Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“This is my house, Tillie, and the knuckles are nothing compared to Spyder’s face.”
“What did you do?” I swallow my thick bite whole. Incoming heartburn in 3-1—no. 3-2-1.
He glares at me. “How the fuck do you do it, Tillie? How the fuck is it you that conjures all so—” He stops, shakes his head and bites his lip. Drunk or not, that lip bite was sexy.
I ignore him, and the sexy lip bite, taking a seat on the cool step. “I’m tired, so if you’ve come for round—whatever we’re up to—can it wait until tomorrow?” I keep chewing my pizza, throwing my shoes onto the ground.
He doesn’t say anything, so I look up at him again. He’s still watching me, his head tilted back against the door, his face blank. I hate that I get this part of Nate and everyone else—Madison and Tate included—get the fun side. “Why’d you run?”
I suck the sauce off my finger and his eyes narrow on it. I stop instantly. “I told you, Nate, I didn’t have a choice.”
“But you did. You knew I would have—” He stops himself, running his hand through his hair until it’s ruffled and standing all over the place. “Fuck, you know what?” He stands up, throwing his shirt on the ground and putting his phone in his pocket. “It doesn’t fucking matter. Do what the fuck you want, Tillie. You’re going to anyway.” He goes to walk past me and I’m so fucking confused that my hand flies out to his arm.
He stills as goosebumps travel over my flesh from the connection, his head leaning to look down at my hand. I ignore the pang of electricity that zips through from him to me, I’m used to it now. This is a Nate thing. He probably has it with other people too.
He laughs, but it’s not a friendly laugh. It’s a sarcastic chuckle that tears at my chest with its sharp claws. He turns full-on to face me and suddenly, I shrink in my spot at his mere size and proximity. He steps forward, and I step back, pizza in hand. “You come back into my life with my daughter, and then run with her, and then come back without her because of your crazy sister, so I get her back, and now, now, you have the audacity to fucking touch me like you own me?” he yells, and something snaps inside of me.
My back hits the stair rail and now I’m trapped. I narrow my eyes. Fight or flight, and I will always fight. “I didn’t have a fucking choice, Nate! Have you forgotten who my mother is? Have you forgotten everything that happens in this world?” My hands are flinging everywhere, and I drop my pizza in the process. That only irks me even more.
His hand comes to my face, his shoulders slightly pulling back and his legs separating. I notice the stance, I see the shift of his eyes. He’s mad. He brings his mouth down to mine, but not enough for our lips to touch, just enough to be able to feel his breath tickle over my flesh.
“You don’t get to come back into my life and fuck with my head again, baby.” He squeezes harder, so much so that my lips pop. I clench my jaw tight, my eyes searching his in defiance.
“You left. You don’t get to run circles around and around in my head. I’ll trip you the fuck over and watch you fall on your face.”
“Why do you hate me!” I yell, ignoring the pang in my chest from his verbal stab. My throat clogs with unshed emotion and I have to physically stop myself from crying. God this night has been the worst girl’s night in the history of girl’s nights.
He narrows his eyes, something flashes over them momentarily, and just when I think maybe I had struck a nerve, it’s gone and a snarl curls in the corner of his mouth.
“Because you’re a fucking trailer park slut. You don’t belong in this world.” Then he pushes me forward. “Leave, Tillie. You aren’t welcome here and you don’t fit into this world. Leave my fucking daughter here, though, and if you come for her, I’ll take you to court, and who do you think has the most money to splurge on a lawyer? Oh, that’s right—me, and even if I didn’t, who has most of this damn city in their pocket, oh, that’s right—us,” he hisses, his eyes piercing mine. He gives me one more up and down stare before he turns his back on me and makes his way across to the main house.
I drop to my knees and exhale the pent-up breath I’ve been holding. Strength is a muscle. You exercise it enough, you become a big motherfucker.