Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“Yeah, sure, that’s all it is.”
“Yeah, yeah, fucker. I got the text from P last night about the change of plans once we hit Florida. That have anything to do with these cute little Dolls?”
“We’ll chat once we get there to fill you all in at once. Don’t wanna repeat myself. You know Cartier is joining, too, right?”
“Yeah.” I squeeze my phone with my hand. “King…”
“I know, bro. I know.”
Sighing, I hang up my phone and squeeze my eyes closed to shut off the memories that always rise to the surface whenever my sister’s name is brought up.
Our home was like any home you would expect when you’re born from a Kiznitch bloodline. Over-the-top, expensive as fuck, and cold as ice. Like a human body with no veins, that’s how I would describe our home.
It was late and we had just finished a show, so the last fucking thing I wanted to do was come home to a party. Mom and Dad were away on business with the Four Families, so I was in charge.
Music spilled out from the cracks of the doors before I even opened them. I slammed one closed behind me so hard the oil painting that was hanging on the wall almost fell from its rusted hinges. Drunk teens and trashy sounds were the last fucking thing I wanted to hear after stunting all day, but, of course, my sister being my sister, she had to push my final button.
I stepped over the empty Solo cups and bodies that were strewn all over the ground, making my way to the side of the house that led out onto the pool area. Finding the speaker system, I yanked the power cord out and instantly the talking cut out. I pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out. All of you!”
I left Cartier and her army of fucking misfits outside to clean up their mess before treading back upstairs. My room was simple. I liked simple because it had no promise. There was never commitment in simplicity. Just an emptiness that never demanded to be felt.
Falling down onto my bed, I kicked off my boots and took my phone out of my back pocket and saw Cartier’s name flashing over the screen.
“Fuck.” I swiped it to answer the FaceTime call, being met with her big smile and smudged mascara. Fucking mess, that’s what she was. “Cartier, I’m going to kill you. I never wanted a sister.”
“You love me. My door is locked, but when you’re finished being angry with me, you can come in and tell me a story.”
She always did this. The thing about the people who know how to ignite your rage are usually the only people who also know how to put it out. My sister was my worst nightmare.
“You and I both know that the hinges on your door are probably still loose from the last time I had to kick your door in because you were so drunk you didn’t answer your fucking phone. This house better be clean before I get up in the morning or I’m fucking all of your friends.”
Her smile instantly turned to a scowl. “Kyr—”
I hung up on her, tossing my phone into the corner of my room.
Cartier was the only person I would both kill and die for. I often wondered why I’d never cared for anyone the way I did her. Why the thought of having an official partner literally made me trigger-happy. The only thing I brought it down to was that it wasn’t the kind of life I’d ever have. I didn’t have enough love inside of me for anyone but her.
I knew everyone was outside welcoming their friend home, but I couldn’t move from the spot on my bed. Wrapped in a towel, hair still damp, my eyes glassed over as memories flashed through my mind. The longer I’m here, the longer I see him, the more vivid they become. I’ve worked hard—so hard at keeping everything tight and tied down, yet the more I think about that area, the more the pain cracks through my chest. I can’t be here with these memories. They’re suffocating me to every extent. It’s not until my bedroom door swings open that I quickly swipe the tears I hadn’t known had fallen down my cheeks.
“You coming down?” Kyrin stands at the threshold, arms folded in front of him.
“Yep!” I plaster a smile and stand from my bed. I make my way to the closet to hide whatever else has decided to come rearing to the surface and expose itself over my face. Flicking on the light, I look through my clothes until I find something to wear. A smile is strong enough to conceal sadness, because it’s easier for people to acknowledge that someone is happy, rather than offer sympathy for another’s desolation. Yet another reason why I have no interest in the human race.