Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 131926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Murmurs flow through the room and Carver’s stare somehow darkens even more, and I freaking hope that my comment drops his ass in boiling hot water. “Watch your fucking mouth,” Carver warns, something sinister flashing in his deep, secretive eyes. “You’ve been here two fucking seconds. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Tobias slams his hand down on the massive table, his glare shooting across to Carver as the room falls into silence. “Alright, that’s enough,” he demands. “That’s Andrew Ravenwood’s daughter you’re speaking to. Show some respect. We’re here to get to the bottom of yesterday’s incident, not throw insults across the table like a bunch of children. You are here to advocate for your late father, so do that, and for fuck’s sake, can the both of you do it with an ounce of respect for our dead?”
I raise a brow at Tobias in a proud, surprised shock. I didn’t know the dickhead had it in him. I’m impressed.
Carver leans back in his chair, his glare now not only focused on me, but on Tobias too, and for a brief moment, I sit here wondering where he finds the nerve to act like such a dick in front of his friends’ parents when I remember that these guys weren’t brought up to be like the normal kids at school. They were brought up to be men in power, they were raised to be leaders, to take charge, and do what needs to be done. In fact, I don’t even think they were raised, they were trained.
I take a leaf out of Carver’s book and lean back in my chair, glancing around the big table. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s start over. Where shall we begin?”
A man from the left-hand side of the table raises his chin. “How about the start?” he says with an irritated scoff, clearly trying to be funny and making a mockery of the whole situation.
I eye him for a second, surprised to find him younger than the others; perhaps thirty-five at the most. “Oh, we’ve got a class clown, huh? How exciting.”
His gaze narrows and I don’t bother asking his name. His stare makes it obvious he didn’t appreciate my comment—but fuck him. I didn’t appreciate his either. So instead, I turn to Earnest, knowing he’s bound to give me some guidance while hoping that my dismissal grinds against the clown’s nerves. “The dance?”
Earnest nods, a blank, hard expression on his face. “Yes, start there.”
I let out a breath and face the sixteen men around me while trying to keep a neutral expression as I pass by Carver’s hard stare. “As some of you would have seen last night, I was doing the traditional dance with Hunter King after the initiation when Royston Carver stepped in.”
“Get on with it,” the class clown interrupts, getting glares from all around the room. “Are you going to recap every fucking detail? We’re not blind, everyone here is aware that you were dancing with Royston. Get on with it.”
A grin pulls at the corner of my lips, and I stand, my eyes unintentionally flicking toward Carver before focusing heavily on the dickhead across the table. I slowly walk around, the tension building with every step I take. He watches me carefully, realizing before I’ve even got to him just how badly he’s fucked up. I may be the one on trial here, but I’m still his fucking leader.
I walk right up to the back of his chair and lean around him. “What’s your name?” I question, fixing him with a deadly stare.
He swallows before narrowing his gaze, assuming I’m just some punk kid who he can toss around and make a fool of. “Matthew Montgomery.”
“Well, Matthew,” I say with a sickly-sweet smile. “Do I need to muzzle you or will you shut the fuck up so I can tell you assholes what the hell went down last night? It’s quite a simple task, but if you can’t manage, let me know now so I can pull your balls out through your throat.”
Matthew’s jaw clenches, but I keep the smile plastered across my face, knowing damn well that when it comes time to vote, this bastard won’t be on my side. He leans back in his seat and I watch the humiliation wash over his face. Then just to add salt to the injury, I wink and blow him a kiss before slowly walking back to my seat, knowing damn well that he won’t be an issue for the rest of the trial.
“Okay,” I announce to the table as I take my seat. “Does anybody else have any issues with my storytelling abilities or am I free to continue with my rundown of the night?”
“Just get on with it,” Preston Scardoni says. “I have things to do today.”
As much as I hate the guy, I ignore the sharp tone in his voice and pick up where I left off. “Royston Carver interrupted my dance with Hunter King, and the first thing he told me was to plaster a smile over my face to express a united front for the people watching. Naturally, I wasn’t fond of his demands and tried to leave but he held me tight enough to leave bruises on my arms, refusing to let me walk away.”