Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he replied sarcastically. “I’m a little tired.”
It was a low blow. My hands curled into fists, and I briefly wondered if I would be able to escape after I punched him.
He jerked to a stop and unzipped the door of a tent. “Get in.”
“This isn’t my tent.”
“Know that,” he replied, gesturing for me to move. “It’s mine.”
“I’m not sleeping in your tent.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I’m not gonna spend half the night searchin’ for yours,” he countered.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Get in the tent, Myla.”
“I don’t know any other way to say this, but fuck all the way off, Cian.”
He didn’t even bother to reply before wrestling me into the tent and onto the sleeping bag.
“What the hell are you doing?” I screeched quietly; way too aware of the sounds of people in the tents around us. Some of them were not sleeping.
“I’m fuckin’ beat,” he replied, letting go of me to zip the tent closed again. “I’m goin’ to bed.”
I gaped at him.
“Sleep it off,” he ordered, lying down on the ground with his head propped against his duffel bag.
“I might murder you,” I muttered conversationally. “I mean, I’m sure my brothers know where to hide a body.”
Cian huffed and closed his eyes.
“I’m not staying in here,” I announced, reaching for the door.
“Not gonna be happy if you touch that zipper,” he said, his eyes still closed.
“Like I give a shit,” I snapped.
My hand got within an inch of the zipper when I was gently tossed back onto the sleeping bag.
“Quit it,” I hissed, smacking at his head and shoulders.
“Jesus Christ,” he ground out, pinning my hands. “I’m fuckin’ tired, Myla. Go to sleep.”
“No.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because you’re a dick!”
“And?”
“And I’m pissed at you!”
“Congratulations. I’m pissed at you, too. That it?”
“I don’t know why I ever wanted to be with you,” I ground out, so angry I wanted to scream. “You’re an asshole.”
“Right,” he said with a sigh, like he was done with my shit. “You done?”
I could feel tears stinging the backs of my eyes, but I refused to cry. I’d never been so frustrated in my life. At any other moment, I would’ve been ecstatic that I was laying in Cian’s arms, his face barely visible in the dark, but the fear that I hadn’t felt when that random guy wouldn’t take no for an answer was finally hitting me hard. Cian was being a dick, and I needed some privacy to get my shit together.
And there was no privacy in that goddamn tent.
“Just let me go find my bed,” I whispered, letting my body relax against his hold. “There has to be at least twenty boys from the club around us right now. I’m totally safe.”
“You got no clue where your tent is,” he replied, his voice as low as mine. He rolled to his side and gently brushed my hair away from my face. “Is it really that bad to sleep in here?”
“I’d rather sleep in my own sleeping bag.”
“Mine’s clean.”
“So is mine,” I argued. I shook my head. Not the point. “I’d just rather sleep there.”
“I’m beat, love,” he murmured. “Wasn’t kiddin’ about that. You really want me out there searchin’ for your tent for the next hour?”
“You don’t have to help me find it,” I replied immediately.
“You’re not leavin’ this tent without me.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because you’re drunk.”
“And?”
“Myla, I’ve been with you when you’re drunk. You’d plan on lookin’ for your tent, then you’d see someone smokin’ and you’d go over to say hello, and when you were done with that, you’d forget where you were headed in the first place. So, you’d head back into the clubhouse, and an hour later, you’d be back out here, searching for your tent again.”
I just looked at him, annoyed that he wasn’t wrong.
“And the entire time, I’d be in here, not sleepin’ because I’m worried about you.”
“Fine,” I conceded, looking away from him. “I’ll sleep in here.”
“Thank the good Lord,” he muttered under his breath, the words laced with an accent that I rarely heard. He reached for his bag and dragged it under his head again.
“I can’t believe you brought a pillow,” I grumbled, smooshing it under my head with a huff. “Even I didn’t bring a pillow.”
“Guessin’ you brought makeup and hair shit, though,” he replied, amused.
Ignoring him, I kicked off my shoes and shuffled into the sleeping bag, pulling the heavy fabric all the way up to my chin. The inside flannel was fuzzy and soft like it had been used and washed a thousand times before. I shifted as a rock dug into my hip. The ground wasn’t nearly as flat as the space that Frankie and I had chosen for our tent.
Laying there, I listened as the field around us grew quieter. We could still hear the quiet rumble of different conversations, but whoever had been getting busy had finished, thankfully. I’d been trying to ignore it, refusing to even let my mind wander to recognize the voices.