Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“Hey,” he snaps, ignoring the question that just flew out of his mouth. “That better not have been a stab at my driving. I’m a fucking badass bitch behind the wheel. Keep your shitty groans to yourself.”
“It’s not your shitty driving I’m groaning about, dumbass,” I say, adjusting myself in the seat. “I had a little … accident yesterday.”
His brows furrow as he slows his car to a comfortable speed so that he can stare at me without being the cause of another little accident. “What kind of accident are you talking about?” he asks, scanning his eyes over my body and stopping at the big white bandage peeking through my hair. “What the fuck is that? What happened?”
Milo reaches to grab my bandage and I slap his hand away before he can do any damage. “Don’t touch it. It’s a bandage, you moron. Who just grabs at bandages?” I grunt before getting on with my explanation. “I had a run-in with some dickhead gang members after school yesterday and—”
“What?” he squeaks, his eyes bugging out of his head as he cuts me off before I can get any further with my recap. “Your boys did this to you?”
A strangled grunt comes tearing out of my mouth and I gape at him in horror. “The hell? No. My boys would never do this. It was the Wolves.”
“The who?”
I stare at him blankly. “Where the hell have you been? What do you mean ‘the who?’”
“I mean what I mean, now stop pussyfooting around the topic and tell me what in the sweet hell happened to you yesterday.”
I groan and settle into my seat, having to adjust myself again. “I cut through the back of the mall on my way home and was cornered by the leader of the West Side Wolves, Mikhail Russo with four of his douchebag henchmen. They’re the gang my father belonged to and they wanted to make a point that I belong to them.”
“They what?” he breathes, unable to believe what he’s hearing.
I press my lips into a tight line and finish my explanation. “They branded me with their mark using a ring and a blow torch. I have a third-degree burn at the back of my neck that will eventually heal in the shape of a wolf. They fucking held me down and claimed me like a prize then promised they’d be watching me.”
Milo pulls off to the side of the road and brings his car to a stop before looking at me with wide, teary eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says with his heart on his sleeve, looking guilty as shit. “I was supposed to drop you home but I bailed for a fucking dick appointment. I left you vulnerable and you got hurt. I should have been there. I should have stuck to my word and driven you home like I said I would.”
I reach out and take his hand from his lap. “It’s not your fault, Milo. Russo said he’d been watching me for a while so whether it happened yesterday or a week from now, he would have eventually got to me. There’s nothing neither of us could have done to avoid it. It was inevitable.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know,” I murmur. “I don’t like it either but it is what it is. It’s done now so can we please try and forget about it? It’s bad enough that I’m dreaming about it. I don't want to be talking about it too.”
“Of course,” he says, checking his side mirror and pulling back out onto the road. “You’re really having a shitty time since moving here.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble. “But if I was back home, I can guarantee that they would have gotten to me sooner.”
“I guess,” he says with a hint of cluelessness seeping out of his tone as he shrugs a shoulder. “I always figured that your Widows were the worst there is and that no one would be stupid enough to make a move against them.”
“To me, they’re at the top of the game, but to the Wolves, Nic is just a kid. Now that his dad is gone and changes are being made, they’re taking the opportunity to remind Nic just how fucking bad they can be.”
“Shit, Ocean. It's like it’s some kind of gang war.”
My voice drops to a low grunt. “Gang war is exactly what it is.”
“Well … shit. I don’t know what to tell you, but you know you can always come to me if you feel like they’re watching you. I can hide you at my place and no one would ever know. I’ve got a pretty big closet that’s good for hiding in.”
“No shit,” I laugh. “Your closet would be pretty squishy with you already in it.”
“Shut up,” he laughs. “It’s not like I’m completely in it. I have one foot out.”