Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
"He always does," I agreed as we followed her.
Dante was just... young. And, as it often went when you were young, stupid. He wanted to be some badass, wanted to be, well, like me. For some reason, my ma thought I was the one who could talk some sense into him. She didn't see the hypocrisy there.
We walked right into the living room, the carpet red and dated, but clean. The furniture - floral printed and hideous - my mother's design tastes never graduated past the early 90s.
And there on the couch was Dante.
At eighteen, he looked like a mini version of me, albeit with different eyes, as his were a deep brown. He was tall, dark-haired, strong but not bulky, casually cocky. Really, with the bone structure, there was no denying we were brothers.
"'Ey!" he said, jumping up off the couch, reaching out to snag my hand, using it to pull me against his chest, slamming a hand down on my back. Overly friendly for me, but it was the way buddies around here greeted one another. "Sug, it's been forever, bro," he added as he moved a step back. "And you brought a girl," he said with a smirk, eyes moving over Peyton.
"Show some fuckin' respect," I growled, whacking him on the back of the neck the same way my mother did to me.
"Yeah, respect. That's what he needs," my ma agreed, standing there with a hand on her hip, ready to goad me on. "You know what he did last week?"
"No, Ma. What'd he do last week?" I asked, giving Peyton a small eye-roll, but only because I knew my ma couldn't see.
"He calls me at three a.m. from the police station, Sean. The fuckin' police station. Like I raised a goddamned delinquent."
My gaze went to Dante, brow up, waiting for an explanation as he threw himself back down on the couch. "Gonna explain yourself?" I asked, knowing he had no real father figure, so I was trying my best not to pat him on the back about his first stint behind bars. In my life, that shit had always been celebrated as a right of passage. But, I had to remind myself, I didn't want that life for Dante. So I needed to be the damn adult here.
"Nothin' to explain. She's overreacting."
"Dante..." I said, tone a little harsh, making him stiffen just a bit. But that just a bit let me know that he was still malleable, that there was still something to work with in him.
Then, well, this fuck just said the most Staten Island goddamn thing known to man.
"Real talk. So I was down by Mick's getting a slice, right? And this fuckin' stunad walks up and tries talkin' to me like he didn't deadass throw hands at me last weekend. Reminded him of that and he started fuckin' spazzin'. Shit got heated. That's it."
Dante had barely finished speaking when I could feel Peyton pulling at the corner of my shirt, trying to get my attention. When my head turned, I found her eyes dancing, her face fucking beaming.
I love them! she mouthed to me.
And so she did.
Peyton - 1 year
I didn't calm down, per se.
Some people had used that phrase.
Because I didn't actively seek out situations to flash or moon people. And didn't dance on bars anymore. And hadn't been to a rave in a while.
I hadn't calmed down.
I had settled into something else.
A slightly different life full of bikers and badass babes, on top of everyone else I was already always surrounded by. My days were always full-up between work and the gym and Sugar and time with friends. There just wasn't any time for the kind of shenanigans that got me locked up in the past.
Thought you'd moved out of town, Lloyd, a local detective, said when he saw me at She's Bean Around one morning. Haven't seen you in a cell for a while.
The funny thing was, I hadn't stopped doing illegal things. In fact, I likely did more illegal things than ever before. Owning a gun without a permit, shooting it within city limits, actually shooting someone.
I guess it was fair to say I simply got better at doing things that would normally have me in a cell.
But I damn sure hadn't calmed down.
Life had just shifted in a new direction.
And, what's more, I liked it.
I liked these new people, these new situations, this new less party-focused life I was leading.
Jamie had moved out, finding herself a permanent situation.
Savvs, well, let's just say that she found somewhere else to crash at night.
And Sugar, yeah, he moved in. We still had the room at the compound, and on nights when there were parties, barbecues, drinking games, we crashed there. But for the most part, he was here with me, demanding food for sex, helping me paint over the godawful neon green I had decided to paint my living room wall for some unknown reason, taking Hannibal for walks in the morning when he learned that I was inclined to throw things at him when he tried to wake me up early to do stuff.