Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
There are some angry eyes zoned in on me right now.
Riggs rounds the corner, looks at the knife and cord in my hand, and his brows go up. “You’ve got some balls walkin’ into a biker club and doin’ somethin’ like that.”
“What are you going to do, murder me?” I scoff.
“Wouldn’t put it past some of them,” he says seriously.
I glance at the mass of angry bikers staring at me. With a small sheepish smile, I drop the knife and the cord and rush through the crowd and outside. That probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.
A hand grabs my wrist and I’m being spun around to face Riggs, who has a very stern expression on his face. “You goin’ to replace my stereo system?”
“I will not, no,” I puff, jerking my hand from his.
“You sure you want to play this game?”
“What game is that?” I challenge. “The one where I ask for a little bit of god damned sleep?”
“The one where you declare war with a biker club.”
“God, you’re so dramatic. I’ll get you a new cord if you promise to keep it down.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not? Can’t you respect other peoples need to sleep? Just because you’re in there playing some sort of weird sex game doesn’t mean everyone else has to hear about it.”
He leans in close. “This is my house, my garage, I’ll do what I want.”
“I was here first,” I whisper hiss. “This is my space, and I’m not letting a bunch of bikers ruin my business.”
“Then I guess we’re back to square one,” he grins at me.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I don’t do what some prissy young girl tells me to do, so you’re goin’ to have to deal with it.”
“I will not,” I snap. “I will make you wish you never bought this lot.”
His grin gets bigger. “Bring it on.”
I throw up my hands with a frustrated grunt.
I spin and storm off, yet again.
“I’ll be waiting for my replacement cord,” Riggs shouts after me.
I flip him the bird and disappear.
It’s on.
So on.
3
“WAKE UP, LITTLE SUSIE, wake up!”
The sudden shrieking of voices and then the heavy bouncing at the end of my bed has my eyes popping open. Frantically, I scramble to figure out what’s happening, only to see two of my god damned pain in the ass brothers on the end of my bed, bouncing, singing in the most horrid pitch I’ve ever heard, and laughing like they’re five.
“You’re grown men,” I squeak, trying to stop my body from flinging around as their bouncing gets more frantic. “Stop!”
They don’t stop.
I groan and pull the covers over my head, only to have them bounced off once more. Frustrated, I try to kick my twin, Dom, and completely miss. I aim for my older brother, Stefano, next. I manage to hit him right in the shin and he bellows, falling backward off the bed. Dom throws his head back with wild laughter and slams his body down next to mine.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” I yell, shoving my brother in the chest.
“We’re doing your favorite wake up song!”
“When I was three!” I yell. “Three!”
“You’re never too old.”
“I didn’t get to sleep until four, and you pains in the asses are waking me up at five. I hope you have good reason.”
“Oh, no, we do. Someone spray painted your front door.”
I jerk upright, eyes wide. “What did you say?”
“Someone spray painted the front door of the café.”
I shake my head, unable to believe what they’re saying. Surely, they’re wrong. I leap out of bed, pull on the robe that Stefano landed on and has now rolled off of, and then charge out of my apartment and around the corner to my café where my mother and father are both scrubbing my door. Why the hell they’re doing this at five in the morning is beyond me but there they are.
“What!” I cry, putting my hands in my hair and reading the words painted onto my front door.
“Prissy bitch.”
Those fucking bikers.
This is their doing.
Without a doubt.
I can’t believe this is happening, I have to open in an hour.
“I can’t believe this!” I cry, throwing myself dramatically onto the bench outside my door. “This is a nightmare.”
“It’s coming off,” Mom tells me, scrubbing. “Why don’t you put some gloves on and help us? Many hands make light work.”
“I can’t deal with your life lessons right now, Mother, I’m in distress.”
I press my hands over my eyes.
“Luckily we were walking past this morning, or you’d be in some trouble when you opened up,” Dad says, scrubbing frantically over the word “Prissy.”
“Why were you both walking at five AM?”
“We enjoy a morning stroll,” Mom tells me. “We called your brothers to go and get you so we could make a start on cleaning this mess up. If we hurry, it’ll be gone by the time you open.”