Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“Mariette?” I call out, pulling my blade out of my back pocket and leaving it sheathed at my side. “This table wants their order to go.”
Callum’s eyes drop to the switchblade, trying to hold back his smile. “I would think you’d like to see more business in your neighborhood.” He sighs. “I would think my understudy would be more grateful.”
Oh, yes. I’m grateful for the scraps. Thanks for reminding me that nothing good comes unless by the good graces of the rich and beautiful.
“If it were up to me, you’d have the part,” he taunts. “If it were up to me.”
And his meaning isn’t lost. It’s not up to him. It’s up to me and whether I use that key.
I slide the switch, the blade unsheathing, and I watch him watch the knife, ready.
“You know those clapping games little girls play?” I ask him. “They seem silly and frivolous, but actually they teach motor coordination and dexterity.”
The girls at the table stiffen as Milo watches in amusement, safely shielded by Callum.
I hear the screen door behind me swing open and shut, bouncing against the doorframe a couple of times.
I hold up the knife and lay my hand down on the table. “But I always liked the boys’ game instead,” I tell him. “You ever play stabberscotch?”
A couple of shadows fall over me, and Trace’s body spray wafts through my nostrils.
“Thirty seconds.” I balance the tip of the knife on my palm and then flip it, catching it. “If I don’t cut myself, you take your fucking slugs and get out of here.” I look at Krisjen, the nice one. “And that means you too.”
She keeps her mouth shut, simply looking to Callum to see what he’s going to do.
“And Becks can stay,” I add. She’s the only one I really like.
But then Callum asks, “Why should I make a deal to stay when you know I don’t have to leave?”
“As if you’ll have to leave anyway, right?” I fire back. “I’m a loser. I’ll lose.”
He laughs, but it’s a short, nervous one, and he doesn’t meet my eyes.
I smirk. “Scared?”
His gaze flickers to my brothers behind me, who stay quiet to see how this will play out, and is caught between a rock and hard place. Lose and he has to leave. Or they’ll make him leave.
And he’s smart enough to know that I never play games, so I wouldn’t play one unless I knew I could win.
So he does the only thing he can. “Not at all,” he finally replies. “I’ll take the bet.”
Flattening my left hand on the table, I spread my fingers wide and dig the point of the blade into first position, on the outside of my thumb.
But just then, I feel something, and that perfume hits me before I even see her. Her hand slides underneath mine, and I still as Clay covers my back, her breath on my ear.
“Scared?” she whispers.
I almost shove her off, but fine. I forge ahead. “Start the timer,” I tell Krisjen.
She brings up the app on her phone, hits the blue button, and I start, Clay’s hand underneath mine, thinking her presence will make my little heart patter so badly I’ll screw up. I’ll take that bet.
One-two, one-three, one-four, one-five, one-six, one-six, one-five, one-four…
I move the knife back and forth, between my fingers, faster and faster, my brothers clapping behind me to help me keep time.
“Faster,” Callum orders.
I move faster.
One-two, one-three, one-four, one-five, one-six, one-six, one-five, one-four… Moving through Clay’s and my fingers and back again, the heat from her hand moving through mine and up my arm to my chest.
I dig faster and faster, and harder, but after a moment, all I feel is her eyes on my neck, and I swear she moves in closer, inhaling through her nose.
Smelling me.
And that’s when I recognize the other scent on her. Vodka.
“Don’t stop,” she pants.
My eyelids flutter as her heart pounds against my arm.
The boys clap. Callum, Milo, Becks, and Krisjen watch the knife.
And even though Clay and I aren’t alone, it feels like it. They don’t hear her words.
“I dread the anticipation of pain more than the pain, don’t you?” she says in a low voice. “Most people don’t know when it’s coming. It’s worse when you know it’s coming.”
She speaks so softly. It’s not like her. What is she doing?
“Especially when you know it’s there every day,” she tells me.
I blink long and hard, heat flooding my body as the adrenaline rushes, because if I take my eyes off what I’m doing, I’m going to get hurt, but shit looks blurry now. Goddammit.
The girl is tail. That’s it. She’s a gutter human being and good for nothing else.
Her eyes linger on me, and I watch the timer, dropping to ten seconds left. One-two, one-three, one-four, one-five, one-six, one-six, one-five, one-four…