Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
I frowned, shaking my head because that was a nasty, nasty thing to say. Just hearing it sent a thrill through me, though, because apparently I’m a terrible person. Still, this was all too much, so I pushed against his chest, trying to get some space. In an instant, he caught both my wrists and raised them over my head. Then he was holding them with one hand while the other slid into my hair again, this time holding it just tight enough to hurt, twisting my head up toward his. He leaned forward, lips hovering over mine, and spoke.
“I’ve been watching you twitch that ass of yours for too long,” he whispered, licking his lips. “You sit on that pretty little porch of yours with your friends. You pretend you aren’t scoping me out, but you are. You’ve wanted it bad for a long time, and now you’re gonna get it.”
Then his mouth took mine, tongue shoving inside. You belong to me now, he’d said. Remember this moment.
Holy. Crap.
What’d I gotten myself into?
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a prequel short story about Melanie and Painter’s first meeting. It takes place one year before the beginning of Reaper’s Fall (when Painter is released from prison), against the background of action from Reaper’s Stand. I thought you might enjoy reading it.
SUGAR AND SPICE
MELANIE
I fell for Levi “Painter” Brooks the first time I saw him, although in all fairness I did have a head injury at the time.
It was a weird start to a relationship, too.
You see, I blew up a house.
It wasn’t on purpose, and in my defense I’d had a really shitty day. My mom had taken off earlier in the week. Just up and left while I was at work on Monday, and she never came back. Neither me or my dad heard a thing from her, and while she’d always been sort of flaky, she’d never done anything like this before. By Wednesday night, I broke down and asked him if we should report her missing to the police.
He’d thrown his beer bottle at me, shouting about how “the whore” must’ve gotten herself a new man. She’d left me because I was nothing, just like she was nothing.
Then he’d told me to go buy him more beer.
I decided to call Loni instead.
Not long afterward, I blew up her house.
• • •
London Armstrong was my best friend’s aunt. Jessica and I had been tight for years, and as my own mother drifted further and further from reality, they’d become my second family. She’d told me to head on over to her place and let myself in, that she’d see me later that night. I went over there and made myself some macaroni and cheese on her gas stove.
A couple hours later the house exploded.
Gas leak.
Nobody said it was my fault, but I knew it had to be. I’d been the last one to use the stove, so there you have it. Anyway, fate has a weird sense of humor, because that’s how I met Painter. The next day, I mean. At the hospital.
He gave me a lift on his motorcycle, and I fell in love.
God I was young. Young and stupid.
• • •
“I sort of thought you meant a car when you said you’d give me a ride home,” I whispered, staring at the tall, beautiful, terrifyingly perfect man standing in front of a shiny black Harley with custom gold trim. He’d been introduced to me as Painter, and apparently he was part of the same motorcycle club as Loni’s new boyfriend, Reese.
“She did have a head injury,” London pointed out, her voice tart. She held my arm protectively, staring between me and Painter with worry written all over her face.
“Sort of thought the car was implied,” said Reese, sighing.
“You didn’t say and it’s not like she’s really hurt or anything,” Painter replied with a shrug. He glanced at me. “You got a headache?”
I did, but he was so pretty and perfect and I didn’t want to jinx this. Blond, spiky hair. Strong, straight cheekbones and muscular arms that I just knew would be strong enough to pick up a girl like me and carry me wherever I needed to go.
“No, I don’t actually,” I said, feeling nervous but excited, too. I shot another look at the bike, imagining what it would feel like to sit behind him, holding him as we flew down the highway. “Although they said no sudden movements.”
“So you’ll hold on tight,” Painter said, eyes playing with mine. He licked his lip and I felt my insides twitch.
Ohmygodhe’ssohotandhe’slookingrightatme!
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Reese said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call someone else.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, hoping Mr. Hot Bod wouldn’t change his mind about giving me a ride. “I’ll try riding the bike.”