Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 144840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Maybe I don’t want to learn about you.”
“A good boss would want to know a little something about the new hire hanging around.”
“Might hate what I find.”
“Then you hate what you find.” I laugh lightly. “Who cares? At least you’d know for sure.”
His gaze narrows as if he was expecting a different response.
He’s quiet for several seconds. When he decides to ask his question, it’s in a flat tone. “Why you care if I know you or not?”
I lift a shoulder, suddenly a little uneasy under his cavernous glare.
“I mean... would it hurt?”
His tongue slips out to wet his lips and he pulls his bottom one in a bit.
He shifts until his body is fully facing away from mine, downs his drink and pushes to stand.
He walks away, but not before I catch a low mumbled whisper, “It might.”
Royce
The warehouses can be a badass place to be, the perfect place to chill and escape the assholes trying to squeeze in where they haven’t earned, especially since the remodel.
That, or it’s the complete opposite.
It can be a fucking nightmare, a pit of Bray wannabes and club chasers—depending on who you go with, who you let in, and where you hang out.
Andre does good work, decides who comes inside and who doesn’t, and for the most part, it’s only those who work for us and a few extras here and there.
Tonight, inside we’ve got a solid mix of people, half Brayshaw payroll and the other half Brayshaw High students, outside though, it’s a fuckin’ pit of random.
People who lay low in town but don’t disrespect it, people who run things, people running from things. Fuck-ups and future fuckin’ state senators.
Here, no one is more than the other.
Here, they’re equals or they’re out.
Raven steps beside me.
“So Bass Bishop’s little sister.” She tests the words on her tongue, her eyes moving to Brielle across the room.
She sits at the poker table, cards in one hand, beer in the other.
I nod. “Bass Bishop’s little sister.”
Raven does her best to read her. “She’s been looking around all night.”
“I know.” I turn my head toward Brielle with a nod. “Not sure why yet.”
We meet each other’s gazes only to look right back.
Brielle sets her beer on the tabletop, turning to laugh at something the star of the fucking night says from the seat to her left.
She responds, and Enoch leans over to whisper something near her ear.
Dumb fucker.
My eyes lift then, meeting Micah’s a space behind her, and he takes the cue, moving right in.
No hesitation. Good.
He leans forward, reaching from one side of the table to the next to say what’s up to someone, drawing attention to his right hand, making everyone laugh like the smooth son of a bitch he is, all while his left quickly skates across the longneck of a bottle—she had to go and trade out her cup.
Micah’s swift, slick, and backing away in seconds.
Raven knows this kind of shit too well and recognizes the play instantly, stepping closer.
I finish off my drink, my eyes sharp and on Brielle.
She faces forward again, smiling at the punk beside her, her hand blindly reaching for the beer she left out of reach and out of sight for no more than ten, fifteen seconds tops.
She wraps a hand around the bottle, and fuck me, my blood pumps heavy in expectation I have no business waiting for.
My eyes are glued to Brielle’s fingers as they tighten around the glass, my awareness heightening, pricking at my skin as she lifts it to her mouth.
For a split second, the cooled glass sits against her lips, but then Brielle’s eyes fall to the bottle, and she doesn’t hesitate to set it on the floor near her feet.
Raven looks to me as a low chuckle leaves me, and I meet her eyes.
I push to stand, lifting a beer from the ice bucket I had set behind the bar.
“Royce, what are you gonna do with her?” Raven’s questions got nothing to do with right now, and everything to do with the fact that Brielle is here at all.
So, I tell her.
“I’m gonna do the farthest thing from what big brother wanted,” I tell her. “I’m gonna throw her in the deep end.” I pop the top with my teeth, sliding the ridged cap along my palm, before tossing it to her.
She catches it with ease, gauging me. “Throw her in the deep end... and watch her sink.”
“Nah, RaeRae.” I spin, walking backward so I can keep our gazes locked, a small smirk pulling at my lips. “Imma teach her how to swim.”
I turn around, making my way to Brielle.
The girl knows I’m coming, but she doesn’t look up until my left hand is planted on the table beside her elbow, my body leaning over hers.
She grins when I set a fresh bottle of beer directly in front of her, but that grin turns into a small frown when I lift her retired beer bottle from the ground and bring it to my lips.