Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
And it’s working.
My blood begins to boil. I don’t know what all Demi heard me say to Becky those two nights in her room, but I’m not about to let this bitch think she can play me. Pretending to be Becky was fucked up, but to threaten me is the dumbest thing she could do.
I lean down, and whisper, “You think you’re being cute, Demi, but believe me when I say I have no fucking limits when it comes to protecting myself.” I pull back, and the smile has dropped off her face. “Don’t fuck with me because you won’t survive it.” What the guys and I did to Kellan was not a fucking game! And it no longer involves just me and what’s left of the GWS. Austin was a part of that as well, and I’m not taking that chance. I will protect my sister just as I will protect my brothers. And that’s all she could possibly know.
“Are you threatening me?” she asks, tensing.
“Absolutely!” I growl.
She rips her hands from my hold. “Don’t threaten me, Deke.” Her blue eyes glare up at mine. “I keep telling you that I’m nothing like my fucking sister. I’m not going to fall to my knees to suck your cock while begging you to love me. And I’m sure as hell not afraid of you.”
DEMI
I storm out of his bedroom and down the stairs. I all but run out of the house and make my way over to my black Audi R8. I yank the door open and fall into the driver’s seat. When I start it, “Trouble” by Valerie Broussard blares through my speakers. I look up to see Deke standing at the front door. He has his right hand in the front pocket of his sweatpants and his left clenching the doorframe. His completely rigid body shows off his bulging biceps and six-pack. He’s too perfect for my sister.
I smile at him. This fucker thinks he can scare me, but he’s wrong. I look away, throw the car in gear, and take off, squealing my tires.
I adjust myself in my seat and tighten my hand on the steering wheel as his words turn in my head.
Don’t fuck with me because you won’t survive it.
He thinks he’s fucking God and holds that much power. It makes me think that is why my sister hasn’t done anything about it. Maybe he said something to her that I didn’t hear that night. Or since then. I don’t know how often they speak. I know Becky’s only friend in this town is Austin, and Deke lives with her and Cole, so they have to see each other on the regular.
I jump on the highway and head toward my mother’s house as the song changes to “Down” by Seven Day Sleep. I cut into traffic and ignore the guy who blows his horn at me and hit the gas. I’ve got shit to do.
Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling up to my mother’s gate, and it opens. I get out and enter the house. I take the left staircase and barge into Becky’s room. Her walls are a beige color. Her peach comforter and white sheets lie wadded at the end of her bed, unlike my room that I keep clean at all times. She has clothes thrown on the floor and draped over her computer desk by the windows. I almost trip over a shoe, making my way over to her walk-in closet. I start ripping the boxes open that she brought with her from Collins. She left quite a bit back at our dad’s, so I know whatever she did bring is important to her.
One is full of sweaters. I shove it to the side and pick another one. I rip it open to find a backpack and school shit. “Goddammit.” I hiss and push it aside as well. Then I come to a third box. I rip it open, and there’s a black and white notebook in it. I pick it up and flip through the pages. It’s a journal.
Funny. My sister has never kept one before. That I know of.
I go back to the very front and look at the first page.
He hit me today.
Not the first time. But it hurt like all the others.
He tried to put his hand up my skirt. I pushed him away, and he slapped me across the face. My mother saw the whole thing and all but shoved some weed in my hand and then pushed me out the front door.
I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here. I’m going to go live with my father. I’m not sure how that will be much better, but at least I know he’ll ignore me rather than touch me.
I flip the pages and then stop on a new one that has HELL scribbled across the top. Whose is this? My sister has horrible handwriting. I remember my dad used to make her erase her homework and rewrite it until it was readable. Whoever wrote this has beautiful handwriting. The cursive is easy to read. My sister’s looks like chicken scratch.