Mature Content 17+ || Savage Wolves MC Book Two
In the wake of tragedy, Callie never fails at staying positive. But, after having her brother and the rest of the club nearly taken from her, she's a little more cautious, albeit still upbeat.
So caut...
*Keep in mind that Gray is supposed to search the web for photos of himself to remove every week. Thoughts about how this book is going so far? Secrets are about to be revealed very soon! P.S. I cringe when I write the word 'mate' every time. But my Irish friend assures me I'm using it correctly 😂.*
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•Gray•
Fuck!
I open my eyes to the sight of sunlight pouring into my bedroom in the clubhouse.
My head is pounding and my face is aching.
Wrinkling my nose, I feel the pain shoot straight through my forehead causing me to holler in agony.
The sun shining in hurts and I carefully remove myself from bed and shuffle to the window to close the curtains before collapsing back onto my side.
Opening my swollen eyes to check the time on my nightstand, I see a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water waiting for me.
Grabbing the bottle, I read off the label and see that it's Vicodin. Thank you, Good Samaritan.
Dumping out a couple, I quickly swallow them down, letting out a sigh and closing my eyes again.
Just as I'm about to fall back asleep, the events of the night before come rushing back to my fragile memory.
I grunt when I sit up and lean my back against the wall behind my bed.
Sweat coats my bare chest and I can still feel a bit of dried blood on my cheeks.
Apparently, someone must have tried to help me last night before putting me to bed.
I see my phone sitting on top of my clothes at the end of my bed and lean over to grab it, ignoring the needle-like stabbing sensation over my face from any small movement.
Turning it on, I almost expect to see a text from Callie. Her usual 'good morning' with an appropriate emoji following.
But, today, there's nothing.
No sweet greeting. No cutesy emoji. Nothing.
So, it's true.
As if the blistering feeling over my face wasn't enough proof that last night wasn't just a horrible nightmare.
The door to the bedroom opens to reveal Sean walking in, a towel wrapped around his lower half, his top half still damp from his shower.
"Wow, you look fucking awful, mate." He calls, running a smaller towel through his hair before tossing it over the back of his desk chair.
I snort, immediately clutching my nose when white-hot fire burns through my nerve endings.
"Ugh, don't remind me," I say, muffled, from my hands holding the sides of my bruised nose together.
