Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“No shit.” Monroe glared at a girl nearby.
I flicked my brother on the forehead on my way across the threshold. Wolf and Bellamy sat on the couch, both of them with their hands up the same girl’s skirt while the bass pumping through the speakers rattled the walls.
“Didn’t take them for the crossing swords type,” she whispered in my ear.
That was a mental image I could have gone without. “I’m grabbing a beer.” I pushed through a group of girls crowding the kitchen and went to the fridge, bending over to dig through the shit beer Bellamy had stocked the shelves with.
“You like the view?” Monroe growled. “I’m gonna count to three. One.”
I slammed the fridge and turned around to only Monroe in the kitchen. I cracked open the can. “I like it when you go all Harley Quinn on people.”
“Girls, Zepp. Not people. Looking at you like you're an all you can eat buffet.”
“All you can eat.” I wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her and placing her on the counter. “Want me to go down on you right here? Show them they don’t stand a chance?” I placed the beer down and grabbed her thighs, spreading them just enough.
“So romantic.” She gave me a slight shove. “But no, because Hendrix will probably film it.”
“Oh, the hell no!” Hendrix barreled into the kitchen, a sadistic grin in place as he hopped on his heels and thumbed toward the front of the house. “The Barrington cocksuckers just pulled up. They want a beat down.” He ran through the kitchen and grabbed the nine iron.
“What?” I snatched the back of his shirt when he rushed past.
“They’re shitting on our territory, man, which means we are gonna fuck them up.” He broke free of my hold and darted into the living room.
“Stay in here,” I said to Monroe on my way through the doorway.
Wolf stood at the window, peeking through the mangled plastic blinds. “Shit, dude. They got bats.”
Hot anger tore through me. Those assholes came to my house to start shit. I snagged my Slugger from the coat closet, Wolf and Bellamy in tow.
Hendrix was already on the porch, shirt off, chest puffed out. Guys piled out of the shiny Range Rover parked beside Monroe’s Pinto, bats in hands. Their shoulders were back, chins lifted like they were on their high horse. But what pissed me off more than anything was that Max fucking Harford was sitting in the passenger seat with a shit-eating grin on his face.
The Barrington crew stopped when the guys and I stepped onto the first step. “I suggest you leave,” I said.
The prick at the front of the pack laughed. “Don’t think so. You cost us the championship. Fucked up our quarterback and a few of our wide receivers.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “And shit on my ride.”
“I diarrhea-ed on your hood, man!” Hendrix shouted before cackling.
The guy’s jaw clenched, his gaze shifting to my brother before coming back to me. “We’re gonna dish out some justice, Hunt. I’m gonna beat you in front of your little Dayton minions there.”
“You just gonna stand there and talk all day, or what?” I gripped the bat in my hand, adrenaline firing through me like radioactive material. I wanted to take a swing so damn bad, but I wasn’t making the first move. I knew better than that. “Or you starting to rethink getting your rich-boy ass beat?”
His nostrils flared, before he charged at me, swung, and missed. Then all hell broke loose.
It was only a matter of minutes before most of the Barrington guys were rolling on the ground, groaning and clutching at their limbs, and Max was still in the Range Rover, like a coward, with a phone to his ear. Wiping sweat from my brow, I crossed the yard, stopping at his window. I took the end of the bat and smashed the window. “Didn’t learn your lesson last time, shithead?”
Max’s mouth moved up and down like a fish out of water for a second.
“Yes, ma’am. Victory Lane,” he muttered into the phone.
“Calling the cops, Harford? Or an ambulance? Because you’re on my property. With bats,” I rested an arm over the window ledge, shards of glass tearing into my skin. “Self-defense is a bitch, isn’t it?”
He swallowed hard enough that I noticed. “Um. I’m sorry. No, ma’am. I don’t need assistance. It was a, umm. It was a prank.” Then he dropped the phone.
The image of him on top of Monroe surfaced, and I wanted to take the bat to his face again, but I knew killing a guy still on crutches wouldn’t look like self-defense. “You’re a piece of shit,” I said, pushing away from the car when I spit in his face. On my way to the porch, I snagged Hendrix by the back of a shirt and dragged him off one of the Barrington guys.