Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
No Bitty, though. Christ, if this turned out to be a wild-goose chase…
Also no Shuli, who was the leader of the pack, or Nate. Then again, they were probably still going at it out in the alley.
There was a cheer as Mharta’s presence registered, and the female went right down into the sunken pit with a round of greeting, hugging and clapping palms, walking that line between it-girl-the-guys-want-to-sleep-with and everyone’s-little-sister. Even Lyric looked glad to see the female, the two embracing and then putting their heads side by side so they could talk over the music into each other’s ears.
Standing on the top step, Nalla fussed with the zipper on her parka. As the males looked over at her, she reminded herself that she had known most of them her whole life, but as none raised a hand in greeting or smiled, she felt that a door had been shut. Then dead-bolted. Then had a piano pushed against the panels.
Her fucking father. She was so sick of him—
Lyric jumped in front of her. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
The female was wearing a floor-length silver dress that swirled around her body, and with her flaxen hair flowing in glossy waves like a shawl, and her heterochromatic blue-and-green eyes, she was like something out of a medieval fairy tale, ethereal and mysterious. As Nalla was hit with a full-contact embrace, her nose was filled with the scent of spring flowers and fresh night rain.
“Come sit down with me.”
As her hand was grabbed, there was no saying no, and a seat was prepared when Rhamp was given the boot by his sister. After which…
Nalla glanced over at the males who were across a low table. They were staring at her like she was on some kind of criminal watch list.
“I’m here to see Bitty.”
She said the words to Lyric. But she was talking at her audience of you’re-not-welcome-here—
The emergency fire door behind the seating area flew open, and two people slipped into the club. The entry was so quick, the steel panel under the red EXIT sign closing so fast, that no alarm went off and no one seemed to notice.
“What the hell happened to you guys,” someone barked.
“The birthday boy’s already fighting,” came another shout-out. “Let’s goooo!”
Yup, Shuli definitely had a gash on his forehead that was leaking, but again, she hadn’t been looking closely at him in front of the club.
No, she’d been too busy checking out who he’d been with—and enough with that. There was no reason to fall back into the staring thing. Like Nate was any different up closer?
“I need a drink,” Shuli muttered as he limped over, sat down next to Rhamp, and put a stray napkin up to his temple. “It’s been a long night even though the bitch just got started.”
Nate did not follow his lead. As always he hung back, and in all his black leather, he nearly faded into nonexistence in the deep-blue lighting. Flaring her nostrils, she breathed in, and somehow, even through the smells of the alcohol, the aroused humans, and Lyric’s perfume, the scent of the male’s own fresh blood registered—
Great. She was looking at him again. But he really was wounded. His palms were scratched raw, and there was something wrong with his shoulder, his left arm sitting lower than his right… except suddenly she wasn’t cataloging his contusions anymore. In the black light, his neck glowed with iridescent tattoos, and not for the first time, she wondered how far down his body they went. She suspected he had two full sleeves, but whenever she’d seen him, he’d always been in long-sleeved shirts, so she’d never seen more than his inked-up wrists.
Is there ink on his pecs? she wondered. Covering his chest muscles, fanning out to his powerful arms?
What about… lower.
Even though she didn’t want to, she imagined him stretched out on a table, the Black Dagger Brother Vishous leaning over his abdominals, the high-pitched whirring of a tattoo gun—
Nalla stiffened as she met his eyes for a second time, and when his dark brows lowered, she stood her ground and refused to look away. He was just like Mharta, living in his own world, expecting everyone to fit into it on his terms. But screw him. She had every right to be at this godforsaken club—
“Bitty should be here soon.”
Nalla forced herself to focus on Lyric. “Yes. Please.”
What the hell was she saying.
A drink was offered to her by a human waitress in a white towel and a pair of high heels, and she took it because it gave her something to do with her hands. A sniff told her there was vodka involved and some kind of fruit. She took a test sip and grimaced.
When she glanced back to the fire exit, Nate was looking out over the crowd, his eyes narrowed as if he were searching for something, but his expression disinterested like he didn’t expect to find it. Which was a contradiction. Then again, that was him. A quiet male whose every move screamed aggression. A loner who fought for the species, even though he didn’t seem connected to anybody or anything. A deadly warrior who trained like he still had things to learn.