Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Bastian’s brows crash and he faces forward, battling his own inner turmoil as his conscience forces him to consider if he, too … is wrong. If Brielle does belong here, in this place where she has clearly found a home.
My phone dings, alerting me of the call I missed from my sister amid the fun, so I tune them out, texting her back.
Me: I’m fine. He’s dealing with family shit and then we’ll be headed back to deal with ours. Dad okay?
She responds instantly.
Boston: I need to talk to you.
What the hell?
Me: Why? What’s happened?
Boston: Are you alone?
My head pops up on reflex because, no, I’m not alone, and the moment I look toward the others, Brielle’s eyes move this way, meeting mine for the first time. I offer a simple wink.
I’m not the bad guy here, girl.
She says something, though I’m not exactly sure what, and then Raven moves closer to where Bastian stands. Her eyes narrow as she speaks, and my hand darts out to wrap around the handle as my phone begins to vibrate in my other one. Then something softens in her gaze and I don’t like it. Not when it’s pointed at him. Like she knows or understands or is somewhat fond of him.
I yank on the handle, the door clicking open, but I hold still when, in the next second, she spins, heading back inside.
Once she’s out of sight, I softly close the door and look back to my phone.
Fuck it. I call Boston back, but after half a ring, it goes to voice mail.
Frowning, I try again, but then the roar of an engine sounds, and I whip around to find a car flying up behind us.
I rush for my weapon, eyes flicking from the vehicle to Bastian to gauge his concern, to see if I need to hop in the driver’s seat so we can make a quick getaway, but then his gaze locks with mine. He gives a small shake of his head and I let out a deep breath.
Sai would always—
The burn of betrayal boils in my gut and I close my eyes a moment, but when the door is yanked from the frame, they fly open to find Bastian sliding into the front seat, his face hard and calculating.
He gets one look at me, and his eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”
Something tightens in my chest and I look down, the other cars zooming past us and leaving us in a cloud of dust, but Bastian holds firm.
His fingers slide beneath my chin, lifting it, his frown deepening as he gets a closer look. “Tell me,” he whispers, his words a soft demand.
God, I’ve missed him, but this isn’t the time or the place for me to lose my shit again, so I offer a small smile and remove his hand. “Something is wrong,” I remind him, even if I don’t know what it is. “Focus.”
He wants to argue, I can see it in the firm set of his jaw, but like me, he knows there’ll be time for this later, so he whips us around and takes a right out of the driveway.
“So what happened? Did they hire you again or something?”
He scoffs at that, taking a right when we reach the street. After a moment, he adds, “They couldn’t afford me anymore if they wanted to, Rich Girl.”
I face him, and when he sneaks a quick peek, I lift a brow.
A hint of a grin twitches his lips, but the angry frustration quickly settles back into place as a giant brick sign that reads Welcome to Brayshaw High comes into view, the others pulling into the parking lot already.
He works the engine, hitting the throttle harder to clear the half-mile gap, and burns rubber with his sharp turn.
Smoke rolls into the air near the open field, and I don’t have to ask.
“Someone I punished in the Brayshaw name showed up where my sister was living. I don’t know how he found out where she was, but she was gone once he got there,” he shares, skirting to a stop. “They think he’s here now, two birds, one fucking stone, so we’re looking into a fire that was started.” He throws his seat belt off, reaching for his handle.
“If he hurts her, we can get rid of him very easily.”
Bastian’s eyes snap to mine, holding, and while it’s only a split second, there’s so much to see.
He’s angry with me. Really angry. And he hates how he has to keep reminding himself of this because, at the end of the day, he misses me too.
All the boys—I could roll my eyes so hard right now at that—are out of the car in seconds, looking like a gang of, well, gangsters. The Brayshaws really don’t live life like the Greysons.
They’re like Bastian, rough around the edges, and they won’t allow you to forget it.