Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
I thought I could disappear into the little Kentucky town and keep my head down and keep my nose clean. What could be so hard about that? But I’m on parole and everything is stacked against me. When the only place that will hire me happens to be a biker bar, staying out of trouble might be too much for me to manage. Then Chase steamrolls into my life and I know I have much more than my freedom to lose. This man has the power to tear out my heart.
Chase: I’ve spent the better part of my life in the shadows. Before Bones MC, my team worked for some shady people — as assassins. I thought I was sacrificing for the greater good. Turns out I was just one more bad guy working for more bad guys. I can’t seem to atone for the sins of my past. No matter what I do, those demons still haunt me.
The second I spot Cotton, everything changes. Everything about the girl screams “battered woman,” but she’s more than that. There is death in her eyes. She’s killed, but she’s not a killer. No matter what, no matter who comes after her, I will protect her till my last breath. Because she is my only salvation. She’s my woman.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Cotton
“Watch where you’re fuckin’ goin’, bitch!”
The old guy behind the wheel of the truck that almost ran me over at a crosswalk blew his horn and shook his fist as he leaned out the window and yelled at me. I ignored him, hunching in on myself as I hurried across the street. It wasn’t my fault he wanted to run the red light at the intersection. Most people did here, when there wasn’t anything coming.
It was pouring down rain and even with an umbrella, I was already soaking wet from head to toe. It was why I’d put my work clothes in my backpack before heading out. I didn’t have a car, and even if I had one, I didn’t have a license. I’d been here three weeks and had finally managed to score a job in a biker bar. The only one in Somerset, Kentucky. The walk was longer than I liked, but it was the only place that would hire me. I was a convicted felon. And not just any felony. Murder. Well, manslaughter. And only because I’d pleaded down. The original charge had been first degree murder and I had no illusion the prosecutor would have gone for life in prison. No. If they’d managed to convict me of capital murder, my ass would have been on the wrong end of a lethal injection.
Whoever said prison time is slow time had it right. Or maybe it was just my youth. I’d been convicted of murder when I was fifteen and had spent the next ten years of my life in prison, patiently waiting for the day I got out. I’d paid my dues and then some. But never once did I regret killing the bastard who’d raped and murdered my big sister. Which was a problem at my probation hearings. It was why I’d done ten years instead of four out of the fifteen I was given. As far as I was concerned, the bastard had got what he’d deserved. Unfortunately, that man had been the son of a prominent judge. Even though my lawyer was supposed to be on my side, it was painfully obvious he wasn’t. Which likely played a large part in my parole.
So I’d kept my mouth shut, done my time, then made it to this little town where I could hopefully disappear into the rustic scenery. The terms of my probation stipulated I had to stay in Kentucky. They didn’t specify where. Only that I had to tell them where I was going and check in with a probation officer they assigned in the area. My sentence was originally for fifteen years, so I still had five years’ probation. Perhaps working in a bar wasn’t the best place to keep my nose clean, but even though most employers were more lenient than they used to be, with the violent crime I’d been convicted of, everywhere I’d applied had given me a hard pass. I honestly couldn’t say I blamed them.
The Boneyard had been different. They’d only requested to know who my probation officer was so they could get a hard copy of the terms I had to follow. The people I’d met who ran the place hadn’t judged me, only told me to let them know the second I felt I might be in trouble. They didn’t want blowback coming to their bar if I fucked up, but they also had said they’d help any way they could. I wasn’t sure I believed the last, but I’d do my best not to repay their kindness in hiring me with getting my ass arrested for a probation violation.
I hurried into the back entrance, trying my best not to drip all over the floor. It was a losing battle because I was drenched.
“Girl, what the fuck?” Pops, the grizzled biker who ran the bar frowned at me, likely seeing the puddle as I stuffed my umbrella into a plastic grocery sack and hung it on a peg next to the door.
“I’m sorry, Pops. I’ll clean it up. Just let me change clothes.”
“Don’t give a fuck about the water. Why are you soaked to the fuckin’ skin?”
I cringed back. It was a reflex I couldn’t seem to break myself from. I worked so hard in prison to avoid any kind of conflict I usually just rolled over and showed my belly, making it no fun for the bullies. It made for hard going at first, and Lord knew I took some horrible beatings, but, in the end, it had paid off. The gangs were too afraid to make me traffic their drugs or anything else because they knew I’d give up at the first sign of trouble, and I wasn’t any fun to beat up because I never fought back. The only problem had been from the guards. There was no getting away from the guards.