Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
“They hate her.”
“You earned this for her.”
“I didn’t really… I just… told them what I knew.”
“Did you also show your support by being there for Delia in whatever way you’ve been a favorite of hers for however long you’ve been helping out around the clubhouse? Along with what you did last week, saving the lives of Jojo, Pippa, and Marlena. And now you’re mine, so you’re part of the family instead of being on the fringe. It’s nothing to feel bad about. This is what the MC does for their own.”
She stared at me and bit her lip.
“There’ll be days we put cash into a helmet. Days we let them lean on us. Today, you get to lean. You earned that, Gigi. Am I gettin’ in there?” I tapped her temple with my index finger.
“Can we stop talking about this?”
I scoffed. “Yeah, sure. If you’re gonna be good about this.”
“I’ll try.”
“Know you’ve felt like you’d never be part of the inner circle. Even before I told anyone I was makin’ you mine, Delia wanted to help you. Right?”
“Right,” she said softly and smiled.
“So, you’re gonna try to be good about this?”
She nodded.
“Good girl.”
I squeezed her hand.
“Know what’d help?” she asked after a long minute.
“What’s that?”
“Gimme control of the radio all the way back to the cottage.”
I looked over and she was smiling a little. It didn’t seem fake, either.
“Have at it,” I invited. “But keep in mind I have veto power.”
She leaned forward and twisted the dial with her right hand, her left still in my grip.
She stopped.
Some pop top-forty shit. She turned it up.
“Fuck no,” I denied.
She smirked deviously and spun the dial. A twangy country song, sounding like the singer was singing through his nose. It grated on my nerves after two fuckin’ bars.
“Definitely not,” I stated.
She twisted it again slowly going past a few talk radio stations and then slowed at some hip hop. She raised her brows.
“Keep goin’.” I let go of her hand and lit a smoke.
She stopped on a Fleetwood Mac song.
“Yeah? No? Maybe?”
“Meh.”
“What? You don’t like Stevie?” She looked at me like I was insane. “Say it isn’t so.”
“Need to be in a certain mood for Fleetwood. I’m not in that mood right now.”
She scoffed and turned the dial, then halted on Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones.
“Yeah,” I drawled.
She spun the dial.
“Oy! Put that back!” I snapped. “You do not disrespect the Stones like that.”
She laughed. Little brat.
“Anglin’ for a spanking, baby?” I threatened.
She smiled wide and wiggled her eyebrows.
“Oh, you’ll get one, don’t you worry. You’ve seen the tatt; you’re in my truck so you oughta know better.”
She laughed some more.
“Not to mention the fact you’ve had your hot little tongue on that tatt a few times, so you should absolutely remember,” I added.
“I’m teasin’. Of course I remember. I spent the last week or so memorizing every tattoo on your body.”
I had the Rolling Stones hot lips logo on my torso. It was small, part of the mural of art covering much of my body, but you couldn’t miss it and I knew she hadn’t.
“Memorizing?”
She smiled, shrugging.
“What’s behind my left ear?” I asked, since she was sitting on my right.
“Treble clef.”
“Biggest tatt on my left forearm?” I dropped my arm so she couldn’t see.
“Slash in his top hat.”
“Right shoulder cap?”
She pondered that a second and then surprised me with, “SRV with a sideways treble clef. What does SRV mean? Or is that too personal?”
“Stevie Ray Vaughn. You’re mine so you’re welcome to get personal.”
“Know what else helps beyond giving me control of the radio?” she asked, looking serious. She waited a beat, then said, “The way you keep saying ‘mine’ about me. Goosebumps and butterflies in my belly.”
I grabbed her thigh and squeezed.
“I…” She swallowed and put her hand on mine. “I’m still havin’ trouble believing it. Kind of pathetic, right?”
I shook my head. “No, you’ve been bitten. You’ve been alone a while. My job is to make sure the novelty of that don’t wear off.”
“What’s my job?” she asked, looking nervous. “You’re protecting me. You’re being here for me and giving me butterflies. I wanna be all you want, Jesse. How do I do that?”
“We’ll figure that out as we go.” I shrugged. “Right now, all I need from you is for you to let me keep you safe while we get to know one another better. And obviously, you doin’ nothing that puts yourself, me, or anyone else in the club in danger. That work for you?”
“Absolutely,” she said, squeezing my hand.
“Stockin’ up on Fruit Roll Ups will be a good thing, too.”
She giggled.
“What’s your favorite Stones song?” she asked.
“This one.”
Gimme Shelter was still playing.
“This one? There’s a lot to choose from.”
“Yup. This one. Live versions like this especially. Mary Clayton is the shit. Wouldn’t be what it is without her. What’s yours?”