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)
Apparently, one of the dumb fucks decided it would be a good idea to throw me some kind of coming home party. I don’t want a fucking party.
A party means people. People will see me in my wheelchair and think I’m not the same man I used to be. The women will want to give me a pity blowjob, and my brothers will be standing around, looking at me but trying not to show pity.
But we all know that they will. Pity me, that is.
To hell with that! I love each and every brother in my club, but they can take their good intentions and shove them right up their own asses. I would rather sit by myself in an empty condo and give myself a hand job than accept their stoic faces and the women’s fake celebration.
I look over at my brother who sits tensely in the driver’s seat, totally aware of what I have been looking at and my sudden black mood.
“Get ’em out right now.”
I watch his fingers tighten on the steering wheel as he blows out a weary breath. “They just wanna say hi and welcome you home, bro. Is that so bad?”
Trying to keep my cool, not wanting to take my anger out on my own flesh and blood, I grip the door handle instead of giving in to the urge to punch his pretty face. “I don’t know. How bad would it be if you had to go to Alibi and all those dick jockeys you work with saw you busted up in a wheelchair, unable to walk, let alone do your job?”
My brother, the epic smartass, doesn’t miss a beat, answering me with a smirk. “I think I would be the one receiving the lap dances instead of giving them. That could be pretty sweet. Titties in the face and all that.”
My left eye twitches as my right hand lets go of the door handle and rears back to hit him.
Evan throws his hands up in the air between us to stop me. “If you hit me, I’m sending pictures of the bruises to Mom.”
Utterly incredulous, I snap, “Did you just use our mother against me?”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
“You fuck nugget! I’m gonna kick your ass when I can use my legs again.”
“If kickin’ my ass is all you can think of doing when you get the use of your legs back, then I’m gonna worry there’s more wrong with you than we currently know about, bro.”
“Only you would bring up sex at a time like this!”
“Actually, I was talking about riding your bike again, but sex is a good point, too.”
At the end of my patience, I somehow stop myself from giving in to the urge to strangle Evan and grab the dashboard, instead.
Through gritted teeth, I growl, “Honest to God, Evan, if you don’t get out of this truck right now and get them out of my place, you’re gonna be taking so many pictures of bruises to send Mom that she’ll think you were the one hit by a car instead of me.”
Realizing he isn’t going to win our argument, my little brother slips quietly out of the truck and makes his way to my condo.
I don’t look at the clock to see what time it is. Honestly, I don’t want to know how long it is going to take for him to kick everyone out.
Closing my eyes, I see my club brothers’ disappointed faces. It might be wrong of me to shut them out right now, but I need space. I need time to breathe. It is bad enough Evan isn’t going to leave me alone; thus, seeing me struggle in my own home. I don’t need Ice, Coal, and the others to see that shit, too.
I hear the sounds of their bikes pull away and give myself an extra moment in the darkness.
It’s nothing against any one of them. I didn’t even let my own mother come to visit. I can’t stand knowing the people closest to me can’t depend on me. In fact, it is now me depending on them. How fucked up is that?
A knock on my window has me opening my eyes and staring through the glass at Ice. He jaw is clenched, telling me he isn’t happy. His shades keep me from reading his eyes to completely figure out what he is thinking.
Rolling the window down, I lay my arm across the open frame and nod at the man before me. “Prez.”
“I know why you’re doing what you’re doing, and I don’t like it.” He pauses, and I know, without a doubt, he is studying me, waiting to see if I will react. When I don’t, he continues, “But I understand. We cleared out the women but left the food and drinks. If you need anything, I expect you to call, understood?”