Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Willow Storm wiped down the bar. The last of the customers had already gone home, but she didn’t want to walk upstairs to the lonely apartment she lived in above the bar. All her life, she had tried to get away from the bar, and at eighteen she had succeeded. Her father had been a giant asshole, and a drunk. All he had cared about was this bar.
Six months ago, she got the call from his lawyer. Her father had passed away, and the bar was hers. She expected it to be a giant mess and completely gone to wreck and ruin. Instead, her father had taken care of the bar and the apartment upstairs.
Her father had left her a note, a long one, apologizing for the years of neglect and not listening to her. He regretted that they hadn’t made up, or gotten to at least know each other. He offered her a chance to do what she wanted with the place, take it over, and continue to run it, or to sell it.
At first, Willow had every intention of selling it. She didn’t want to have a bar, but stepping inside after nine years away, she’d burst into tears. This was her father’s place. After her mother left, she knew he had put all his energy and love into it.
And so, rather than sell it, she had packed up her old life and come here. For the past six months, she had relearned everything her father had taught her. Even though she had been underage, her father had gotten her to work at the bar, and those lessons had stayed with her.
Now, as she glanced around, with the Christmas lights fading, she couldn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. She never allowed herself to feel self-pity. But for a second, she couldn’t help but wallow in the sadness. She had lost her father, and she knew it was her own stubbornness that kept her away.
He had taken care of her.
Willow jumped as the door burst open, and she turned to see a man dressed in leather step through the door. It was snowing, and with just the door opening for a second, it had sent a flurry of the snow inside.
Her heart started to race.
The man turned and she caught sight of the emblem on his jacket, declaring him a member of something called The Rebel MC.
That was it. There was no other sign to indicate he was carrying a weapon, or if she should be afraid.
Willow couldn’t remember ever being afraid at her father’s bar. It was kind of strange to her, to feel somewhat comforted by this place, when all she had wanted was to leave it for so long.
“Can I help you?” she asked, opting to take control rather than be afraid.
Finally, the man, whoever he was, lifted his head, and Willow had never felt such instant attraction before.
She had boyfriends in the past, two in total, and neither of those relationships had ended well. For the last couple of years, she had preferred to stay alone. She had no idea who this man was, and she had never had this reaction to her boyfriends. The truth was, her previous relationships had just kind of happened without any encouragement on her side. They had gone from friends to boyfriends quite quickly.
“You certainly can. I’d like a shot of whiskey, the good stuff that Storm keeps on hand.”
Storm was what her father had often allowed people to call him. His real name had been William Storm. He wouldn’t allow anyone to call him Bill.
“The good stuff.”
There had been a note stating that “the good stuff” must be reserved for Rebel, and him alone. Willow hadn’t paid much attention to the note, and instead, offered it on the menu for anyone willing to pay. Quite a few of the businessmen asked for the whiskey, and she was more than happy to provide it.
Stepping around the bar, she grabbed the whiskey off the top shelf, glancing in the mirror to keep an eye on him, and then went to the bar and started to pour him a shot. She was rarely generous with the good stuff, but she had a feeling if she was sparse with him, he wouldn’t be happy.
“There you go.”
The guy she assumed was called Rebel didn’t sit, but put one of his hands flat on the counter, picked up the glass, and then knocked it back, giving out a little sigh of appreciation. Everyone else she had seen drink this had taken their time, or even winced at the spice as it burned their throat.
“Another.”
She did as she was asked, pouring him another drink. This time, he didn’t chug it back, but looked at her. Willow hoped she wasn’t blushing. It would be a nightmare if he thought she was embarrassed or had a crush, or was even attracted to him. She knew one of them to be true, but that was beside the point. He shouldn’t know the true answer.