Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
He was sure that was going to cost him a pretty penny but watching Emma talking to his customers, making them feel very welcome... he knew it would be worth every fucking cent.
His patrons could have Ember in the afternoon and evening, but come late night and early morning, Emma was going to be all his. And only his.
He had told her it would be her choice to climb into his bed and that would remain true. But if it was up to him, she’d be underneath him, and sometimes on top, too.
He checked the clock hidden behind the bar and then said to Cubby, “Got a party at church. Moose’s in charge. Any problems, text me.”
“Got it, boss.”
“Just make sure there ain’t any problems.”
Cubby gave him an answering chin lift and a grunt as Dawg walked from behind the bar and over to where Ember was talking to one of his regulars.
The man’s eyes were glued to the pale globes of flesh that were practically spilling out of the cups of her dress. He stepped up to Jack and slapped him on the back. “She treatin’ you well, Jack-o?”
The man reluctantly raised his eyes to Dawg. “Sure is. Though when I asked her for a private dance, she refused.”
“Yeah, she’s just here to make sure you’re happy. But not that happy.”
Jack laughed, and his eyes landed back on Emma’s tits. When the man licked his lips, Dawg fought the urge to smash his fist into his face.
“Now I gotta steal her away, my man. Got business to take care of.”
Jack smirked. “Sure. Business. No wonder she isn’t agreeing to a private dance.”
“Right. To get over your disappointment, givin’ you a drink on the house.”
“Not sure if that’s a fair trade, Dawg.”
“Agreed. Ain’t a fair trade, but will have to do.” Dawg lifted his hand and caught Cubby’s attention. He lifted a finger, tipped his chin toward Jack, and the bartender nodded in acknowledgment.
Dawg slipped an arm around Emma’s waist and planted a possessive hand on the curve of her hip. “Now, we gotta go. She’ll be here tomorrow night, Jack. See you then.”
“Yeah, Dawg, you lucky bastard.”
Dawg shot him a grin, then steered Emma away from the stage and toward the back of the club. Before he opened the door to the private hallway, he tipped his head down and said in a low voice, “Gotta go upstairs an’ change outta that dress, baby girl. Jeans. Regular shoes. Cover up your tits. Got me? Goin’ to church.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of church do you attend?”
He grinned again, this time in amusement, and shook his head. “One for hellions.”
He escorted her through the back area, out the back door and up to his apartment.
“Prospects moved your shit into the spare room. Gotta share a bathroom since this ain’t no high-dollar penthouse. So keep your woman’s shit to a minimum in there, got me?”
“I’ll try to stay out of your way.”
That wasn’t quite what he wanted, but he didn’t correct her. Instead he went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and knocked the cap off on the edge of the counter. “Wear closed shoes. Boots, if you got ‘em. Gonna take my sled.”
“What’s a sled?”
He paused, the bottle halfway to his lips. “My bike.”
“Should you be drinking before we get on your motorcycle?”
He snorted, then took a sip of his beer. The cool brew went down smoothly. “Yeah. Makes me steadier.”
“I doubt that.”
“Never doubt me, baby girl.”
With her lips pursed as if she was about to backtalk him, she pinned him with a stare for a moment, then headed down the hallway to her room.
Not even an hour later, Emma was handing him her helmet after dismounting from his Harley. She pulled the elastic band out of her hair to let it fall around her shoulders.
That did not help his throbbing dick. The ride over wasn’t long from Heaven’s Angels to church, but having her pressed against his back during the ride had him almost purring as loudly as his sled’s engine. She had done well for never being on a bike before.
Not that there was a lot to do. Just hang on tight.
That she did.
He placed the helmet on the seat, yanked his skull bandana down his face and tucked his glasses into the collar of his T-shirt.
“This doesn’t look like any church I’ve ever seen before,” she said staring at the steel door that led into the clubhouse. “What does the sign say over the door?”
Her hand felt so tiny in his when he grabbed it and pulled her over to the entrance. “Read it now.”
“Dirty Angels MC... Down and dirty ‘til dead.” She dropped her gaze to him. “What does that mean?”
“Family. Brotherhood. That’s what it fuckin’ means.”
“Is that your club motto?”
“Yeah, baby girl, it is.”