Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Scrubbing my palm down over my face, I peek through my fingers, hoping the hideous gouge in my sleek, midnight-black BMW 8 Series will miraculously be gone.
Nope.
Still. Fucking. There.
I can’t believe she keyed my car. If she hadn’t left her evidence on the trunk, I wouldn’t have believed Aubrey even had it in her.
She’s a princess.
Fragile, delicate, weak.
Not vindictive. That’s more her mother.
Apparently, she’s changed, which means I’m dealing with a whole new enemy here. And while I’ve always been able to outsmart her, she’s persistent. That is, until she reaches her breaking point. Two years ago, I pushed her to that point, happily not having to speak to her until now.
Based on the fiery indignation I was met with moments ago and the fact she keyed my car, I think it’s safe to assume she’s far from running back home with her tail tucked between her legs.
Time to up my game.
I take a few pictures of my car before sending them to my grandfather. Nathan Park is the powerful, throbbing vein that connects the Park family. Our influence over this town is solely because of him. His own father, though still a force, didn’t compare to how my pops rules Park Mountain, Washington.
We are kings and everyone else exists to serve us in some capacity.
Pops: Someone vandalized your car?
Me: Yup.
Pops: At home? Did you pull the camera footage?
I could easily tattle to him that it was my bratty stepsister, but that would take all the fun out of making her pay for what she did.
Me: Bad connection. Wi-Fi wasn’t working. It’s fixed now, but I can’t drive around with my car looking like shit, Pops.
Pops: I know a guy. Let me give him a call.
When Pops says he “knows a guy,” it means someone owes him and he’s ready to cash in. The long, ugly gouge in the paint of my car will be erased from existence within a few days. There are many, many perks to being a Park.
Satisfied that Pops will take care of it, I shove my phone in my pocket and stalk across the yard to his house. My gaze scans Park Mountain Lane, but Aubrey is long gone. I’m not sure where she went, nor do I care. All I do know is she’ll be back, and when she returns, I’ll be ready for her. Today, she got the element of surprise. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be doing all the surprising.
Dempsey, technically my uncle, but who feels more like a cousin, is home. He’s more than just family or a neighbor, he’s my best friend. Though we couldn’t be more different, we get each other like no one else does. Both him and his twin sister, Gemma, are some of the few people I actually trust.
I let myself in the front door and listen for any signs of life. Usually, Gemma, or her mom, Jamie, are yapping, their cheerful voices echoing all around. Considering the silence, they must be out shopping or some shit.
Good.
I need to plan with Dempsey without Gemma throwing her two cents in. She’ll try and make me feel bad or side with Aubrey. I don’t need that shit right now.
As I take the stairs, I hear the soft thump of bass coming from Dempsey’s room. If he’s jerking off, he’s going to be in for a rude interruption. Thankfully, when I push open his bedroom door, he doesn’t have his dick in his hand. He sits at his desk that faces the window, back to me and hunched over, as he feverishly draws on a sketchpad.
“Thought I was fucking my hand, huh?” he asks, sensing my quiet entry.
I chuff and prowl forward, stepping over discarded clothes and shoes along the way. “Nah. I knew you were doing something much worse. Drawing.”
He tenses but continues with his art. This particular topic is a point of contention between Dempsey and Pops. My grandfather views drawing as pointless. And while I agree, I don’t see why he can’t drop it. Dempsey would probably be more pleasant to be around if he didn’t have to fight for every damn thing he wanted to do in this life.
“Who’s that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as I try to place where I know the eyes from.
Dempsey grunts out something under his breath before slamming his sketchpad closed, away from my prying eyes. He spins around in his desk chair to face me. His dark hair is in disarray as though he’s been running his fingers through it all day. Smudges from his charcoal pencil dust his prominent cheekbone on one side.
“Do you ever shower?” I flick my fingers toward his gray T-shirt that’s rumpled and stained with something pink. “Have you even left this bedroom since school let out?”
His lips curl into a taunting grin. “Someone’s pissy today and looking for a shoulder to cry on. Do tell, cuz, what has your panties crawling up your tight ass?”