Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Sure, the rich doctor who’s now my stepmother will pay for it.
But everything Manda does comes with strings attached.
“Someone’s pouting,” a deep, predatory voice says.
Triplet Terror #1. Otherwise known as Scout. My wicked, terrible, awful new stepbrother.
“Go away,” I grumble, snapping my laptop closed so he won’t see what little I have left in my account.
He prowls into my room, scrunching his nose up in disgust at my décor that litters the walls. Dad calls it junk. I call it bohemian chic. I’d like to say I have an eclectic sense of style. I collect all sorts of fun, random things to make my space my own.
“Mom is going to bite your head off for putting pin holes all over the walls,” Scout says, plopping down on my bed beside me.
Too close.
Always too close with this one.
“Where’s Thing 1 and Thing 2?” I ask, giving him my bitchiest smile. Like I care about his brothers. I hate them all.
“Sully is at the driving range with Baron.” His dark brown eyes narrow as he waits for a reaction. I give him none.
“Dad always wanted a son,” I volley back. “And look, now he has three.”
He scoffs as though he’s offended to be called Baron Elliott’s son. “Sparrow gives them until the end of the year.” He grins at me, wolfish and terrifying. “Then Mom will destroy him just like her last three husbands.”
Dr. Amanda Mannford or Manda the Maneater as I like to call her in my head—serial divorcee.
Anger swells up inside me, and it takes everything in me not to go off on him. I hate Scout because he’s such a shit starter. Dad asked me to get along with Manda, which I try, but my three stepbrothers are another story entirely. They’re all three bordering on psychotic, especially Scout.
“Dad says it’s true love,” I taunt. “Maybe they’ll even have an oops baby together.”
His dark eyes flash with cruelty. “She doesn’t love him, and she barely tolerates you. Besides, we were test tube babies. Mom can’t get pregnant the old-fashioned way.”
“Whatever,” I grumble. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He runs his knuckle up and down my spine, making me shiver from the touch. “Nah. I’m on babysitting duty today.”
I snap my attention his way, glowering at him. In another world, I’d find someone like Scout attractive. Tall, muscular, chiseled jaw. His black hair and fair skin make him look like a vampire. I always got a thrill from the dark, dangerous types. But there’s just something completely wrong with the Terror Triplets. They’re missing some key elements most humans have. In the three months I’ve lived with them, I’ve watched them make maids cry, destroy property for fun, and fuck more girls than humanly possible.
“You’re still in high school,” I spit out. “I’m off to college. I don’t need babysitting.”
“Technicality because we were held back. The three of us are older than you, Ash. But I wasn’t talking about age. I was talking about the fact we have to make sure you don’t try to screw over our mom. That takes constant watching.”
“Fuck off,” I snap. “And get out of my room.”
“It belongs to Mom, not you,” he sneers. “Best remember that. Mom would love to remind you of that. In fact, maybe I should tell her about all these new holes in her walls.”
He stands and stretches, his T-shirt lifting to show off his muscled abs from playing lacrosse at Pembroke Preparatory School. When he catches me looking, his smile grows even more devious than before.
“Like what you see, little sister?” He cups his junk through his jeans. “I could show you a little more.”
Gross.
I shoot him the bird, ignoring his taunts. Of the triplets, he’s the one who takes his stalking seriously. The other two tolerate me, but he goes out of his way to probe and poke at me.
“Fine,” he says as he makes his way to the door. “When you want some dick, you know where to find me. Warning, though. Mom will be very, very angry if you fuck her favorite son.”
I refrain from throwing my laptop at him. Barely. “Go to hell, Scout.”
His laughter can be heard echoing, long after he leaves.
Creep.
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
Just like always, my bird Shrimp goes back to making noise in his bird cage the moment Scout leaves. Scout is definitely the spawn of Satan, because Shrimp is scared to death of him. My pink parakeet loves everyone except my stepmother and her monster boys. Shrimp is a good judge of character.
My phone alarm blares, and I groan. Time to get ready for work. I hate this new job I’ve only been working at for a week. I hate my new family. I hate the fact I’m going to have to rely on Manda to pay for my school. I hate everything.