Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
This is a terrible idea. Between the fresh air and the adrenaline, I’ve sobered up enough to know just how out of my depth I am. At the same time, there’s a little niggling of curiosity in the back of my mind that has me moving forward anyway. If I want to write something new, I need to get out of my comfort zone, and this is definitely that.
I was inside this church once or twice when I was a kid. My family was never very religious, but the school occasionally had fairs and barbecues that Gram would take me to. From the outside, the church looks about the same. I walk up the stairs in a daze, taking everything in. On the outside, it’s almost unchanged, but the inside is a temple to Dionysus and Eros, the gods of wine and lust. I walk through the doors and into their inner sanctum like Alice stumbling through the looking glass.
Heavy metal blares from the sound system, drowning out the sea of people who are busy dancing, drinking and who knows what. The old pews have been mostly ripped out, though a few are still around, pushed to the side. A disco ball hangs from the ceiling, catching the pulsing lights and sending rainbow flecks to play fancifully over the stained glass church windows. A big screen TV plays a football game in the back, and behind the altar at the front of the church, instead of a cross, hangs a giant banner with the Outlaw Sons logo. Over it is a black leather biker vest, and underneath there’s a bar stocked with various types of alcohol.
But it’s what’s on the altar that grabs my attention and freezes me in place: a woman with long, purple hair dancing to the music in nothing but skimpy underwear. Her eyes are closed and there’s a smile on her face as she unhooks her bra and after a moment of teasingly letting it rest on her breasts, sends it flying into the crowd. A tall man with the sides of his head shaved and a tattoo stretching up onto his scalp, snatches it out of the air and cheers. His other arm is in a sling, looking recently injured.
This used to be a church!
She opens her eyes and grins at the biker, hooking her finger and gesturing for him to come closer. My eyes are as locked to her as his are. I drift their way as he pushes through to the front. There’s something about her total confidence that captivates me, and I don’t even swing that way. I don’t know if I want to be her, or just to have that kind of complete disregard for what anyone might think.
The biker runs his hands up her legs as she gyrates to the beat. Clearly they’re allowed to do more than look here. Her hips swivel in a figure eight so smooth that it makes me want to ask her about her warmup routine. With every slow beat of the music, she drops lower and lower until her crotch is right in front of his face.
I can’t look away. He peels her panties to the side and—
A calloused hand closes around my upper arm.
I let out a little shriek and spin around. “I was just—”
Blackout’s green eyes sparkle in amusement as he looks down at me. “Just what?”
Face on fire, I shake my head like a kid caught looking up dirty pictures on the family computer. I came here to… what exactly? File a noise complaint with the management? No wonder the guys at the gate laughed at me. “Nothing. I was, um, looking for one of you.”
Dragon presses his way through the crowd to join us, noticeably tall even in a crowd of tall men. He crosses his arms over his chest as he looks me up and down, eyes pausing on my dress. His long, dark hair is damp and hanging loose, and there’s an angry cut down his right forearm that wasn’t there last time I saw him. “Well, you found us. What are you doing here, Willow?”
“It isn’t as much fun when it’s your house getting barged into, is it?” I fire back.
Blackout snorts.
Yeah, it made more sense in my head.
Dragon takes a step forward, putting himself close enough that I can smell the sharp forest scent of soap on his skin. “I’m asking because when a pretty girl dresses up and crashes one of our parties, every man in here is gonna assume she’s here for one thing,” he whispers right in my ear. “To get fucked. Is that it? You got an itch that needs scratching?”
The stripper behind me lets out a long, low groan that’s so heavily laced with pleasure that I nearly feel it along with her. “God damn, Lash!”