Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I keep scanning for some kind of hint before grudgingly admitting to myself that the place is gorgeous. The décor is more than likely totally lost on the men who file in here to throw dollar bills at women who have bigger cojones than I do.
The white lights are dimmed, and in their place are colored lights. Blue and purple accent the seating areas, while pink and red bring customers’ attentions to the brightly lit hardwood stage.
The mirror covered walls on either side of the stage are lined with black leather booths. In the middle sit several cloth-covered tables with the same comfy, black leather chairs. There is a black drop ceiling over the club to probably help keep it cool when the place is packed, and the floor is covered in a paisley patterned carpet. Besides there being no poles in sight, the carpet also surprises the shit out of me. Not because the club had carpet at all, but because it has hot pink, orange, turquoise, and purple patterns with a black background. Not exactly something I expect to see in a gentleman’s club. Suzie would have loved it, though.
The thought sends a shot of pain through my heart. Everywhere I turn, I see her … even in places I never expected to see her. She really would have loved this carpet, though.
Now is not the time and place to wallow in my misery over my sister. Therefore, I force my mind to think about the task ahead of me.
The men are still speaking in low tones, presumably about more biker gibberish I don’t want to know or hear, while I sit here like a good girl, on the lookout for this Ethan “Hammer” McCoy.
Maybe it is because I’m about to jump out of my skin paranoid, but it feels like I’m sitting there forever, waiting for my patient to show up. I don’t need a full gym, but more than a few tables, a bar, and a stage will be necessary. Hell, even that damn stripper pole I can’t find would be better than nothing for a bit of PT workout.
“Hammer is gonna be tough,” Ice explains, breaking my bubble of concentration, leaning forward until his elbows are resting on the table.
“Drill Sergeant Bust My Balls can take it,” Tank praises me.
“I don’t doubt it under normal circumstances.” Ice pauses and studies me. “Hammer is angry. He has every right to be.” Sadness washes over Ice’s face. “The mission went bad, and he paid the price. He’s gonna give you hell.”
Feeling like I’m under some crazy military scrutiny, I lean forward so he can see the sincerity on my face when I reply firmly, “Sir, I am prepared.” I stop myself from adding an additional sir on the end, just barely.
“We’ll see,” Ice says calmly while adding cryptically, “You’ll either make it, or he’ll break you.”
A tall, bald man with a beard steps out of the back hallway and walks our way. His eyes are dark and his demeanor threatening. Regardless, Shooter and Boomer greet him happily while I silently pray Hammer is nothing like him.
“Coal, this is Desirae,” Boomer introduces, and I extend my hand.
The man known as Coal shakes his head at me, rejecting my greeting. I can’t stop my reaction as my mouth drops open. I have been around bikers. The Hellions are assholes ninety-eight percent of the time, but to refuse to shake my hand when I gave him no sign of disrespect … Well, that is cold.
Then again, their president is named Ice. Maybe that’s their theme. Hammer will knock someone out, and Coal is black as coal in his hardened heart.
I let my mind drift. Do they have a member named Killer? I mean, with the way these guys are, I don’t see them having smartass names like the Hellions. No, I feel like they have some crazy literal meaning, like Cujo, the rabid dog, or something.
God, I need a Xanax or a drink. Hell, my nerves are so shot I wouldn’t be opposed to someone giving me both.
“Don’t take it personal,” Ice whispers to me. “He doesn’t touch women he doesn’t pay.”
I almost choke on my own spit. What the hell does that mean?
Suddenly, I don’t know if I can do this.
I look over at Tank who is as calm as ever. He doesn’t seem the least bit worried about leaving me here. Then why am I freaking out?
Shooter and Boomer stand up from the table, and my gut fills with dread. This is it. They are about to leave me here in the hands of the Regulators.
Tank doesn’t take his eyes off my face as he also stands up and walks over to where I’m sitting. When he holds out his hand in a silent order to take it, I grab it like I’m drowning and it is the last lifeline I will ever have.