Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
No, in a really good way.
Who was he?
“Front or back?”
Liliana snapped out of her daze to find her sister standing beside the SUV with a hand out to give her the option of which seat she wanted to take. It took her entirely too long to figure that out, and answer.
She slid into the SUV.
“Find something you like?” her cousin asked her, grinning in that way of hers.
Catherine always was like that.
Liliana tried to play it off as the tires of the SUV squealed when they pulled out of the drive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Catherine murmured.
“Oh, the guy?” Cella asked. “Yeah, fresh meat. I saw that. We all saw that.”
Liliana gave her a sister a look that screamed for her to shut up. Cella only shrugged.
“What?” she asked. “It wasn’t like he was looking at any of us.”
“Truth,” Catherine murmured. “Who was that, anyway?”
Liliana didn’t know.
But she was going to find out.
Cory | Joe
The little Brother
Joe POV
Joe toyed with the pieces of his dismantled weapon, taking his time to check each and every one over while he had them all apart, and in view. His father had always made sure he understood the weight and respect one should have for a gun whenever he was lucky enough to be holding one. And with that came responsibility.
Really, he liked cleaning and taking care of his weapons—though at the moment, he only had a couple. He found that after doing it for a while, it had become a habit for him. And like most of his habits, that turned into a ritual. So, once a week, he sat down at the desk in his room that he was supposed to use to do homework, and cleaned his guns.
And his knife collection.
He liked knives, too.
It was the smack of heavy footsteps coming down the hall that almost made Joe pause in his work. Not that it was anything new, or surprising to him. He rarely got privacy to do his business alone, and frankly, he was just used to his tag along, now.
Well, not so much a tag along as—
“Man, you missed out,” Cory said, slipping into his room.
Joe didn’t even look up at his younger brother’s declaration, or entrance. Cory didn’t seem to mind, either. His brother crossed the bedroom, glanced over Joe’s work, and then headed for the bed. In a plop, Cory fell backwards onto Joe’s bed with a groan.
“I think I’m still drunk,” Cory mumbled.
Joe did glance over his shoulder at that with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t fucking drive, right?”
“No. Simon brought me home.”
Good.
Joe didn’t say that out loud, but still.
Sometimes, he worried about Cory, and for good reason. The sixteen-year-old was only a year younger than Joe, but at times, the two brothers felt like they were separated by more than just a year in age. Sometimes, it felt like they were made up of two entirely different things—the truth was far more simple.
They shared blood.
DNA.
A home.
Parents, and a sister.
Family.
But Joe and Cory Rossi weren’t at all the same. Similar in height and build, sure. Their strong Rossi features—taken from their dad, Damian—were enough to tell anybody who looked for longer than a glance that they were brothers.
That was about as far as it went, though.
Cory was outgoing.
Joe was introverted.
Cory liked to party.
Joe ... didn’t.
Cory was out to have the best time.
Joe would much prefer to watch others have fun.
His brother could be the life of any party, and he liked the fucking spotlight. Joe just couldn’t say the same about himself, really. He didn’t like to have other people’s attention on him for very long, and he found his greatest solace in the shadows.
“You should have come,” Cory mumbled, rolling over to his stomach on the bed so he could eye Joe from his position. “You would have had fun, man.”
Joe smiled a little. “No, you would have had fun, and I would have ... well, I don’t know what I would have done, but I wouldn’t have called it fun.”
Probably stayed to himself. Maybe tried to hook up with a chick as long as she wasn’t young enough to get him into trouble, or too drunk to remember her own name and age. Maybe, if Cory pestered him enough, Joe might have made an attempt to talk to someone.
That never really ended well.
Cory always said Joe came off as cold.
Whatever.
“Fine, then you could have come for me,” Cory said.
This time, his voice really was muffled. Joe glanced over his shoulder again to find his brother had all but rolled over on Joe’s bed, and stuffed his face into the pillow. He was lucky to have even heard him, really.
“Cory?” Joe called.
“Mmm, whert?”
“You’re in my bed, bro.”
Cory waved a hand, and then it flopped right back down on the bed again. Joe was seriously started to wonder just how much his brother did actually drink at the party. Apparently, whatever that number was, it was too fucking much.