me, not even glancing in Anthony’s direction.
“Well, Uncle, I was hoping you’d offer me a comfortable bed to sleep in. I’m tired of resting with the rats.”
His face hardens, he hates me calling him uncle more than anything. He’s in no way an uncle, but considering he dated my aunt for so long, I find it hilarious to throw that word around, especially when he reacts so well to it.
“Try callin’ me that again,” he warns.
Anthony clears his throat and Colt finally acknowledges that he’s there.
“Can I fuckin’ help you?”
Anthony runs his eyes over Colt. “Not today.”
Colt glares at him, and then turns back to me. “Go home.”
Rude.
“No thanks, I’m enjoying my night.”
“I gave you rules. Don’t fuckin’ come here. Go home.”
“Do I look like I care about your rules?” I ask, quirking my lip and rolling my eyes.
“I’ll give you three seconds to leave.”
I step closer to him. “Or what?”
“I’ll take you home,” Anthony offers, carefully taking my arm and pulling me back just a little.
This must be an excellent first impression.
Colt’s furious glare doesn’t once waver; he holds my eyes, not once breaking.
“Answer one thing for me,” I say, scowling. “Why is it you hate me so much? I’ve never done anything to you.”
Colt leans in closer. “I don’t hate you. If I hated you, you’d be dead. I can’t stand you, there’s a fuckin’ difference.”
So charming.
“Well, I can see why Aunt Chloe was so into you. You’re great.”
“Go home,” he orders once more.
“Come on,” Anthony says, “before it escalates.”
“Listen to your boyfriend, Myla. You don’t want to push my buttons anymore tonight.”
I want to slap him, but instead, I turn on my heel and walk away, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing any kind of reaction from me. He can go ahead and fall on his damned face for all I care, I’m not going to help him up.
“You know, I’m tired,” I say to Anthony when we’re a little way from the crowd. “I’m just going to go home to bed.”
“Let me at least walk you there.”
I shake my head. If there is one thing I’ve learned in life, it is that you don’t let a stranger walk you home.
“Look, no offense, but I only just met you, and I don’t want to walk into the dark woods alone with you until we know each other a smidge longer.”
I don’t know how he’ll react, but Anthony just chuckles. “Understood. Text me, and we’ll work out a time to meet up.”
I flash him a smile. “I look forward to it.”
I’m not sure if I’m telling the truth or not, but we shall see.
We shall see indeed.
3
THEN – CHLOE
I’m not sure if I’ve made the right decision, coming to this town for work. It’s great money, and they’ve given me an apartment, but the town isn’t as big as I’m used to. I’ve lived my entire life in big cities, and everyone I come across here are more or less ... crazy. Like, not in a bad way, but just in that freedom for everybody way. They don’t care what people think, how they act, or what they do.
They’re just living their best lives.
Perhaps I’m too uptight, but I’m working on it.
I’m here, at this bar, trying to fit in.
Trying to meet new people.
So far, all I’ve achieved is a cluster of men hitting on me, and none of them thus far have been worth even glancing at.
I miss home.
I miss my friends.
I miss my niece.
But, I promised myself I’d try, and try I will.
“You’re new around here.”
The husky voice has potential, and I’m begging internally as I turn that he’ll be a tall, dark drink of water.
I’m not disappointed.
Standing in front of me is a gorgeous, rugged, bad boy. There is no other way to describe him. One glance tells you that he’s trouble. It could be the lazy smirk on his face, or the depth of his brown eyes. Maybe it’s the tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, or the messy dark hair atop his head. It’s most certainly the jacket he’s wearing that tells the entire world he’s a biker. Not only is he a biker, but he’s the president.
This guy is a big deal, in the scariest kind of way.
I’m intrigued.
“You know all the people in town, do you?” I throw back lightly, offering him a smile.
I should be scared, because I, like others, know exactly what motorcycle clubs get up to, but I can’t seem to tear myself away. It could simply be that his voice is like warm honey on buttered toast, smooth and slightly gritty. I want to hear it, even just for a little longer.