Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Pushing the door open, I hear him before I see him. “Honestly, can you push it harder?”
I slam the door while glaring at him over my Prada sunglasses. “I think I could.”
Nial flicks his under nail with his other finger, his top lip curled in a sneer. “Bitch.”
I bounce toward the counter until I’m close enough to wrap my arms around his neck and plant a fat kiss on his perfect forehead. “Your favorite one, at least?” Nial ignores my no friends rule. He doesn’t even go to school in the city. It’s different.
He unties his apron and places it on top of the display counter where small gourmet tea cakes and freshly dusted croissants lie in perfect order. “Unfortunately.” He pushes through the barrier, grabbing his purse. “Mama! I’m leaving. Be back soon!”
His mama cusses off in explanatory words as I hook my arm in his and pull him out of the shop while graciously removing my coffee out of his hands.
“You know, you really do need new friends. I can’t be the only one continuously doing this shit with you, damn.” Nial is one year older than me and attends a private prep school not far from here. He says he hates it and how fucked up the students are. I tell him they can’t be any worse than Mayhem, but apparently, he says they may be.
“I don’t want new friends.” I take his hand with mine, just as the black city car rolls to a stop on the curb. I open the door and gesture inside. “Well, come on, I need to tell you what my dumb ass signed up for.”
He side-eyes me with his bright blue eyes, sliding into the back seat while reaching for the decanter of whiskey and squeezing off the lid. Would I have the same driver after this afternoon, or would I have a new one? Kyrin rotates between three and they’re all bland so I won’t complain. “What did you do!” His eyes widen, and the whites of them are a complete contrast to his brown skin. “Or who did you do?”
“I—” I rest my head against the back of the chair as the car pulls away. “The latter we will get back to, but the important thing… I’m joining Mayhem in three years, but my brother doesn’t know it. I have to do some weird ass training before I can ever join.” I cross my legs. “I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but I haven’t taken the blood oath yet so it’s not like they can kill me over it yet or anything. Oh! And I’m pretty sure this training school or whatever is going to be a lot worse”—I stare at him—“than your prep school.”
He raises a finger, the one with a chunky metal ring on it. “One, I can introduce you to a bunch of annoyingly dominant boys who will make you change your mind on that, but two, first give me details. On the fucking too!”
“Dominant boys, huh? Let us meet.” I tell him about the phone call, skipping my Emily Rose trauma. I miss some bits because naturally, I always find myself protecting Kiznitch and Mayhem. I don’t like people knowing everything I know even if I do trust them. Once we’ve pulled up to the mall, he’s up to speed—only a fabricated version. I love Nial. He and I have been friends for three years, I would say best friends, but there are some things that he can’t know for his own protection.
“Your brother is hot, and I would dick him down from now until next week…” I start to roll my eyes. After me complaining about Kyrin, this is what he gives me. “But I respect you more than I’m thirsty for him.” We move through every shop until I’ve spent my full and my feet ache and we grab a quick lunch before my driver takes him back to the café with a swift I’ll see you tomorrow.
Then I’m alone again. With my thoughts.
The city car pulls up to the apartment building and I sigh, pushing open my door.
“I’ll have your bags brought up, Miss Nero.”
“Thank you.” I pat him on the chest and make my way through the swinging doors that lead into the old Victorian style hotel. The word Vitiosis is carved in cursive over the back wall of the reception, and every now and then I’ve thought of different ways to pronounce it.
Once I reach our penthouse, I remove my Louis Vuitton scarf, placing it on the granite table and flick the lights on in the lounge. I stop when I see someone sitting on the single leather sofa with his foot resting on his knee. He’s wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. He has tattoos sneaking out from beneath his cuffs and—okay, if he was about to kidnap me, I’m not sure that I’d run. If he is here to kidnap me, I’m fucked. There’s no way to get hold of The Brothers, no one knows I’m in trouble, and if he managed to get through security to get here, he’s obviously good at what he does.