Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 30715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
"What the fuck was that?" Jonas asks.
"Fuck." I manage to flip onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. I hate exercising. Put a hockey stick in my hands and skates on my feet, and I'm golden. But the rest of this shit? If it didn't level me out and keep me in playing shape, I wouldn't bother. It's a pain in the ass. Literally at this point. My ass hurts.
"Kellan, you good?"
"Fuck no. The goddamn treadmill just tried to kill me," I growl, glaring at it balefully. "I shot off the damn thing like a champagne cork. I think I broke my ass."
Jonas doesn't say a word. He doesn't even laugh.
Huh. Something's up if he isn't razzing the hell out of me over this. He loves a good laugh, especially if it's at the expense of one of us. I think all that time on the ranch in Canada turned him into a savage.
"I need your help," he says, completely somber.
"With what?"
"I need an invite to Dionysus."
This time, I don't say anything. Dionysus is a members-only BDSM club catering to Nashville's elite. If you've got money and a kink, it's paradise. I've been a member for the last few months, though I only ever stepped through the doors once out of sheer desperation to forget a certain curvy blonde who has been haunting me for months.
I lasted ten minutes before I walked back out, feeling like a fucking asshole. She isn't even mine, but just being there felt wrong. I never touched anyone inside, but I still felt guilty. I haven't been back since.
I'm not keen on going back. The club prides itself on keeping the identities of its patrons hidden, but when you play a professional sport for a living, your secrets tend to leak whether you want them to or not. Just ask my teammates. Keeping their names out of the press has been an exercise in futility lately.
Which begs one question…why the fuck does Jonas want to go to Dionysus now? I'm not sure I even want to know, but I ask anyway.
"Since when were you interested in BDSM clubs?" I ask, dragging myself to my feet.
"I'm not," he growls. "My goddamn sister is at the club. She left me a note. I need in so I can drag her out before I have to murder some country musician for putting his filthy hands on her."
My soul threatens to leave my body.
Jesus Christ.
I haven't seen Parker since she moved to Nashville a few weeks ago, but she's certainly been on my mind. We met six months ago, and she left a goddamn crater in my chest. I haven't stopped thinking about her since. It's driving me crazy.
She thinks I'm a complete asshole. I can't say I blame her for that. I was an asshole the night we met. But she's my best friend's baby sister, and I was dangerously close to forgetting that fact. I had to shut it down before I did something stupid.
Why the fuck is she at Dionysus? The last thing I want to do is waltz through the doors with Jonas. He is not prepared for the level of debauchery we'll inevitably find inside, especially when said debauchery may very well involve his sister.
Fuck my life. Said debauchery may involve Parker.
If anyone has their hands on her, I may kill someone myself.
"I'm going with or without you," Jonas warns me. "But it'd be a lot easier with you."
"Fuck." I scrub a hand down my face, already knowing I'm not going to tell him no. It's Parker. Of course I'm going. "Fine. But you can't cause a problem inside, Jonas."
He grunts by way of answer.
"I'm serious, man. You'll have a mask on, but you're too recognizable." He's a fucking giant. There aren't many of those with the cash flow and connections to get through the doors at the club. "If you get us kicked out of a sex club and word leaks, Kelsey will lose her fucking mind."
Our publicist, Kelsey Lane, is a terrorist in heels. She's damn good at her job, but she lives for torturing us when we step out of line and make her job even the tiniest bit harder. I think she was a sadist in a former life. Hell, maybe she's a sadist in this life. I don't know. All I know is that she's fully capable of finding the most inventive, painful ways of punishing us.
I still haven't recovered from teaching a group of first-grade girls how to skate. They're tiny and adorable and terrifying. I'm never having kids, especially if they're girls. No, thank you. Return to damn sender.
"If I find her with anyone inside, I'm making no promises," Jonas growls.
I sigh heavily, shaking my head. If we find her with anyone inside, I'll be flipping tables right beside him. I can't have her, but the thought of anyone else touching her pisses me off.