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)
Her gaze slides my way, and I hold it.
One way or another, I’m getting into this fucking party.
Slowly, she nods, facing the guy once more. “I see you’ve met my new friends. Guys, this is Mac.”
Mac doesn’t look at us but keeps frowning at her. “Who said you could bring people?”
They stare at one another, and finally, he shakes his head, walking away, so we step farther into the house.
Chloe frowns. “If anyone else asks, I didn’t get you in here. My name doesn’t hold a lot of weight right now, so you’ll be on your ass fast. I suggest you stay out of trouble.”
“Move.”
She glares, eyes calculating. “I hope you approach him,” she snaps, not bothering to say who “him” is. We already know. “And take the boys with you. See how fast they end you if they go near her.”
Her.
Her who?
Chloe stomps away and we let her, despite how easy it would be to knock her out without so much as a sound.
We weave through one living room and move into another.
That’s when I spot him sitting in a chair with a beer bottle in hand, one I’m sure is still full to the brim. One I want to take from his fingers and smash over the girl’s head who’s beside him.
That’s the “her” Chloe spoke of and she’s leaning closer than I want her to. They’re talking quietly. Comfortably.
“Okay, so … he’s alive,” Bronx eases, grip tightening on my arm as if she’s afraid I might charge over.
Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m still standing here.
So, yeah. He’s not in my dad’s basement and he’s not fucking dead.
I should be relieved.
I’m abso-fucking-lutely not.
Bass
My homegirl Rae shakes her head, eyes moving to Maddoc Brayshaw, who watches our every move from where he stands, trying to pick up on our conversation, but the place is too loud for that.
She tries to avoid my gaze, but I keep myself in front of her, wanting her to hear what I’m saying. She’s good for this place, for the Brayshaw brothers and the world they’ve built.
People like us come from shit and when you find a spot you belong, you don’t let anyone take it from you. I know I won’t.
So, yeah. She needs to hear it from someone like her, who wasn’t born with a silver fucking spoon, but a broken, plastic one. She needs to understand what she’s found here, the power they’re giving her, and the girl needs to take it.
When she stays quiet, I ask, “What, you thought not?”
She presses her lips together. “I’m tired of people saying that like it’s what I was looking for here. I mean, who fucking cares—”
“I care,” I cut her off. “I care because you doubt your power over this place, and I want you to find it.” A frown forms over my brows instantly because I know I opened a door, but I want to see what she knows. If she’s heard about my life before or my sister, maybe she’s heard about my mom.
Like I knew she would, she asks for more. “Why do you want that for me? Why’s it so important?”
“Fuck,” I mumble, running a hand over my face. My mind is busy lately. Too busy.
I’m ready to leave. Got shit going on and half a foot out the door already, most of my time spent elsewhere, but Brielle will have to stay where she is, at least for now.
I can’t tell my sister when I cut out; she’ll want to come with me, but it would be more dangerous for her to follow than it would be to have her here in Brayshaw, and I didn’t keep her away for no reason.
It’s a fucked-up mess.
This place has its dangers too, and things are only getting stickier by the day, not that it has much to do with me, but working here, I’m in it.
It’s like every part of my life is deciding to start the fucking timer at the same exact moment, and all bombs are about to go off.
I need to find a way to delay one while the other detonates.
I keep talking. “Because I need to know a girl who lived like me, fucked-up mentally and cut off emotionally—to most, anyway—can fight her way from the bottom and come out with sharper claws, not broken ones.”
Rae slowly drops against the cushion. “Who is she?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb.” She grunts. “Who’s the girl you’re worried about making it or not?”
And there it fucking is. She doesn’t know about Brielle, so she can’t possibly know anything about what happened to my mom.
“They didn’t tell you …” I realize. “I almost thought they’d brag.”
“They’re not the type.” She defends her crew. “Well, maybe Royce, but …” she jokes of the hotheaded brother.
A small grin forms on my lips and I look away a minute, coming back with a squint. Fuck it. She’s good people.