Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I snuck another quick look out of the corner of my eye.
Make that definitely having sex. Disgusting … yet strangely mesmerizing … I had to force myself to look away, hoping to hell I wasn’t blushing like a little girl.
You’re thirty-eight and you know where babies come from, I reminded myself firmly. Just because you’re not getting any doesn’t mean they shouldn’t.
People started to notice me—big guys covered in tattoos, wearing leather vests with the Reaper colors on them. Their gazes ranged from curious to outright suspicious. Shit. This was a mistake. So Bolt sent me out there. That didn’t mean it was safe, or a good idea. Bolt wasn’t my friend. Sure, he probably valued me as a worker, but the club valued their strippers, too. Certainly didn’t stop them from firing their asses right and left when their personal drama got out of hand.
Snap out of it.
I took another deep breath and smiled brightly at BB. He’d been watching me expectantly, almost like he thought I’d run away or something. I’m no wimp, though. I might choose not to cuss, but I know what the words mean.
I looked up to see a tall man with shoulder-length, wavy hair and so much scruff on his face he’d entered beard territory. He wore another of those vests. The name on his was “Gage,” and below it was a smaller patch that said “Sgt at Arms.” I’d never seen him at the shop, but that wasn’t saying much—we came in after hours for a reason.
“Says she’s here to see Pic,” BB said. “Bolt sent her.”
“That right?” he asked, eyes speculative. He swept them down my figure and I forced myself to smile at him.
“I’m looking for my cousin’s daughter,” I said. “She came out here for the party with some friends, apparently. Mr. Harrison suggested that Mr. Hayes might be able to help me.”
The man smirked.
“Did he? Imagine that.”
I wasn’t sure how to interpret his words, so I chose to take them at face value, forcing myself to wait for him to continue.
“Back outside, BB,” the man said. “I’ve got her from here. You’re the cleaner, aren’t you?”
I glanced down at my filthy clothing.
“How could you tell?” I asked, my tone dry. He laughed, and I felt some of my tension break.
“I’m Gage,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find Pic.”
“I hate to bother him,” I said quickly. “I mean, if he’s busy right now. I see you’re one of the club officers. Maybe you can help me?”
He raised a brow.
“Bolt sent you to talk to Picnic, right?”
I nodded, wondering if I’d made a mistake. Well played, London. Alienate the one guy who stepped up to help you.
“Then you should talk to Picnic.”
I offered another smile, wondering if he could see how close my face was to cracking from the effort. He turned and I followed him across the room, avoiding catching anyone’s eyes. Some seemed interested in me, but most were too busy drinking, talking, and doing more intimate things to pay attention to one grubby woman. In the center of the back wall was an open hallway leading farther into the building. He passed through it and I followed, growing even more nervous. Walking into the building had been bad enough, but somehow this felt worse. Like I’d hit the point of no return.
Certainly the point of no witnesses.
A door opened up ahead and two girls stumbled out, giggling. Jessica? No, but I recognized one.
“Kimberly Jordan, does your mother know where you are right now?” I asked, my voice cracking like a whip.
Everyone in the hallway froze, including Gage.
Kim stared at me, her eyes wide.
“N-no,” she said. She peered around me, as if wondering if her mother might jump out at her next. Good. Maybe that would make her think.
“You wanna talk to the prez or not?” Gage asked, his voice cool. “Pick your battles, babe. You want this one or your cousin’s kid?”
I swallowed, realizing that the Parental Voice of Authority might not be so welcome here. Oops.
“I’m here for Jessica,” I told him. He smiled at me, his teeth bright and shiny in the dim light.
“Great, so let’s leave them alone, all right? Girls, get out of here.”
They brushed past us quickly, whispering with thrilled and excited eyes.
“Do you always have underage girls out here drinking?” I asked him, unable to just let it go completely.
“We’re not serving anyone underage,” he said flatly. I raised a brow, wordlessly calling him on his bullshit. He grinned. “You wanna look me in the eye and tell me you never had a drink until after you were twenty-one?”
I sighed. Of course I had. Not only that, I’d had lots of them and I hadn’t turned into an alcoholic or gotten pregnant or anything horrible.
Nancy Reagan had been wrong—at least in my case. Amber probably should’ve just said no.