Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“Then he turned on Leo. I never understood his hatred toward him until I got older.” He looks at me, lines marring his forehead and crinkling around his squinted eyes. “It was because he was different. He struck him, and Leo dropped, out cold. I thought he was dead.”
I reach out to steady the lighter lid clicking open and closed. Curling my fingers around his hand, I squeeze. His eyes drop to our contact, his breathing heavy. Slowing the truck, he pulls into Kirby’s. The bar lights dance over the hood in flashing blue.
“What happened next?” I ask, my tone soft.
Inhaling, he squeezes my hand back. “I took the knife we were using for carving, walked over the top of the table, and plunged it into his chest. One stab. The blade went in on an angle, straight through his ribcage into his heart.”
“You were protecting your family.” My head bobs up and down, conviction lacing my tone.
“My mother didn’t see it that way.”
“Fuck her. Why did the police press charges, how could a judge convict? You were protecting yourself and defending your mom and brother.”
“I was thirteen. I only got a couple years in juvie. I’d do a hundred years if it meant not watching my brother get beat on. Leo’s older than me. He always took the brunt of my dad’s wrath after Mom.”
“Did your mom ever try to leave?”
“Fuck no. She loved the son of a bitch and always made excuses for him.”
“Where is she now?”
“Lost her shit. She’s in and out of hospitals and rehabs.”
“You said you served prison time?”
“Caught that?” He smirks. “I did three years for carrying a firearm without a licence.”
“Harsh.” I fidget, thinking of the gun in the glove box of my car. No license for me either.
“Now that I’ve spilled my dirt, you want to spill yours?”
Giggles and raised voices carry from the bar as a group spills out into the parking lot.
“Maybe we should get a drink first?” I attempt to free my hand, but he doesn’t release me. His piercing blue eyes bore into mine for a few tense beats, and my insides flutter.
“Thanks for listening and not judging me.”
“I’d never judge you. You did what you had to do.” My voice lowers, emotion squeezing my throat. “So did I.”
“I won’t judge you either.” He nods, and I believe him.
Kindred spirit.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Zane/Chaos
Words just flowed from my lips like a broken faucet. My dad’s death left a curse on my name. My own mother damned me. She rushed to my dad’s aid, leaving one of her sons unconscious and the other vibrating with the reality of a life-changing action. When the police asked me why I did it, I said, “Because I hate him.”
That hate has never gone away. It festers inside me, fermenting with each passing year. It’s a rotting dark stain on my life.
Not her, though. Even with the darkness tormenting her soul, light shines from Lily.
I want to keep her.
I step out of the truck, my boots grinding against the gravel, and roll my shoulders. Heavy music thrums toward us, getting louder the closer we get to the door. Lily grabs my arm to stop me from going further.
Retching sounds draw our attention to one of the women who just left the bar. She’s leaning against the wall, heaving, her friends stumbling and giggling beside her.
“Maybe we get a bottle to go and park somewhere quieter?”
I couldn’t agree more. “You go back to the truck. I’ll grab us a bottle.” I keep my eyes on her until she’s back in the truck with the door closed before I head inside.
Trent, the bar owner, spots me immediately and stiffens. A rustle of apprehension tensing his shoulders. It doesn’t matter how many times I come drinking here the asshole watches me like I’m going to start fucking shit up.
“All good, Trent?” I ask to be a dick manoeuvring through the crowd to the bar. He offers me pinched features and a grunt. Turning my attention to Willy, one of the bartenders, I ask, “Can I get a bottle of Jack?”
Bodies shove against my back, trying to order drinks by shouting over my shoulder. There’s no way Lily and I would have been able to talk over this noise. “Kiss the bride to be?” Some woman croons in my ear, white lace material hanging from her head, a sash across her chest.
“No thanks.”
Trent moves from the end of the bar, ushering the people bumping into me farther down. I grin at him, and he nods to Willy, who plonks the bottle on the bar with a glass. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
“Thanks. I won’t be needing this. I’m not staying.” I push the glass back toward him, and Trent sags in relief. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what his problem is but fuck it and fuck him. Lily is waiting.