Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 139186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Knight’s face brightened. “Oh, man. Stuff like this makes me happy I’m no longer a prospect,” he said and patted Jake on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work.”
Jake sighed but smiled back, grateful for even this small gesture of praise. The two of them used to have so many conversations about nothing, and Knight had even allowed him to sleep over at his place a few times after they’d fucked. Jake hated Elliot for taking all that attention away from him, but Jake would make a sacrifice and talk about the least interesting of topics in order for this connection not to sink completely. “How’s Elliot? You know, with the eye loss and all that?”
Knight’s eyes lit up. The man had no idea he was stabbing a knife into Jake’s heart. “He’s... I think he’ll be fine in the end, but he needs to rest and recover for now.”
“You know, my granddad lost his eye at work, and he then kept walking into things. Problems with depth perception.”
“Jake? We need you at the gate.” Knight said and gently pushed him toward the door.
“Ah, yes, yes! Sorry. On my way.”
Jake had one more sneaky glance at Knight, and seeing him smile at his cell phone tied knots of anxiety inside Jake. Knight used to be Jake’s most frequent sex partner, especially after the former club president’s death. And what was left for him now? The occasional blowjob for Joker or Rev? He hadn’t had an actual fuck in months and it was beginning to drive him up the walls.
But still, he’d do as he was told. He passed Knight with a smile, grabbed his hoodie, his jacket, and rushed to the garage, ready to brave the weather.
His modest black bike with chrome finish was polished to perfection, so he didn’t hesitate and rode off, waving at Beast, who was already waiting for their guest at the front of the clubhouse.
The prez waved back, a dark figure on the background of snow and the imposing building of their clubhouse. With that blessing, Jake sped down the road, past the frozen lake, and between the trees.
It was cloudy, but the sun somehow still managed to filter through, making the morning extraordinarily bright. The trees were dark strokes on the blank canvas of deep snow. Farther away from the building, the ground remained undisturbed, and Jake couldn’t help but feel like he was driving through some kind of fairy-tale land, with thick layers of white fluff piled on all the branches and a pinkish hue to the sky above.
Life went on as usual, and the fire he’d vomited earlier had been nothing but a dream.
The old gate stood wide open. Between the tall columns on either side, a lone figure in dark leathers stood leaning against a large black Harley. It was bound to be someone from Magpie’s entourage, but the big fish himself, or his car, were nowhere to be seen.
Jake slowed down upon his approach, eventually stopping next to the stranger. When he took off his helmet, cool air hit his cheeks and he exhaled deeply, frowning at how large the cloud of steam coming out of his mouth was.
The man looked his way. He had the chest and shoulders of a professional wrestler, barely contained by a sleek black winter jacket for riding. He’d already removed his helmet, which rested at the back of his bike along with a black balaclava. His short haircut must have gotten messed up on the road, but the slight mess on his head didn’t make him any less charming.
“Hey, you’re a member of Mr. Magpie’s crew?” Jake asked, quickly gathering information from what he could see.
An older guy, but the size of a bouncer, the stranger could easily be some sort of secret spy-bodyguard-assassin who’d come over ahead of his boss to make sure everything was secure. Jake didn’t want to be out of line.
The stranger had the vibe of someone who didn’t take shit from anyone, with cool blue eyes so sharp they cut right through Jake. His tidy salt and pepper beard drew in Jake’s attention, and he couldn’t help but steal a glance to check if the guy was packing, but it was difficult to say through the thick winter motorcycle pants.
“I expected someone of a higher rank to greet us,” the man said, and the low, throaty sound of his voice trailed down Jake’s body and all the way to his balls. The stranger had an accent too, not very thick but definitely present in the way he pronounced some of the words with a decisive sharpness. Russian? Polish?
Jake shifted his weight, uncomfortable with being put on the spot. His capability for thinking was steaming out of his head all too quickly, and he now regretted taking off his helmet. “Sorry… sir?” He wasn’t sure about the man’s rank, but the guy looked twice Jake’s age, so maybe had already made a misstep? “My VP sent me over here to guide you to the clubhouse. They’re all waiting back there.”